We climbed the stairs without incident, ending on the second floor before a landing barred by a locked door.

Peleus beat against the wood. “It’s Marcus,” he said, despite the fact that Parthenia stood carefully mute beside him. “Open up.”

No one bothered to answer.

“Do you think the guard downstairs had a key?”

I ran an eye over the surface of the wood. “There’s no keyhole.”

But Peleus’ eyes widened. He jerked his hand away from the door with a hiss. “There’s something off about this. It feels . . . wrong.”

I laid my palm against the wood and the surrounding Ether trembled. “That’s because it’s warded.”

“Damn,” Parthenia said. “Warded how?”

“Well, it could respond to a certain object or person. Maybe it only opens for Imperials. Dacian, do you think—” I turned to find the lupine male gone.

Then, from the floor below, came a wet, fleshy sound, followed by an echoing crack.

Peleus and I shared a glance. “Surely he isn’t—”

Peleus rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding? Of course, he is.”

He reappeared a moment later. With the Imperial’s severed hand held high in his own.

Blood trailed his steps as he crossed the room. With a wet splat, he smacked the hand to the door. A low groaning click, and it swung open to reveal a half dozen Dorians sitting around a wooden table on the other side, tankards of ale and dice scattered across the surface.

Their eyes lifted to us as one and there was a long moment of shocked silence. Then, slowly, every eye slid to the severed, bleeding limb Dacian still held in the air. Blood dripped onto the floor in fat, heavy drops.

“Remember what I said about keeping this quiet?” I asked.

“Yes,” Parthenia answered, eyes on the Dorian’s as the first one stood.

Hands started reaching for weapons. “Well, it’s time for Plan B.”

“There’s a Plan B?” she asked.

Peleus scoffed. “There’s always a Plan B.”

Dacian only smiled, his long canines extending over his lips. “Plan B? I thought you’d never ask.”

What happened next had Parthenia paling, then gagging. She lost control over her magic altogether, as she lost her dinner all over the stone floor. Her features shifted back into her own. When she straightened, dragging a hand across her mouth, it was over.

Dacian sat on the floor, wagging his massive tail. Blood and bits of flesh clung to his long muzzle, his wolfish lips spread in what might have been a smile.

Peleus moved through the chamber, ending any of the unfortunate masses of flesh that still lived.

“Wha . . . What is he?” Parthenia stuttered.

“By Zeus’s cock, Dacian!” Peleus cursed. “There are huge pieces of them missing. How many times have I told you not to eat them? You are going to have a terrible bellyache when you shift back. Vomiting, shits, the whole deal!”

Dacian’s wolfish grin widened

Parthenia’s skin turned even greener.

“He is an Arcadian, little spy,” I explained. “A shifter, much like yourself. His forbears were cursed with this form. But as you can see . . . neither Dacian nor any of his people seem to view their ability as anything but a gift.”

“But he eats people.”

I shrugged. “Only those who deserve it.”

She shook her head, some of the color returning to her face. “You all are mad. All of you.”

Peleus pierced the last half-dead, half-eaten soldier through the heart. The male groaned, then died. Peleus flicked the blood from his sword and smiled up at Nerina. “Oh, you like us. You know you do.”

She smiled back.

But then, the stone whispered to me, death’s shadow moving in close. I held up a silencing hand. And then I heard it; booted steps, coming in fast. “We’re about the have company.”

The color Parthenia had regained faded. I took her by the shoulder. “You killed a monster worse than any Imperial in the Trials. Think you can do it again?”

I delved down, past my power, past the very bedrock beneath our feet. Flaming drops of the Phlegethon shimmered a hot blue in the air around us.

Parthenia’s grin turned wicked, her green cat eyes reflecting the undulating fire. “For Aurora, I’ll roast anyone who looks at me sideways.”

I pulled the twin blades free from their sheathes down my spine. “Good girl.”

And then, we went to work.

Dacian waited at the base of the next stairwell. As soon as the Dorians began their descent, he bowed low over his forelimbs and sprang into action.

Peleus followed close on his heels.

Bodies tumbled down the stairs.

I rallied my power, waiting for Peleus and Dacian to reach the next landing safely, and followed. My power rushed forward as Parthenia and I made our way up the stairs, searching for anything with Dorian blood.

We reached the next floor in time to see Dacian fly through the air. He took two Imperials down as he landed. One massive claw shredded through leather and flesh, ripping open a male’s abdomen. Ropey entrails spilled onto the bloodied stone. His powerful jaw encircled the second male’s throat, opening his jugular in a great spurt of brilliant red.

Behind him, Peleus battled two guards. Steel sang as blades clashed.

My power found his opponents. One fell dead, the other went to a knee. Peleus finished him with one backhanded slash.

To my side, an agonized scream rent the air. The smell of burnt flesh filled the room, and for a moment, I was back in the Second Trial. I didn’t need to look at Parthenia to know she wielded the Phlegethon as well as we three wielded our blades.

We took a moment to catch our breath. Dacian sat impatiently, his fur more crimson than its natural tawny shade.

Then it was time to climb the next set of stairs.

Death flew from my fingertips, climbing the staircase in black, shimmering night. I let it linger on the next floor, weakening the soldiers there. When the power faded back into the Ether we rushed to finish them. The first male I met staggered towards me. I didn’t let him hit the floor. Not until both my blades were embedded in his chest.

