62
The sun began its daily descent, bringing with it a cool breeze. The scent of death and decay assaulted my nostrils, and I gagged, doubling over. My shoulder screamed in protest. “Breathe through your mouth,”
Rokath told me gently.
I nodded, swallowing down the nausea and steeling my spine. “How are we going to get out of here?”
The Angels were long gone now, which made it safe to speak aloud and plot our next move.
Rokath glanced at his staked hands, and my heart twinged. He’d done all of this, suffered for hours, pinned in place, for me. I almost couldn’t believe it, but when he returned his attention to me, I felt his love for me. That he would do it all over again if he had to.
“Do you think you can free your hands?” he asked.
“I dislocated my shoulder again, so I think I can work it back around while it’s out of place,”
I sighed, bringing my knees closer to my chest. At least they’d only tied around my shoulders and not wrapped my hands behind the pole too. Still, this would hurt.
Anger flared down our bond, and Rokath’s eyes darkened in the slits in his ebony-horned helmet. “I’m so sorry, little imposter. I should have prepared you better. Because of me, you’re hurt again.”
I offered him a soft, mischievous smile. “Is the great Halálhívó really apologizing for me being hurt? Who would have thought he had it in him.”
“No one, including him,”
he told me, sincerity lacing his tone. Rokath had changed so much since our eyes collided and the mate bond seared into place between our shoulder blades.
His temper was still an inferno waiting to be unleashed. He still had sharp edges, especially when it came to events from his past, but he’d shown me how tenderly he could care for me. How worlds-shattering coupling with him was. How he would protect me at all costs.
How he loved me.
How he chose me, above all others. Above the one thing he had desired most in this world.
His actions said more than his words ever had.
Gritting my teeth, I slipped my hands beneath my ass and feet, bringing my hands in front of me. “Agh!”
I cried out as agony laced down my arm and around my shoulder like a crackle of lightning.
“Assyria, you don’t have to, I’ll find–”
I shook my head. “No, I’ve got this.”
Dragging in a serrated breath, I waited a moment for the pain to subside. Then, I shimmied, scrunching down and trying to push the rope higher on my chest. Eventually it reached my neck, and with some creative maneuvering, I slipped out from beneath it.
Rising, I sank my molars into the knot of rope on my wrists and tugged. They fell away, revealing the silver cuffs still suppressing my magic.
I have to get these off.
But first, I needed to help Rokath.
I raced to his side, studying the silver. “I don’t know how to remove them without damaging my hands,”
he sighed, a heavy sound that rumbled from somewhere deep within him.
“It’s certainly to your benefit that I lived on a farm and used stakes all the time,”
I quipped, straightening. “I’ll be right back.”
“Careful,”
he called out as I leaped from the platform. A smile spread across my cheeks. Now that we’d admitted our feelings, he was softening even more for me. Down the bond, his anxiety was palpable as I strode into the remnants of the Angel’s camp looking for something I could use to free his hands.
Finally, I found an iron bar with a forked tongue, almost like the snake that had bitten me. I snatched it and raced back to Rokath. Taking the steps two at a time, I ascended the platform, bare feet padding lightly over to him.
“This will probably hurt.”
He nodded and braced himself. Kneeling, I hooked the fork beneath the head of the stake. “Three, two–”
I jerked upward, ripping the first free.
“Fucking Fates,”
Rokath cursed, sucking in a breath. “You could have waited for one.”
“It was much more fun to catch you off guard,”
I grinned, moving to his other hand. I didn’t bother giving him a countdown this time, just levered the tool the moment it was secured.
He hissed before rocking backward onto his rear and rolling his shoulders. Blood poured from his wounds, but I didn’t care as I launched myself into his arms. With one forceful tug, I ripped his helmet off and tossed it to the side. He didn’t even look in its direction as I cupped his face.
“Rokath,”
I whimpered, and he gripped my waist and tugged me into his lap. The pain that speared through his palms stuttered out the moment our lips crashed like two thunderclouds. Teeth and tongue battled for control as we lost ourselves in the desperate, passionate kiss.
“Fuck, Assyria, I love you. I need you. I want you,”
he spoke into my mind, unable to break apart from me to say the words.
Breathless, I ended our kiss. “And I love you, Rokath,”
I murmured back. I needed him to hear the words spilling from my lips.
