Revenge of the Broken Soul: Vows of Blood and Fire
The very thing they’d been forced to fight for, like dogs scrambling for scraps under their mother’s table.
He leaned down, blood dripping from his chin, his fingers closing around the invitation with a calm, final certainty.
“I win,” he said quietly, lifting it up for all to see. “He can’t make it.”
He turned and looked at Jaxon—his brother now slumped against the wall of the arena, one arm hanging limp, chest heaving with shallow breaths, sweat and blood soaking through his shirt.
“Just look at your favorite son,” Dorian continued, his voice sharpened by exhaustion and contempt. “He’s barely breathing.”
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