Page 49

Instead, I turn to Korrin, staring straight into those soulless dark-brown eyes of his.

“I assume you’re still head of torture and interrogation. Still teaching the new slayers all the right places to strike? The ones that make even the toughest men cry like babies?”

Korrin’s smile is slow and wicked, the mere thought of inflicting pain bringing satisfaction to his face. “I am,” he says. “And I’m still enjoying it.” That tracks.

He had only just taken the position when I graduated from the Academy, when my training ended and the real work began. Silas took it upon himself to teach me personally how to break anyone, mortal or immortal. From what I’ve heard, Korrin’s methods for training new slayers are memorable, to say the least.

My gaze shifts to Seris. “And you?” I ask. “Still doing the same work? Cleaning up the dead and healing the living?” My brow arches slightly.

He shifts in his chair, a small, controlled movement. Middle-aged, coiled with sharp, efficient muscle. Not every slayer is meant for the actual slaying part, and Seris is evidence of that. Ironically, he’s the complete opposite of a typical slayer; he saves lives instead of ending them. His work is invaluable.

Seris’s green eyes lift to meet mine. “Yes,” he says evenly. “But I’ve begun dabbling in poisons.”

My brow lifts and my eyes widen. “Go on.”

“I find poisoning to be the most effective form of torture,” he continues, speaking with a scientific fascination. “Some take days to kill, slow and gruesome. They rot a person from the inside out. Others work quickly, but the pain they cause is unlike anything most can imagine.” He leans back, composed, as if he’s discussing medicine, not death. The complete opposite from what I thought I knew about him.

“And what of antidotes?” I ask. “Have you created some for the poisons you’ve developed?” Not that I would ever allow someone to leave this place alive. But contingency has its uses.

Seris’s lips curl into an eerie smile. “No,” he says calmly. “I don’t plan on saving those I give the poisons to. Do you?”

His tone is subtle, but unmistakable in its challenging nature. That question stirs something dark and unpleasant in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I say softly, deadly. “Did I give the impression that you were the one asking questions here?”

The room stills. Seris leans back into his chair, retreating but maintaining his composure. He holds one of the most coveted positions in the Academy. He’s been here longer than most, and I’d hate for him to confuse seniority with authority. He enjoys the finest quarters, the highest pay, and the luxury of never going hungry. Comfort has a way of breeding forgetfulness. Pressing the dagger into the wood, allowing it to stand without me holding it, I rise slowly from my seat and begin to pace behind the desk.

“I don’t tolerate my questions being answered with questions. If I choose to speak, I will. If I ask for answers, you’ll give them.” I stop myself, turning to the final two. Young and armed from head to toe with daggers, swords, pistols. Every inch of them is strapped with weapons.

“You two,” I say evenly, “must be the ones who made the cut. The ones who stayed after I killed the previous mentors.” My gaze sharpens. “You’ve taken their places?”

“Yes.” The woman answers before the man. Interesting. They must be truly lethal for them to be the new mentors. “I’m Kova,” she continues. “We divide and conquer the training of incoming cadets.”

She’s small, barely five feet, but there’s nothing fragile about her. Her fiery red hair is cut into a sharp bob, and freckles scatter across her face. Green eyes track everything, missing nothing. She glances at the man beside her, nodding and giving him permission to speak. I like her.

I lean back slightly. I sense some sort of romantic or sexual tension between the two of them. But it seems she wears the pants.

“I’m Jarek,” he says. “In addition to training the cadets, I have contacts for the finest weaponry, which is becoming harder to acquire these days.”

He wears a fitted leather vest, practical and reinforced at the seams, built to be both flexible and durable. Brown hair falls just above his eyes, nearly hiding how blue they are, and how calculating.

I nod once, then return to my chair and lean forward, forearms braced against the desk. “This academy will be reshaped,” I say evenly. “Training will be rigorous. Standards will be higher. We will no longer be accepting jobs simply because they pay.”

I let the words settle before continuing. “I don’t need this place to survive,” I add calmly. “If the Academy falls, I remain untouched. I own this island. I control its trade, its drugs, its supply lines. I have funds. Coin doesn’t concern me.” My gaze hardens. “The Underground already worships me. It is my home base, where I did all of my business before coming back here.” Silence tightens around the room. I look at each of them.

“We will not kill innocent people,” I say. “Not for profit. Not for convenience. If you think you currently have a job that will cost an innocent life, tell me. I will handle it. If any of the slayers under your watch have a job that involves an innocent life, the same goes. If I discover that anyone here kills an innocent, they die a slayer’s death. I will deliver it myself.”

The truth of that settles heavy in the air. A slayer’s death is brutal, and it follows hours of torture, pain, and suffering. It’s one of the most painful ways to die in this world, but now Seris has me debating poison to save me hours of tearing a body apart.

“The last thing anyone should want,” I continue quietly, “is to meet me inside a torture chamber.” A slow breath. “I find torture… experimental. Like art.” My gaze drifts to the dagger still embedded in the desk.

I reach forward and pull the blade free. It spins once between my fingers before I press the edge lightly to my skin, just enough to draw a thin bead of red. I study my blood for a split second. I’ve always wondered why it never can pick a color, why it always switches between black and red, the siren and the human fighting for control.

“And most importantly—” I pause, turning away from them before continuing. This truth is not for display. It never was. It is the one thing that should never have been taken from me, the one thing no woman should ever lose.

“No one will harm a woman,” I say quietly. “What exists inside of us is not for anyone to take out. There will be no cleansing of bodies here.” Steel threads its way through my voice, giving me strength as I feel the temptation to weaken. “Anyone who violates that in any form at all, you bring them to me.” I lift my gaze at last. “I will handle it personally.”

Something dark stirs behind my eyes as the familiar storm creeps into my vision, fed by memory, by pain, by youth and helplessness. Awake for all of it. Trapped inside my own body. So young, so much pain. I force it down. Something I am far too practiced at doing.

“I understand,” Jarek says suddenly. “I never agreed with… any of that.” The storm quiets. I look at him, blinking. I hadn’t expected anyone to speak. Especially not him, and especially not on this topic.