He rested his forehead against mine. Those riotous burgundy eyes opened, revealing the depths of his soul. “I mean it, Assyria. I love you. I don’t say that lightly. Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever said it to anyone other than you.”
“So you don’t hate that the Weaver made us mates?”
I whispered, searching him for any hint of deception.
“Do you?”
he murmured, rolling his hips into mine. “When we fit so perfectly together. When you challenge me so brazenly. When you give me your fire. When we make each other feel alive.”
“I don’t,”
I said, lashes fluttering against my cheeks as the hot sensation at my core traveled up my spine.
He kissed me again, his beard scratching against my face, his peppery, spicy scent filling my nostrils. He was so masculine, so Rokath. I didn’t want him to stop holding me, but I knew his palms hurt.
I shoved at his chest with a little giggle. “We have to take care of these,”
I reached behind me, wincing as my shoulder twinged in pain, and grabbed his wrists, “so you can win a war for us.”
A sadness swept through me as I examined the holes, profusely bleeding now. Then, I tore strips from the bottom of this fucking blue dress and wrapped them gingerly around both palms. His white teeth flashed as he clenched them around the agony of my touch. “It’s almost like our scars match,”
I said, lifting my gaze and hoping to distract him from the torment.
Rokath’s attention flashed to the H’s carved in my wrists. Then, he offered me a salacious grin. “Would you like to brand yourself on me, little imposter?”
A single eyebrow rose as shock raced through me. “How?”
I couldn’t deny the allure of it, and our bond seemed to agree with the excitement that stretched across it.
“Under my ribs, I keep a silver knife. Carve an A into my wrists,”
he said, lifting his arm to allow me access to the hidden pocket.
Tentatively, I reached for it. When my fingers brushed against him, fire spread through the tips of them. Our bond hummed even as I withdrew.
Rokath turned his wrists over for me, then held them out like an offering.
A war of emotions tumbled within me. As much as I liked the idea of everyone seeing he belonged to me, I didn’t want to hurt him further. He’d suffered enough today, was still suffering and unable to move his fingers. “I don’t want to hurt you,”
I finally murmured.
“You won’t,”
he assured me, holding steady.
Dragging in a breath, I nodded. A slight tremble shook my hands as I poised the tip of the silver blade over his skin. He didn’t even flinch as I dragged it, carving the first letter of my name there. Then, I repeated the motion on the other side. Thin, red lines of blood welled and without hesitation, I brought my lips to them and kissed.
When I licked, a groan rumbled from the back of Rokath’s throat. “Little imposter, as much as I want to fuck you right now, we really need to get moving.”
A small laugh escaped me, and I pressed my tongue harder into the other wrist. “Promise me we’ll never stop this.”
“Stop what?”
he said, snatching my waist. He kept his hands immoble and used his forearm to direct me over his hips, letting me feel how much he wanted me.
“This back and forth.”
I swept the backs of my fingers through his beard and traced the tattoo arcing up his temple.
“Never, little imposter. I want your sharp tongue.”
He tilted his head into my palm and kissed it before he turned his attention to my shackled wrists. “I will break these off of you now.”
I rose, allowing him space to stand. He did, with a stiffness I hadn’t seen in him before. He towered over me, and I had to crane my neck to look up at him. He curled down and kissed me gently.
When he pulled away, he looped an arm over my shoulders and directed us to a bench off to one side. “Rest your wrist across this so I can smash the silver,”
he told me. “And give me the blade.”
Swallowing, I did, and he barked a curse as he attempted to close his fingers around it. “Let me,”
I offered, but he shook his head.
“I want to do it,”
he sighed, a mix of emotion tumbling down our bond.
So I settled my wrist on the bench and waited for him to kneel across from me. “Did you really come with weapons after they told you not to?”
His heavy regard settled on me, and he raised a single brow. “Do I look stupid? Of course I had hidden weapons. There’s no time when I do not.”
“I can think of some times,”
I giggled, trying to distract myself and Rokath from the anticipation of more pain.
Rokath flipped the dagger in his hand until the hard base of it hovered over the silver. “Do those times involve me being naked?”
“Yes,”
I said, batting my lashes.
Without warning, he slammed the hilt down, and the silver cracked. Air whooshed out of me, but there was no pain—at least from me. Rokath still hurt, despite his innate healing power kicking in.
