Page 40 of To Bleed A Kingdom

“You may have thought yourself to be untouchable, but you’re not. You mock how feared I am, but you seem to have forgotten why.” I bare my teeth on a growl. “Why to corrupt assholes like you, my name is nothing but a frightened whisper. Why they would rather die at their own hands than dare to suffer my rage. Why they call me the Gods Wrath.” I wrap one hand around his throat, the fire causing me no pain as I squeeze. “It's not because I can crush a skull with my bare hands, or that I could cut down even the strongest of warriors before they can even reach for their blade. That's not what terrifies them. It's my power, Jareth.”

I raise my other arm. “Water.” Water spreads beneath my hand on his throat, spiraling into a stream that crawls upward, encircling his head.

“Nature.” Wood cracks as gnarled branches sprout from the floor to skewer through his wrists. His lips round on a silent scream, blood flowing down his forearms to drip onto the floor.

“Air.” His shirt flaps, blonde hair whipping into the whistling winds as a tornado spirals around us.

“Fire.” Glittering orange flames bloom within the tornado, the orange paling as the flames grow hotter and hotter, morphing into a monstrous beast of white-blue blaze, devouring the winds as it evolves into a twisting, raging inferno that can incinerate with a touch.

“You immortals boast about the strength of your power, but all I see is how fragile youare. How weak. You're feeble in your most dominant Gift, and barely have a speck of power in the others.” I laugh, a cruel, bellowing sound. “Oh, how easy it would be for me to conquer you all.” I squeeze his throat tighter and increase the heat, watching him squirm as an imprint of my hand slowly brands his neck. Being an immortal, he'll heal eventually, but not before all will see the shamed mark of his subjugation. “You see, I'm not dominant in just one.” My lips draw back into a snarl. “I’m dominant in all.”

When I see his dirt brown eyes roll back into his head, I return his breaths to him before he loses consciousness. Before he can make a sound, thorned vines sprout from my palm, slithering onto his face to twine around the lower half of his head. Roses and thorns bloom into his mouth, muting anymore of those pathetic sounds.

Gagged by roses, he trembles and cries while blood dribbles from where the thorns puncture his mouth and cheeks. Hearing a trickling sound, I peer down and see moisture spreading across the groin of his trousers, darkening where he's pissed himself.

“I'm the most powerful immortal that's ever existed,” I growl. “My power is absolute. Nothing other than the gods can match me. That means I can do anything I want to whomever I want, and there's not a being alive who can do a damn thing about it.” His trembling becomes more pronounced and his knees give out, the fiery rope bearing his weight. “It’s taking everything in me to hold back my flames. To not burn you slowly until you’re nothing but charred bones in vengeance for the boy you tortured.” Reaching down, I yank off the ring he used to brand the child, passing it over my shoulder to Griffin, who plucks it from my grasp. “Now you're going to stop your whining andcrying, your empty threats, and you're going to cooperate. If not, I'd love nothing more than to kill you this very moment. The world would be a better place without you in it.”

He nods frantically and I turn my back on him, the twister dissolving as I stride back towards my desk and lower myself into my chair. To the view of Jareth's slumped form and bowed head, I flick my hand and the flamed rope and vines disintegrate into a spray of sparks. He slumps to the floor and the guards rush toward him.

Watching them drag Jareth's motionless body all the way to the whipping post, a barbaric elation fills me and my lips curl into a savage grin.

Chapter 8

Lena

Lips trembling and her eyes glassy with unshed tears, Amara places a palm to her chest and sucks in an audible breath. “It's…” She shakes her head with a watery chuckle. “I have no words. They’re all so beautiful.”

I snort. “You’re such a drama queen.”

She narrows her eyes. “Fuck off!”

My comments already forgotten, she moves further into the room, stopping to spin in a slow circle, whiskey eyes darting from one item to the next.

I pass my own gaze over the shop, seeing dirks, broadswords, short swords, scythes, and axes, as well as any other blade you could possibly imagine. All artistically displayed from ceiling to floor, covering every inch of available space on the white walls of Rory’s Swords and Daggers. Near the back of the storefront, Amara looks like a kid in a sweets shop as she flattens her nose and both palms against the clear pane of the wrap-around glass casing, ogling some of Aurora's finer creations. Eyes straying past that, I find a hutch pressed up against the back wall, displaying her less lethal creations. Nails, horseshoes, and locks are scattered chaotically across its shelves, a stark contrast tothe otherwise well-organized room.

Tristan brushes past me, poking his head through the archway off to the side.

“There's more in here,” he says, tossing a thumb over his shoulder.

Amara bites her fist and squeals in glee, and I laugh at the sight. It's comical how one of the toughest women I know can be brought to tears over a few blades. If a suitor was to offer her gold and jewels, she'd gut the fucker for insinuating she was a whore who could be bought with trinkets. But bring her a pretty sword or dagger, and she'd fall to her knees and have him cumming down her throat in less than a minute. I don't know if Amara will ever drop her guard enough to fall in love, but if she does, one thing’s for certain. He'll have to come to terms with the fact that her first true love will forever be made of steel.

Off to the side of the hutch, a black curtain sways on copper rings in an entryway that I assume leads to a workspace. A slender hand draws back the black curtain and a beaming Aurora appears. Draped in a soot-covered apron over dark leggings and a tunic, her hair is pinned in a knot atop her head, bouncing with her motions as she rolls up her sleeves and glides in our direction. The princess clearly balks at traditional garb, but she could be wearing a burlap sack and still no one could mistake her for anything but royalty.

Clasping her hands together, Aurora quickly moves to greet us but stumbles and grunts when Amara throws herself at her, tossing her arms around Aurora in a crushing hug.

“Your work’s amazing.” Pulling back, Amara squeezes her shoulders. “I thought I’d come here and it would all be shit, but it’s not!” She steps back and punches the princess in the arm. “I guess princesses can do more than push out babies.”

Aurora shoots me a bewildered look as she rubs the soreness out of her shoulder. “Thank you?”

“No, thank you.”

Glancing at a silent Tristan leaning against the archway, I nod imperceptibly and he slips into the adjoining room as I join the two females.

“I’m so glad you both came!” Aurora says, clapping her hands. “I didn't know if you were just being kind or if you were really going to, but I'm so happy you did!”

She's adorable.

“Of course, we came, sweetie,” I reply. I didn't know it was possible, but her smile spreads further at my endearment.

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