Page 16 of Wrath

SEVEN

Z

Davia’s face pinched as if she’d just eaten something sour. She tapped her fingernails agitatedly against the table.

All of us had reconvened the following morning in the same tent as before. B, Davia, and HH sat on one side next to a man they introduced as Turner. Turner was, apparently, a prominent member of the human resistance and a skilled military strategist.

My mates and I, accompanied by Mali and Phineas, sat on the opposite side of the table.

There was a clear divide between humans and nightmares, and I wasn’t sure any amount of negotiation would breach it.

“If we have any hope of stopping Aaliyah, we need an army,” Turner insisted.

He was a tall and broad human with light-blond hair—so light it almost resembled freshly fallen snow—and a wicked scar bisecting his right cheek. Intelligent green eyes peered out of a face weathered with time.

B pinched the bridge of his nose. “And how do you propose we do that? We have people willing to fight, but less than fifty percent of them have been trained.”

“Maybe we won’t win with skill but with numbers.” Turner’s expression turned contemplative.

He scratched absently at the scar on his cheek. I noticed he did that often, almost as if it was a nervous tic of his.

I didn’t like Turner.

I saw the way he regarded my mates, particularly Killian and Ryland. Ryland mostly kept himself hidden by shadows, but the few times he made an appearance, the human couldn’t help but stare at the scars distorting Ryland’s darkly handsome face. And he almost looked…satisfied. Pleased, even, like he thought Ryland got exactly what he deserved.

It infuriated me.

And with Killian, Turner didn’t even bother to hide his disgust.

All of my mates were regarded with distrust and trepidation. I couldn’t even blame the humans. They had been subjected and ridiculed for years—centuries, if I really thought about it.

Change, however, was coming, and everyone could taste it. It made the humans brazen, the nightmares angry, and the rulers fearful.

I couldn’t help but scoff at my inner thoughts.

Humans.

As if I wasn’t one.

Though… Technically, I wasn’t a human, was I? I was something other.

A reincarnated angel-slash-demon.

The revelation sat like a lead weight in my stomach.

“Nightmares won’t fight for the humans,” Devlin was saying in his curt, no-nonsense voice. “Some of them will, but themajority are set in their ways. They may not actively hate humans, but they won’t fight for them.”

“Then we need more humans,” Turner said simply, as if the solution to this issue was glaringly obvious.

“What are you saying, Turner?” Davia leaned forward slightly. “Just spit it out, you overgrown man child.”

I liked Davia.

“The detention camps.” A grin split Turner’s face, tugging at the scar.

That smile… It made him look wicked. Nightmarish.

A hush fell over the table. B’s face drained of color, and Davia appeared thoughtful.

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