38
Assyria sobbed for at least twenty minutes before she finally drifted off to sleep. I know, because I counted them, her agony as much a torture to me as it was to her. After waiting to ensure she wouldn’t wake again, I slipped into the darkness of my tent. Grem popped open an eye but didn’t move from his position with Assyria wrapped around him.
I was an asshole, but at least my dogs did something for her.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to deal with all of this. She felt everything so deeply, which meant I felt it all too. I heard her plans of escape earlier and nearly left the meeting to stop her. My attention had not been on my officers, but on her. Again.
I couldn’t get her out of my head, and I fucking hated it. She interfered with everything. And now, our bond begged me to curl myself around her and comfort her. And also fuck her into oblivion again. She didn’t have the protective masculine urges like I had, and although she thought we suffered the same, I suffered more.
The weight of millions of lives rested on my shoulders, for I was the only person standing between the horde of sycophantic Angels and the extermination of the Demon race. The Giver had blessed me with the power to call upon the dead for a reason.
I would do anything to save us all.
Fuck, she had no clue what I had done to earn the title of Halálhívó, what my father had forced me to do to become an officer in the first place. At least he died before I rose to lead the entire army. He would only claim that my success was because of him, when I fought for my position to spite the fucker. That was what the brother of the Kral decided would make him feel like he had some use in this world—his son grabbing power for himself since he would never be more than a spare. Kiira’s father was no better, so when Xannirin was ready to rule, I slaughtered them both like the pigs they were.
The leading killer of House Vrak wasn’t the Angels.
It was me.
The three brothers wouldn’t have protected the Demons like Xannirin, Kiira, and I did. I didn’t have an ounce of remorse for what I’d done either. I’d do it again, kill more, if I thought it would save us all.
This female sleeping in my bed put it all at risk.
And yet…
I stood here, every night, when insomnia visited me, watching her.
Memorizing her.
Craving her.
Why had the Weaver brought us together?
If only I could possess the answer to that question, all this angst might be worth it. Especially as I was beginning to wonder if it were merely the bond that dragged me in here. The mask she wore was similar to her magic, and beneath her fiery exterior was a deep pain. Perhaps even as deep as mine. Yet we dealt with it in two entirely different ways.
I locked my traumas so deep inside that they’d never find their way into the light again. She should learn to do the fucking same so I didn’t have to feel all the time. That flashback she’d had of her husband clawing at her, trying to hurt her still weighed heavily on my mind. At least I’d been able to yank her back from that abyss. I knew all too well how easy it was to fall into that darkness, for the dead to cling to the living though haunting memories.
Assyria’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, her bow-shaped lips parted ever so slightly. Those burgundy eyes were hidden under a curtain of dark lashes, and her long hair was braided back, as it always was. A small part of me wanted to see it unbound, cascading down her shoulders while she rode my cock. Another part wanted to wrap those thick locks around my fist and bow her back while I sank into her.
I couldn’t deny that she was beautiful and that I was attracted to her. But I couldn’t grow attached. No, that emotion was a dangerous one, one I’d never allow myself to feel again. That would only destroy everything I had worked for.
Because Assyria, in the wrong hands, was one thing.
A weapon.
And I couldn’t let the Angels disarm me.