October 25th, 19:00, Bristol, England.

Two years, four months and five days after the apocalypse. 

Private June Springborn’s fist slammed into the side of the demon’s face with a satisfying crunch. The beast grunted as she stepped back to inspect the nightmare. Skin the colour of the night sky, patterned with veins of brightest red, like molten lava. The ember’s hands were chained to the chair behind his back, but he was big. It took iron to hold the commander of the Fifth Cohort of the Horde.

The demon let out a wet chuckle. “Not a bad hit.” He leaned over and spat black blood onto the stained concrete floor, then grinned at her. “For a mortal.”

June’s arms were aching, but worse, her bones felt heavy. The moon would be up soon. This close to the change, her temper was a brittle thing, as frayed as the rest of her, ready to shatter at a push.

“You should see what Corporal Sūn can do with a knife,” June replied. She glanced at the other woman in the room.

Corporal Kexin Sūn leant against the interrogation table. An apron, more grey than white, covered her army-issue pants and fleece. Even bleach couldn’t get the tar-coloured stains of demon blood out of polyester. She was tall, the same height as June, with a metabolism that burnt through fat and carbs, leaving only lean muscle. She hadn’t got out enough that summer and her golden skin was closer to cream as she twirled a scalpel between her fingers, regarding June with a tense expression. There were twenty minutes before she needed to go, but it was clear Kexin was worried.

“Graygen,” June said, testing the word. “Am I saying that right?” 

She pulled a chair over and twisted it round so she sat facing him. They were close enough that if his hands weren’t chained, he could grab her.

“As well as any mortal can speak the ancient tongue.” His red eyes glowed with malevolence, his gaze moving across her throat, her stomach, her knees, thinking of all the ways he could rip her apart.

It teased at the rage inside her, picking the strands of her temper loose like a stuck knot. The beast inside her wanted to strike first, kill him before he could kill her. June took a deep breath. She was in control. The demon was a prisoner chained to a chair—a prisoner that they needed information from.

“I feel like we got off to a bad start. I’m Private June Springborn of the Last Battalion of the British Army, and you are Graygen, Commander of the Fifth Cohort of the Horde of Hell. And of course, we’re natural enemies,” June said. “But I don’t think this interrogation is going the way either of us wants it to.”

He bared his teeth at her. “I want to rip out your liver and feed it to a kalzar.”

June glanced over at Kexin. “It’s a small rodent native to hell that feeds on organ meat,” the other woman explained.

June grimaced. “And I don’t want that.” She slung an arm over the back of her chair, settling into the seat.

Graygen said nothing, but his eyes narrowed.

“I’m going to politely ask you to explain to me everything you know about the entrances to the court of the demon Arkkawn.” June rolled her right shoulder to loosen it.

“His Majesty, Arkkawn, King of Hell and Britain,” Graygen corrected.

Time stretched in the interrogation room like a shadow at sunset as June waited for the demon to continue. Time to hear the ticking of the clock, time for the cold to settle under her skin like an itch, time to realise that she could hear the thump of Kexin’s steady heartbeat and the slower, calmer thump of the demon’s ancient organs as her hearing sharpened. Enough time passed for the ache in her knuckles to intensify. It was enough time for the rage inside her to rise to the surface. Her right hand curled into a fist. She’d worked so hard for this. Two months in the field. A long, slow operation that had culminated here, with a commander of the Horde under the scalpel. She had time, but not tonight. Tonight, she had minutes.

“I know one way,” Graygen said with a smile. “If you’re so desperate to see the court of our king, you can take the deal we offer mortals and become a Court Thrall. You can bow and serve and simper like all your miserable kind were meant to.”

June lifted a brow. “I didn’t know demons made jokes.”

The beast shook his head. “A joke, no. I think you’re a pathetic inferior creature, barely worthy of a name. When I get out of these chains, I’ll snap your neck and then spend hours playing with Corporal Sūn. I’ll break every bone in her body and lick the blood—”

Crack!

June’s fist flattened his nose, leaving a burst of blood behind, her knuckles hot with it. Nothing compared to the fire of her rage. Every beat of her heart sent a spike of pain through her temples. She gripped his shoulder, using the leverage to drive her fist into his chest, one of his ancient ribs letting out another satisfying crack.

“Say her name again, and I’ll kill you,” June snarled, looming over the wheezing demon. It would be easy. Grab a knife and slice it through his neck till she hit bone. Her fingers twitched at the thought.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Graygen groaned through the black blood clogging his mouth. “She’s delicate. I should…”

June’s vision went red, and she lunged for him, not even hearing his next words, not knowing what she was planning to do. Her hands hooked into claws as she bared her teeth. She’d tear him limb from limb.

