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making not even a whisper of sound across the stone floor. Callia sighed in defeat as she watched the princess leave. She had no choice but to follow.
    “Acacia.” The king’s attention swung to his other daughter. “Find that husband of yours. Have him call back his guardians from whatever patrols they’re on. I don’t want to hear excuses. I want them here. All of them. Is that clear?”
    Arms crossed over her chest, Casey frowned and stepped close to his bed. Dressed in a sleeveless white blouse and crisp black slacks, she didn’t cower in front of the king like Isadora. And she had no qualms about putting him in his place. “Oh, I’ll find Theron and tell him exactly what you’re up to, don’t you worry about that.” She tipped her head when she reached his bedside. “This is going to backfire on you. You know that, don’t you?”
    The king only harrumphed and looked ahead.
    “It will,” Casey reiterated as she leaned down and kissed his wrinkled cheek. “Mark my words, Dad. Isadora is not going to sit back and let you run her life for her.”
    “Yes, she will,” he mumbled. “Because she’s not you.”
    Casey straightened, and though it was clear she was fired up over what was being done to her sister, Callia could see the compassion the half-breed had for her long-lost father. A compassion Callia wished she felt for her own father.
    “You’re right,” Casey said. “She’s not. She’s stronger than I am. Stronger than all of us. And one day soon, you’re going to realize that for yourself. Everyone will.”
    The king didn’t answer. Not when Casey turned anddisappeared through the door. Not when Callia grabbed her bag and followed. But as she reached the threshold, Callia was almost sure she heard the old ándras mumble, “I hope you’re right. And for all our sakes, I hope this motivates her to finally prove me wrong.”

Chapter Two
    Zander was bloody and bruised. He took a punch to the kidneys that nearly sent him to his knees, but he didn’t fall. If anything, it steeled his resolve. He whipped toward the daemon at his back and plunged his parazonium deep into the unholy’s chest. “Eat that, you piece of shit.”
    A roar erupted from the beast. It fell back, a loud sucking sound echoing as the blade exited its body. But before Zander could swing the blade out and to the side to decapitate the monster and send its soul to Hades for good, another jumped on his back and sank its fangs deep into his shoulder.
    He hollered as blinding pain shot to his skull. Somehow he managed to twist and throw the beast off. He saw only red as he kicked, punched, swung his dagger right and left. Blood spurted, hit him in the eyes to run down his face. His back ached, his lungs burned. His shoulder was on fire where the beast had ripped through his jacket, tore open flesh and shredded muscle. But he didn’t stop, didn’t call out for help. This was exactly what he wanted. Adrenaline zipped through his veins, blending with years of pent-up rage as his arm arced out again and he took down another daemon. “Come on!” he yelled. “Is that all you’ve got!”
    The two he’d sent to the ground seconds before charged again from different angles. His blade was a blur as he fought them back. From the corner of his eye he saw the others were gearing up for the next round. He was holding his own, but he wasn’t going to win this. Not six against one.
    “Zander! We have to leave. Now!” Titus jumped into the fracas then, his sword whipping through air and flesh, decimating right and left. Zander heard shouts and screams,grunts and the crack of fist against bone. Dammit, he had mere seconds before Titus changed the tide. And he hadn’t taken enough damage yet.
    The rage built deep in his chest—as it always did. And that’s when it hit him. Just as he sent two of the uglies to the ground. The solution. Smack in the center of the forehead.
    Stop fighting.
    Titus could hold his own. They weren’t