The King of Hell sat in a chair near my bed, casually resting his head in his hand. His legs were stretched out, his posture too comfortable for someone who’d just subjected me to two horrific hallucinations. If not for the lingering white glow in his irises—or all the information I’d gathered about his powers—I might’ve convinced myself I’d dreamed it all.
I flung off my blankets, my pajamas sticking to the sweat sheening my body, and stood in front of him, heart pounding.
“Whatthe hell was that?”
He straightened in the chair, his eyes narrowing. “Watch your tone with me.”
“Tone?Tone?” I scoffed, not giving a damn if he was my father or the king. He’d forced me to reliving the worst moments of my life. What kind of father does that?
“I haven’t even started with my tone. Why did you put me through that?” I demanded, curling my hands into fists to hide their spasming.
His gaze flicked to them, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He rose from the chair, towering over me.
“I’m beginning your power training,” he said, his voice flat.
I stared up at him, shaking my head in disbelief. I hadn’t expected an apology, but his lack of empathy hit harder than I thought it would. Last night, Cato had given me the tiniest shred of hope that the king might be different. That maybe, just maybe, I could have some kind of relationship with my father.
But after what he’d just done? After he forced me to experience Michael’s torture, Oliver’s death? I was kidding myself.
“So these torture sessions will continue?” I accused.
“Yes. You’ve pushed me from your mind before. Until you learn to keep me out, we’ll continue with the hallucinations.”
The urge to argue clawed at my throat. I had no qualms about snapping at the king. But the longer I glared at him, the more I noticed his no-nonsense expression—the same one my mom wore. A pang hit my chest, and I ended our stare-down, refusing to waste my breath.
“There are three classes of powers in our world?—”
“Mental, physical, and runes,” I interrupted, barely containing my bitterness. From his icy silence, he didn’t seem pleased by my interruption, but I didn’t care.
“You can use all three: your hallucination and glaciation powers, and the power to give runes. The rest of your Infernus you gave away,” I added, proving to him I’d done my reading.
He nodded, and I almost thought the quick gleam in his expression was approval—but I refused to hope. Casually, he adjusted his suit jacket and waved a hand over the door. A glossy layer of ice coating the wood evaporated, and the frosted door handle returned to a metallic black. I frowned.
He’d locked us in?
“The majority of beings who live in our world have physical powers. Only some have the ability to control the mind or use runes.”
His words stirred a memory, pulling my focus from my unease. “Like your general?”
“Yes. But he’s not the only one who can influence the mind. And as you well know, anyone with the ability to carve runes can control you.”
I grimaced. How could I ever forget?
“Are you saying that learning to shield will help me resist runes?”
“Some,” he answered, giving me a knowing glance. “But not all.”
“Not a Wrath Rune.”
The brief tightening of his jaw told me all I needed to know.
I shook my head, wishing it could’ve been that easy.
“Do you not wish to shield your mind against those who would influence it?” he asked, as if he were disappointed in me.
“I do,” I shot back. “It’s your methods I hate!”
“My methods?” he mused, his hand resting on the doorknob. “Did you read all the details of the powers of hallucination?”