Strong arms wrapped around her, pinning her own to her sides and hauling her away from the demon. Kexin was speaking into her ear, but her words were lost in the throb of June’s heartbeat rushing in her ears.

“I’ll kill you!” Spit flew from her mouth.

“Shh, shh.” Kexin’s breath puffed against her ear as she whispered. “Shhhh, June breathe. You’re too close to the change, breathe in, or you’ll trigger it early. Breathe or you’ll kill us all.”

Kexin was right—it was too close, she was too angry. June sucked in a breath, then another, slower, breathing in the scent of the other woman’s skin—black soap, spices from the mess hall, ground cinnamon, all of it so deeply familiar. The red faded, the throbbing in her head lessened, and Kexin carefully released her. June stumbled away, grabbing the edge of the interrogation table for support. She stared down at the implements. The rage was still hungry. It screamed for blood, for her to take a blade and drive it through the demon’s skull.

“Get out, June,” Kexin said. “You need to be under lockdown in the next five minutes. I’ll take care of this.”

June curled her fingers around the edge of the table, the metal biting into her hand. “He knows.” Her voice was lower, deeper.

“And I’ll get him to talk, or he’ll leave this room in pieces so small they can be flushed down the toilet,” Kexin promised. “But you need to go. I shouldn’t have let you stay this long. Moonrise is in less than an hour. You need to be under lockdown.” She pried June’s hand off the table. “Get out, June, now!”

The interrogation room door clicked open. June was busy staring at her hands, at nails that were lengthening, changing.

“Sergeant, get her out of here!” Kexin yelled.

“Goodbye, sacrifice.” The demon’s voice rang in her ears, too loud, too taunting.

June grabbed a long knife from the table and spun toward him. She’d slice until she found bone—

A sharp point of pain pierced her neck, followed by an unpleasant chill as cool liquid rushed from the needle into her veins. June stumbled, the room spinning. She took one more step towards the demon before the knife in her hand clattered to the floor. Kexin caught her mid-fall. Through blurry eyes, she saw Sergeant Joshua Williams in the doorway. He had a tranquilliser gun in his hand and a smile on his face.

“It’s time for bed, Killer.”

June’s world drifted between the darkness and the soft beep of a heart rate monitor.

“Are you prepared for the ritual?”

She didn’t recognise the voice. There was a mask over her face. She breathed air that felt heavy, tasted strange. She was so tired. She remembered driving, the driver behind her hitting her, and the car smashing into trees… Was she in an ambulance?

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” The second voice belonged to a younger man. “I just feel guilty.”

Everything was fuzzy, and June couldn’t feel her own body. Was she dead?

“Guilty?”

“About her,” he sounded lost. Blinking, she saw his face through blurring eyes. A mess of brown hair, sad blue eyes.  

She shivered. The floor tiles were freezing against her skin.

“It’s her fate,” the man cleared his throat. His voice was lower, older. “It’s what she was born for. The augur is certain she’s the one.”

It didn’t sound like a good thing to be the one.

The haze of the tranquilliser made it hard to open her eyes, but before long, the cold became impossible to ignore. The first thing June remembered was that she was angry.

She brushed wayward hair out of her face. Her scrunchie hadn’t made it through the change, and that annoyed her more than her shredded clothes lying in the corner. That scrunchie had survived the apocalypse. Now it was just one more piece of a lost home she’d never get back. Gritting her teeth, she tried to rub some warmth into her bare arms.

“They could at least have turned the heating on,” she grumbled. The holding cell was frigid, but there was no point putting a blanket in with her when the wolf would have shredded it.

She spent one night a month in this miserable cell and hated every inch. The single steel door was over a foot thick. Bolted shut from the outside. June stretched, the joints of her back popping into place. The glass of the two-way mirror was hurricane-proof.

The door screeched open a crack, shuddering across the concrete floor. It had never been smooth. Over the years the base had settled, throwing everything out of square. A bundle of cloth flew through the gap and hit her in the chest. June grabbed it, unfolding the drab army-issue jumpsuit—and nothing else.

“No underwear?”

“I wasn’t going to rifle through your knicker drawer.” It wasn’t the voice she’d expected—it was Corporal Emily Hurst.

June pulled the jumpsuit on, glancing one last time at her shredded clothes. She’d liked those combats—so many pockets for weapons. “Where’s Josh?”

“The sergeant isn’t feeling too well.” Hurst’s disapproval was thick in her voice. “He and Michels had too much whisky last night.”

June zipped up the jumpsuit and slid into the hallway, pushing the heavy door closed behind her. There were a few claw-shaped dents in it, but it held. Taking a deep breath, she forced her annoyance away, fixing Hurst with a tired smile.

