That’s more than expected, and I hope it’s because I ordered all injured Wraths to cycle out and report to the healers. It sounds like most were patched up and cleared to return to battle. That’s good, and I’m hoping the death count we get from Androl is low.
I’m not foolish enough to think I handled this ambush as well as Raum or Aziel would have, but I’m proud of what I achieved. It was terrifying, but I managed to keep a level head. For the most part. I suppose I panicked and bit Rexton, but I refuse to feel guilty about that.
Rexton puts his simpering façade aside and takes charge, asking questions and giving orders as somebody of his title and position should. I’m pleased to see it, and I find myself pausing to watch him lead. I could’ve chosen worse for a mate, and I understand why the Wraths like him so much.
He killed Mammon, which was a huge accomplishment, but more than that, he’s intelligent and well-spoken. If Rexton wanted, he could easily make himself Wrath’s primary leader.A royal’s power comes from the respect and obedience of their people, and it wouldn’t be hard for Rexton to circumvent me.
Raum seems to like me, but the other generals merely tolerate my existence. If Rexton ordered them to report to him instead of me, I fear they would listen. Rexton could easily force me into a background role, destroying my credibility and reputation.
My hands curl into fists. I shouldn’t have bonded with him. I gave him exactly what he needed to overthrow me, to steal Wrath for himself. I’ve destroyed everything I’ve ever worked for with my foolish, irrational actions.
I should kill him.
“Breathe.” Rexton slides up beside me. “Lower your eyelids and breathe.”
I do as he says, finally realizing our bond is open once again. When did Rexton do that? Why? My side is open, and my anger blooms as I feel him prying into it. He’s taking advantage of our bond, sneaking into my head and reading my most private emotions.
I didn’t give him permission to do that.
Rexton pulls back as my anger hits him, and I snap my end of the bond shut.
“Do you need me to sit?” he asks.
He sounds genuine. I’m not sure whether to trust it, and it’s making my head hurt. I want him to sit. I want to belittle and smash him into a thousand little pieces until I’m certain there’s no way he’ll ever steal Wrath from me, but I also know I’d hate to see him like that.
I don’t want to put him down, not really, but I don’t have the confidence to let him lead.
“We should get moving,” Rexton says.
He hesitates, then places a hand on the small of my back. The world spins, and I blink as Rexton teleports us to his home. I’venever been inside it, but I recognize the layout from the images Wren secured for me.
Rexton purchased this apartment building after the first war with Mammon. He spent months renovating it, and then he moved into the penthouse unit. It’s cozier than I expected. The walls are covered in artwork, the rugs feel expensive, and the furniture looks comfortable.
The kitchen is small, but I assume Rexton doesn’t cook much. Neither do I.
Rexton leads me down a hallway and into a bedroom. It’s again covered in artwork and filled with expensive, comfortable furniture. The bed is large, and I eye the white sheets as Rexton guides me into the ensuite bathroom.
“This is your bedroom?” I ask.
He nods. “Yes.”
“You’re showing me where you sleep?”
He shouldn’t. Killing him would be easiest once I know the locations where he’s most vulnerable. I rarely let people inside my apartment, and I never bring them into my bedroom. It’s a risk I’m unwilling to take.
Wren never slept in my bed. I allowed him to enter my main living spaces, but I chose to spend nights at his place. He didn’t like it, but I didn’t care. I was protecting myself.
Rexton turns on the shower. “You should clean up before meeting with Aziel and the generals.”
I avoid looking in his mirror as I strip, removing my bloodied clothing. Rexton stands to the side, openly eyeing my revealed skin. I figure it’s only fair after the way I evaluated his naked body yesterday, and I don’t acknowledge his staring as I step into his shower and wash the blood off myself.
“Do you like what you see?” I eventually ask.
He hums. “Yes.”
“What part of me is your favorite?”
I’m not above asking for compliments. I like them, and Rexton has never denied my requests. I don’t imagine he’ll start now.