“I’m still carrying a weapon then.”
Without so much as a laugh or a smile, he grabbed my other wrist and brought it forward.
A laugh burst from me unbidden. “Was that another joke?” I teased.
His attention slid slowly to me. “It was a statement of fact.”
I pressed my lips together to smother a smile when he broke the second bangle. My shadows swirled to life again, and I sighed as they wrapped me in relief. “That feels so much better.”
“First time having your magic suppressed?”
he asked me, helping me to my feet.
“Yes,”
I told him, then glanced around. Only a hint of light remained on the bloody flats, and they were eerily quiet.
“Where are Grem and Zeec?”
I asked, heart suddenly leaping into my throat.
I’d grown attached to the two of them, and we’d already lost so much. I didn’t want to lose them too. A sick feeling swept through me. What if by telling Rokath I loved him, I’d doomed the dogs to die?
“I left them behind at the camp,”
Rokath said. “And, no, Assyria, you are not cursed. We are blessed. It’s safe for you to surrender that belief. Trust in the Fates, trust in me.”
Then, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.
“Okay,”
I murmured as he stepped away. He strode to his helmet and tucked it under his arm. Then, his black, membranous wings sprouted from his back. “Do you have enough magic to fly or do you need me to carry you?”
In the fading light, Rokath looked like a dark God. His thick brows dipped over his burning burgundy eyes, and his lips curled back from his teeth, revealing the severely sharp points. His expression hardened as he took in more of our surroundings. More of the dead.
“I can fly,”
I told him, calling out my wings. I was weak all around, from the silver, from not eating or drinking for a day. From the emotional toll it had all taken.
But I sucked in a breath and forced myself into the sky. I was strong, and I knew how to endure. Together, we flew over the sea of twisted bodies. I tried not to look down. It was bad enough watching how viciously the Angels had slaughtered them all as I broadcast it to Rokath.
Silence greeted us as we landed at the camp. The healers lay over their patients, left to die with the rest of them. Crates spilled their contents in all directions, and flies buzzed, along with a few stray vultures.
Rokath released a sharp whistle. I held my breath, waiting for a bark or a whine from Grem and Zeec.
Fates, please don’t let them be dead too.
And Blaeze. I needed them all.
A moment passed. Then another. They felt like a lifetime.
Rokath called them by name. I fidgeted my fingers, then realized I didn’t have my mother’s ring anymore.
“It’s in my tent,”
Rokath sighed, obviously reading my thoughts again. “Let’s go there. Maybe Grem and Zeec ran off from it.”
We hurried through the camp, and I tried not to look into the faces of the bodies lining every alley. The center of camp was deserted as we jogged into it, and even the banners hung limply against their poles.
“Grem! Zeec!”
I called out, hoping the dogs were nearby.
Rokath and I shared a look, his forehead creased with worry. “We’ll find them,”
he assured me, though I don’t know if his words were meant more for me or him.
And then, a low, long sound pricked my ears. “Shh!”
I told Rokath, spinning around. We held our breath and listened again. The whine reached us a moment later, and we sprinted toward it. Around the corner, Zeec flopped on his side while Grem sat at his head, nudging his brother with his nose.
“Oh thank the Weaver,”
I breathed, racing to them. At least we had one small victory today. Zeec’s breaths were shallow, and when my knees smashed to the ground beside him, the blood coating his dark fur became evident.
“He’s injured,”
I said to Rokath. Then, I looked beyond them, at a group of five Angels with their throats ripped out. Another victory for the Demons. Yet the scales were decidedly tipped against us with the loss of the fifty thousand.
“Good boys,”
I cooed anyway, giving Grem a scratch behind the ears. Zeec’s tail thumped against the ground.
“I’ll carry him to the healer’s tent,”
Rokath murmured, and I scooted aside so he could scoop Zeec into his arms. Grem trotted dutifully alongside us as we wound our way out again.
As we reached them, Rokath paused, studying the carnage. Then, he sighed. “Shove some bodies off a table. I’ll need a place to set him down to work.”
I frowned but did as he asked, cringing as the chilling bodies smacked against the ground. Then, Rokath and I set to work, cleaning Zeec’s wound. The stab mark was shallow but long, and Rokath moved slowly, insisting he help despite his own injuries. My shoulder ached as I blotted the blood and threaded a needle to stitch him up. Rokath strode off, returning with a half-empty bottle of pium.