“Everyone needs a night off once in a while,” June magnanimously decided. He’d saved her skin with that tranquilliser last night. “What time is it?”

 Hurst stared straight ahead as they made their way down the corridor. “It’s about nine—we didn’t realise Josh wasn’t up. Sorry about that.”

So she’d been waiting in the cold for three hours.

“I thought I was in there a while.” June flashed her a grin. She’d get Josh back another time. “Has Graygen cracked yet? What did Kexin get out of him?”

 “Kexin’s making you breakfast. She’ll tell you all about it.”

June’s stomach let out a low growl as she stared back down the long corridor. It wasn’t far to the interrogation room, and breakfast could wait.

“June.” Hurst pointed at the door, her expression stern. “Eat. She’s making you breakfast.”

June turned to face the kitchen. Kexin wasn’t just the interrogator—she was also the best cook on base.

June glanced at Hurst, who pointedly avoided her gaze. “Is she…?”

Hurst shook her head, lifting her hands. “Didn’t ask, don’t know, can’t say.”

It was smart—even June didn’t want to get in the middle of her and Kexin’s arguments, and she was one of the people involved in them. “Know what she’s making?”

“Omelettes.”

“Regular or—”

“Tornado.”

“Damn.” June hung her head. The angrier Kexin was, the more complex her cooking got—at least as complex as was possible with their limited rations.

Hurst awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Once more unto the breach.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Hurst gave her one last nod before she left.

June sighed. Last night had been a truce. Only grim necessity had forced the other woman to spend time with her. Music drifted from beneath the closed door, and as June opened it, the volume increased as a voice joined the blasting music.

“…to the green, green grass…” Kexin could sing. “Just take me back…”

Her apron had disappeared along with her fleece, but she was still wearing last night’s combats, June could tell by the smattering of black stains. Her white tank top revealed an intricate watercolour tattoo of an iris across her shoulder. Oil sizzled as Kexin worked the wok, a pair of chopsticks in her other hand. Her brow pinched in as she concentrated. She dipped the chopsticks into the soft eggs and began to deftly rotate the wok. June could have watched her for hours, but Kexin didn’t like people spying on her.

“Morning,” June said awkwardly from the doorway.

Kexin glanced her way, barely looking at her before spinning back to her eggs. 

“Morning,” she said, refocusing on the wok with a short gasp of irritation. “Nearly done. Have a seat.”

June slid onto a stool at the counter opposite the stove, waiting silently as she watched. Kexin turned the music down, and the awkwardness grew in volume to replace it.

“What did he say?” June asked as Kexin walked over with a steaming plate.

“Food first.” Kexin insisted.

She hesitated. Kexin looked like she was running on fumes and June didn’t have the strength to push her any further. A conical swirl of fluffy eggs rose from the centre of the plate like a miniature volcano. Kexin had tried and failed to teach June how to twist the eggs too many times. The omelette was so perfect she felt guilty eating it.

The eggs and cheese melted on her tongue, cooked through, but still so soft. She caught Kexin eyeing her closely for her reaction. June nodded as she chewed, hiding her smirk behind her hand as the other woman relaxed. She brushed a few strands of red-brown hair that had escaped from her bun off her face.

She set her fork down. “If you won’t talk about the interrogation…” Her heart fluttered in her chest like a butterfly kiss. Kexin hadn’t spoken to her in two weeks, and June wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. “Are we going to talk about… it?”

Kexin hopped off her stool and grabbed the wok from the stove, bringing it to the sink and beginning to scrub it. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

The rush of the tap water filled the air. June took another bite of the omelette. “That’s not healthy for a relationship.” She decided to push her luck. “You’re supposed to have open conversations and talk through issues…”

“Since when are you the expert on relationships?” Kexin asked. She shut the tap off and rested her hands on the sink. “Last I checked, you didn’t want to label things in case one of us died.”

June winced, the words of three months ago coming back to haunt her in the worst way. “I read a book,” she admitted. “It says that it’s important not to let things fester…”

“I thought we were burning the self-help books first to keep the furnace going.” Her back was still to June.

“We started with the religious texts, actually, since none of the Gods turned up.” June bit her lip. “The self-help books went to the toilet.”

Kexin pinched the bridge of her nose. “So you’ll dodge my questions when I want to talk about us. But when life advice is written on toilet paper, you’ll take note.” She turned round, folding her arms. “We don’t need to talk about our issues.”

“Kexin?” 

Why was it so hard to say things when she had so much to say?

“Nothing’s changed, June.” Kexin’s expression didn’t soften. “What happened, happened. You made your choice.”