On and on it went. Dacian ripped open Imperial after Imperial as I sent wave after wave of power through their ranks. Any who made it past us, Peleus caught. Parthenia shored up the rear, a wall of flaming water blocking the Dorians from escape.

Finally, after three stories of fighting, the torrent ended. The door to the sixth floor stood open, unguarded. We entered the chamber to find it lined with cells. A narrow walkway cut through to the next staircase. Then there was only one more floor separating us from Aurora’s prison.

A group of Dorians stood before us, on the opposite end of the room, each of them stronger than the last. Their pupils had swallowed the blue of their eyes, veins throbbing at each male’s throat and temple. These were true, strong God-Blooded warriors. And all four were deep in the clutches of their Bloodlust.

A thrill ran through me. It wasn’t the foot soldiers I’d been itching to end; it was males like these before me, who took and took and took from the world until there was nothing left to conquer—until they sat in gilded luxury while everyone weaker toiled beneath the lash.

Parthenia stepped forward and faced them at my side. Her features were still her own. The stolen Dorian cuirass hung so loose on her to be almost comical. It might have been, were it not for the blood that speckled her face like crimson freckles or the scent of burnt flesh clinging to her red-orange braid. And the look in her moss-green eyes . . . If she’d been born a Gorgon, the Dorians would have turned to stone. But she didn’t need cursed eyes to kill. Around her, the Phlegethon flamed, casting the chamber in an eerie glow.

I imagined what memories the Dorian line before her must have conjured: her parents slaughtered, her life a series of owners, each perhaps more creative in their cruelty than the last. I knew what facing them like this meant.

“On your order,” I told her with a nod—recognition, despite our rough beginning, of what she’d faced. “We kill on your order.”

Parthenia’s answering grin was sharp as steel.

The flames rushed forward in a tidal wave, engulfing the first three males lined up in defensive positions before us. One fell to the ground and beat at his arms in a desperate, useless effort to kill the flames. Another crashed into the bars of the cell, clawing at the burning skin of his face. The last, wiser than the others, grabbed his cloak and pulled it over him to smother the fire. Dacian reached him before he could succeed. He leapt over the flaming body between them, his massive jaws tearing through fabric and flesh.

Dacian staggered back from his kill, a growl low in his chest as he eyed the remaining Imperials. Parthenia called back some of the flaming water, creating a gap just large enough to press through.

Dacian led the charge. A massive paw swiped the helmet from a male’s head. His nose and cheek became nothing but a red, dripping mass.

Then it was my turn.

One Dorian—taller than those around him, eyes black with the strength of his Bloodlust—eyed me. Peleus’ blade came for him, but he sidestepped, allowing the steel to bury in another soldier’s back.

I sent the smallest tendril of power toward him, curious to know what the drop of life I stole would tell me. Surprise widened my smile. God-Blooded, indeed. Unlike many of the Dorians we had faced, this one was a true half-god.

“Tell me,” I said, flipping a Stygian blade end over end, “who bore you?”

His lips pulled back from his teeth; his jaw held tight enough to crack as his eyes watched my movements. “Care to guess, son of Hades?”

“Certainly not the goddess of wisdom, if you are itching to face me.”

He moved.

Blades clashed, his strike powerful but reckless. He spun away, lashing out with Imperial steel. I parried. Then his eyes darted over my shoulder.

Too late, I turned.

Another Dorian came in low. His dagger angled upward. It drove into the strip of skin that was unprotected beneath my arm. Wet warmth trickled down my side and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

But then a mighty roar tore through the air and Dacian was on him, ripping the male away from me with his powerful jaws. He shook the male’s neck like a dog with a favorite toy until a crack sounded. The Dorian went loose and still.

I took a deep breath, past the pain, and turned back to the half-god who watched in frozen horror as Dacian tore apart his ally.

I was done with games. Death struck and the Dorian—a son of the goddess of insolence, Hybris, as I knew from the moment my power touched him—staggered. My right arm weakened by the wound, I drew my left blade across his throat with a single backhanded slash.

Then it was over. I sheathed one of my blades and pressed a hand firmly to the wound to staunch the bleeding. Peleus held a torn piece of fabric to his bicep, blood running in thick rivulets down his arm. Dacian was covered in blood and other things I didn’t want to examine too closely, though how much of the crimson that stained his fur belonged to him was impossible to tell. My eyes shot to Parthenia. She bent over a burnt corpse, hands on her knees as she took wracking breaths, but she seemed unhurt.

Tafari would probably have our balls if we brought her back with so much as a scratch.

But then, the scent of brine suddenly cut over the smells of death. I sensed him: the wild recklessness of the storm-wracked sea with a kiss of the unpredictable, violent ire of battle. But Lux wasn’t the sum of his powers. He had learned through hard work and harder won discipline what his cousin never could—to be more than the Bloodlust in his veins. But even though I’d told Peleus and Dacian he deserved our trust, when I turned back to the stairwell, my doubt was a heavy weight.

“He is coming,” I warned my friends, “and he isn’t alone.”

Four more Dorians rushed down the stairs, all of them just as strong as the son of Hybris I’d just killed. Behind them, Lux slowly descended. He was dressed in fire gilded armor, a match to Varian’s own set. It glimmered a silvery gold in the blue light of the Phlegethon. He held a drawn sword in one hand, a dagger in the other. His blue eyes were cold as they moved over the gore at our feet. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised you’ve come for her,” Lux drawled, a cruel smile twisting his full lips. “But it’s a shame the four of you will have to die.”