“Is this enough for him?”
I asked Rokath quietly.
“It will have to be,”
he replied.
“Take some for yourself first,”
I pleaded, looking pointedly at his hands.
Resigned, he nodded, and I uncorked the bottle for him. He tipped a few drops onto his tongue. Then he walked me through how to weave the thread through Zeec’s skin. Grem sat beside us, his attention solely focused on his brother. I stroked his head while Rokath worked a more difficult section. Then, he offered Zeec the last of the vial.
The brave hound released a humph, then licked Rokath’s hand before closing his eyes. “He wanted to share more with you,”
I choked out, tears welling in my eyes.
“He’s a good, loyal dog,”
Rokath growled, tugging on Zeec’s ears the way he liked.
The vise around my chest loosened when his breathing evened out, growing deeper and deeper. “He’s going to be okay,”
I whispered, and Grem released a sharp bark, paws flattening on the tabletop so he could nudge Zeec again.
“Zeec needs to rest, but he’ll stay here because I told him to. Isn’t that right?”
Rokath asked him, sending his tail thumping again.
Then, Rokath looked at me.
“What now?”
I asked, circling the table and flattened my palms on the armor across his chest.
“Now, we burn them,”
he said, gesturing around. “It’s the least I can do. They gave their lives for me.”
His throat worked before he gritted his teeth and shook his head.
And me.
I stepped back, raking my attention from the bodies around us to the ones no longer visible as night fell. “You didn’t have to sacrifice them, you know. I know how much this meant to you.”
Rokath snatched my arm and forced me closer again. “You mean more, mate.”
Tears burned the back of my eyes. Mate. Somehow, the gravelly way Rokath’s voice rolled over the word was even better than him telling me he loved me. Of all the years I’d dreamed of having a mate, I’d never imagined anything close to what I shared with Rokath. Sure, the male I’d imagined would have dug in a garden with me, not let society’s rule affect me as much as he could, and probably been worlds nicer to me than Rokath had been at first.
Yet his devotion would never have run as deep as Rokath’s did now.
The way Rokath ran the backs of his knuckles across my cheek spoke volumes.
“The road ahead is not going to be an easy one, Assyria. I need all your help and support. You are smart, you are brave, you are strong. All qualities we could use in the army. Will you help me create the female unit?”
My jaw dropped, and for a moment, I could only blink at Rokath. Was he really asking this of me or was infection setting in on his wound? I’d pushed him to see me, to see other females as equal. I’d loved my time acting as Vezet?, but to help Rokath create an entire section of his army from scratch was an enormous task. And a testament to how much Rokath had grown since we were forcibly mated.
I threw myself into his arms, nearly knocking him off balance. He swayed for a moment before he wrapped me up and lifted me off the ground. “Do you mean it? Really?”
A true, unguarded smile twisted his lips. “Yes, really. It’s time to make some alterations to Demon society. If we want to take on the Angels we’re going to need everyone we can get. Today was a huge loss.”
His tone turned somber as he stole a glance at all the slain soldiers.
He wasn’t wrong. Love had triumphed, but the Demons had not. Another wave of death like this, after the plague had swept through too, would hinder the war effort immensely, and possibly for years to come.
But what was devotion without sacrifice? And victory without pain? When we prevailed, it would be all the more sweeter for the effort we put into it.
As for Rokath and me? We balanced on the edge of love and hate, the tip of pain and pleasure, the cusp of right and wrong.
Rokath would do anything for me, and I would do anything for him.
“We’ll come back from it, twice as strong,”
I swore, flattening my palms across his black armor. He set me on the ground again, and I tilted my head to look up at him. His riotous burgundy eyes tumbled with anger, pain, and fear. Yet determination set his jaw in a hard line.
“Yes we will, little imposter,”
he growled. “Let’s finish here so we can finish them there.”
He jerked his head in the direction of the salt flat and beyond, where the Angels marched toward Trol and Rapp’s portions of the army.
Squaring my shoulders, I nodded. Then, Rokath led us through camp while we searched for wood for fires. Together, we threaded our magic around the beams and made pile after pile, all to give the soldiers a proper sendoff into their next lives.
As the flames rose, crackling into the pitch black sky, so too did our resolve to seek vengeance of our own.