 “Kexin, I was undercover. I had to make him talk.” She was so frustratingly stubborn that it made June want to grab her and shake her till she saw reason. “I had too.”

“You didn’t have to sleep with a demon,” Kexin snapped. “You chose to.”

June threw her hands up. “If I hadn’t, then we never would have known where to ambush Graygen!”

Kexin said nothing, her expression speaking worlds.

“I’m sorry.” June’s shoulders sagged. Thinking about that night sickened her. “You think I wanted to? I had to do it, for everyone…” The excuse felt hollow in her ears. “I did it for all of us.”

“There is no us.”

June slowly swallowed a mouthful of eggs, feeling sick. She pushed her fork through the delicate folds of the omelette, carving off another chunk and pushing it around her plate.

Kexin cursed under her breath. “Damn it, June, this isn’t the way I wanted to start this conversation.”

She froze. “What… What is it?”

Kexin was painfully silent.

“What?” June asked again.

 “I’m sorry.” She muttered.

June swallowed, preparing herself as dread filled every part of her. Whatever came next would be bad. “What happened?”

“I know what you thought you heard, but Graygen was a dud,” Kexin said. She settled back against the counter behind her. “He talked. He gave us everything on the pits, the layout of the access tunnels, patrol schedules… but he didn’t know a secret way into the court. You must have misheard him.”

Blood rushed in June’s ears as she bent the fork in her hand, feeling the metal bite into her palm.

“He knows,” June said. She pushed her chair back, her half-empty plate forgotten. “Let me talk to him.” She met Kexin’s eyes, drowning in the depths of them as desperation tightened her throat. “I can get it out of him…”

“I killed him.”

June stopped dead. “You—what?”

Kexin’s face was grim. “We burnt his body this morning at seven hundred hours. It’s done.”

June set the folded fork down gently, taking a moment to stifle her rage. “You promised.”

“Looks like you’re not the only one who breaks their promises.”

June tightened her fists, the leather of her gloves moulding around her grip. 

“Do we have to do this right now?” Josh asked. He looked half asleep still as his eyes darted across her face without meeting her gaze. “Don’t you have someone better to beat up?”

He didn’t know. “Why?” He should have been there. He should have stopped Kexin from going too far. “Not feeling too well?”

He let out a squeal as she jumped towards him, raising a fist.

“June!” He blocked the punch, bashing her hand aside.

She slipped sideways, spinning to kick his legs from under him as he jumped out of the way.

“Are you mad?” Josh stumbled backwards, falling into a fighting stance.

June bared her teeth at him. “Livid.”

“Because I forgot to let you out?” Despite his overindulgence the night before, he was steady on his feet as he eyed her over his guard. “Jesus, it was only a few hours.”

“Just shut up and let me punch you,” June growled, darting forward again.

“Not on your life!” He blocked her, catching her fist this time and holding it. His eyes narrowed as he peered at her face. “Unless this isn’t because I forgot to let you out?”

June yanked her fist free and jabbed him in the kidneys. He grunted, his cheeks puffing out like he was holding down vomit as he bent over.

“Arse,” he grunted. She might have hit him too hard. “How’s Kexin—forgiven you yet?”

June growled, rushing him and sweeping his leg after a feint. He let out a satisfying squeal as he fell. She followed him down, pressing his face against the mat.

“Yield, I yield,” he cried out. “Let me up, god, the smell!”

Body odour clung to the gym mats like gone off beef. June let him go with a grunt, stumbling back to her feet. The anger that had driven her subsided as she slumped, exhausted. She would have cried if that was something she could still do.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Josh apologised, pushing himself up. “It’s not going well then?”

June shook her head. “No. She won’t talk to me—and Graygen was a bust.” Squeezing her eyes closed, she forced the rage down. She’d been so sure. “Two months undercover, I—I—” She didn’t know who to be mad at. Probably herself.

June had given everything, her blood, sweat and even her dignity, to capture Graygen. She’d done things she’d sworn she’d never do, and it had all been for nothing. She’d thought she had nothing left to lose, but she’d been wrong.

“Shit June, I’m sorry.” Josh wiped his brow against the white sleeve of his t-shirt. “You’re going to be alright…?”

No. “Yeah.” She smiled bitterly.

“You can hit me some more,” Josh offered, spreading his arms wide. “If it helps?”

“It’s no fun if you don’t fight back.” June shrugged. “I’m fine.”

He passed her his water bottle, and she took a deep glug. As soon as the liquid touched her tongue, she realised how thirsty she was, finishing the bottle in three long gulps. She tossed it back, wiping the sweat off her face with her forearm.

“Yeah,” Josh blinked at her. “You seem like you’re peak June right now.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but she didn’t get a chance to reply.

“Private Springborn!”

June snapped to attention, pulling herself together. “General Secretary.” She snapped a salute, her back as straight as the other woman’s.

The General Secretary’s black hair was cropped short, hidden under a uniform hat as she regarded June with dark, stern eyes. “The general wants to speak with you—both of you.”

Josh sat straighter, his mouth splitting into a wide, cavalier grin. “Great, shall we go see what Daddy Dearest wants?”

The General Secretary shook her head, lips tight as she frowned at him. “Don’t call him that.”

“What else should I call him, Mother?” Josh rolled his eyes. “He’s still my father, even if he is the last standing general of the British Army. Aren’t you enjoying all the quality family time we’ve had together since the apocalypse?”

General William’s office was loud with the click and whir of the machines behind him. Dossiers were strewn across his desk, half open, with photographs peeking through. Faces of the dead and the living.

“Is this about the France mission?” Josh shifted in his chair; he could never sit still. “We haven’t discovered a way through the barrier. The Channel tunnel looked promising, but it’s flooded.”

The general wiped a hand over his mouth in disgust, messing the unwaxed strands of his moustache. “This isn’t about Europe.”

His brown jacket was buttoned up, starched, and pressed to show the crossed baton and sabre beneath a star and crown that decorated his lapel. Though his facial hair was long gone grey, he still had a full head of hair so dark brown it was almost black. He inspected the file before him through the reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose. June paid close attention to his reactions. The general always made her nervous.

“What is this about, General?” she asked.

His sage green eyes ran over her with a wary assessment. June wasn’t popular in the last corps. Despite two years of service, she hadn’t risen past the rank of private. No one wanted to report to a monster. She sometimes still wondered if they’d turn on her or put her down like a rabid dog. Better to be useful than dead.

“The druids have made contact,” he said.

It must have been hard for him, a retired Lieutenant-General of the British Army, pressed back into service when the armed forces were decimated. Creatures of myth and fairytale had replaced the hostiles he’d made a career fighting. Like everyone else, he’d had to adapt.

“They want to work together to raid the pits,” he said.

“Is it in our interest to free a bunch of monsters?” Josh asked.

June suppressed a flinch. The druids weren’t like demons. They’d been a part of this world before it all changed. But, weren’t all monsters the same to a human fighting against occupation and annihilation?

“The druids aren’t exactly friendly, but they aren’t hostile.” He grimaced. “The demons have captured the Archdruid’s daughter. In return for our aid in her rescue, they’ve finally agreed to work with us… You know what they say about your enemy’s enemy.”

Josh shook his head, slumping in his seat. “That they’ll turn on you if it suits their own ends.”

The general’s moustache twitched as his lips twisted in distaste.

“What do they need?” June asked. “And what are we getting in return?”

“They need humans, pure and mixed,” the general said. “To infiltrate the pits, take down the security, and free the girl. A druid can’t get through the gates when the demon’s systems are active.”

Human, mixed. That was June’s new classification. Like something she’d have to fill out on an NHS form before the health service collapsed. Ethnicity—White British, Species—Human Mixed.

“And in return?” June asked. “What do we get?”

The general opened a drawer, removed a tiny object, and set it on the desk.

“A bullet?” Josh asked, both eyebrows raising.

“Blessed bullets,” the general replied. “One shot through the chest is enough to kill the monsters. They’ve offered an unlimited supply as long as the druids are alive to produce them.”

June stared down at the bullet. Could it really do all that? To slay a demon, you had to immobilise it, cut out its heart, and burn the body. Even that was no guarantee with the more powerful ones.

Josh folded his arms, sitting back in his chair. “How do we know they’re not magic beans?”

“They’re not.” The general sounded certain, and June wished she could have seen the demonstration that convinced him. The only good demon was a dead one.

“So we infiltrate the pits then?” Josh asked. “How do we take down the network?”

The General looked over at her, his eyes hard. “We’ll need our bravest soldier in the pits, someone to create a distraction, whilst our demolitions team lay the charges in the sewers underneath Old Trafford.”

“By your ‘bravest’ soldier,” June found his point for him. “You mean the werewolf?”

The general steepled his fingers together as he regarded her unflinchingly. “I’m told the term mixed human is more polite.”

Josh caught her eye, shaking his head.

“I didn’t intend to offend your sensibilities, sir,” June replied.

The general tapped the dossier on the table. “We need to get ahead of the next round of arrests.” He glanced at his son. “You’ll need to make contact with our agent in the Manchester distribution centre. Griffin can get us names.”