My fingers twitched, and then I forced them into my lap.

“What I had to do to become the Halálhívó,” he started, then paused as if he was struggling with allowing the words past his lips. “What I had to do, to endure, was something no one should. You are too young to have known Xannirin’s father, the last Kral, and his two brothers.”

Dropping his hands, he hung his head, looking at the stained leather and not meeting my eyes. “I keep this as a reminder of what my father made me do. So on the days doubt creeps in, I can at least comfort myself with the fact that I am who I am in spite of him.”

His words reached between my ribs and gouged another wound into my heart. The vulnerability he offered me was something I never thought I’d see in him. If he was saying anything at all, it must have meant he was starting to trust me. First Kiira, then Rapp…

Could Rokath really be capable of emotional intimacy?

I was at a loss for what to say.

So, I ruined the moment because I didn’t know what else to do. “The mighty Halálhívó doubts himself? How scandalous.”

Then, he slashed his attention to me. “Overconfidence is just as dangerous as underconfidence, little imposter. Look what happened to you.”

An audible click sounded as I snapped my teeth shut. I couldn’t find an argument to throw back at him, so I huffed and flopped onto my back. The mattress was hard, and it should have sent a twinge of pain through my shoulder with how I landed. But the poppy had begun to take effect, and all I felt was bliss as I wiggled to make myself comfortable.

Silence stretched between us as Rokath climbed into the bed. Both of us rested on our backs with hands folded on our stomachs, hugging the edges so we weren’t forced to touch.

“I wear my mother’s ring as a reminder of the good times of my life,” I murmured, a heaviness settling over me and making it hard to properly form words. “I wonder if I’ll ever have them again.”

Darkness closed in on me, and my lids thudded closed. If Rokath replied, I did not hear, for a heartbeat later, I drifted off into the land of dreams, where I could at least pretend I was happy.

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45

Iglanced sidelong at Assyria, watching the way her hair swayed against her back as she moved in time with her horse’s stride. The setting sun shone in her eyes, casting a kaleidoscope over the dark color and making those little flecks of red sparkle. I’d noticed them more and more as I spent time close to her, having to help her in and out of her clothes every day, to brush and fix her hair, to pick things up for her as her arm was still immobilized.

I’d become hyper aware of every twitch of Assyria’s muscles, every time she was thirsty or hungry, every time she needed a break from riding Blaeze.

Reaper, what are you doing to me?

I couldn’t—wouldn’t get attached to Assyria. Yet she was everything I’d ever wanted in a female, a challenge I couldn’t walk away from. She fought my need for control with more ferocity than some of the soldiers battling with their Angel attackers. The thrill of our interactions heated my blood in the best way. I’d always craved the tension, the fight, the conquest in everything I did. Assyria gave me that in spades.

She was utterly perfect for me, and I was a fucking fool dragging her into a war. She was a distraction, and yet I couldn’t stay away from her. I hated her for that. Hated myself too.

“I see it!” she exclaimed, hovering her free hand over her eyes and squinting.

The first tricklings of the oasis around Ustlyak appeared before us, with prickly green bushes hugging the water’s edge, and cacti engorged from whatever liquid they could retain. It would still be a few days before we reached Trol and the rest of the army, who, to my surprise and relief, still held off the Angels on the opposite side of the desert city. The influx of new soldiers we’d sent ahead of us had made the difference.

Our horses’ hooves clopped against the packed earth giving way to stone as we sank into the canyon that protected the city and the oasis. We had to lean back to assist in their descent, and as Assyria mimicked my movement, a twinge of pain tore through her shoulder. I whipped my head to the side, then cursed myself for appearing as an overeager male ready to sweep his mate into his arms at the first sign of trouble.

That wasn’t who I was.

Refocusing on the road ahead of us, I noticed two specks moving in the distance. I narrowed my gaze, suspicion nipping at my nerves.

Angels? Scouts?

They clung to the shadows of the striated canyon walls, moving between reeds and giving away their position with the sway of the fronds.

Untrained in the art of sneaking about, then.

With Assyria by my side, I had to be certain of the potential danger.

“Search,” I muttered as low as I could to my hounds. Grem and Zeec bounded forward on silent paws, splitting up to cover more distance.

“What was that for?” Assyria whispered, understanding the need for quiet. Our bond made us highly attuned to the other’s feelings, of which she was getting far too good at reading mine. And I hers.

“Movement ahead,” I murmured back, eyes never leaving the two figures. Grem had caught their scent and padded in their direction. Zeec noticed his brother’s sudden turn, and he paused, surveying and sniffing, before trotting forward and then backtracking, coming at the two from behind.

“By the wall?” Assyria asked.

I grunted in response.

Grem released a warning bark that echoed between the stone, and both froze. They were close enough now that I saw their sex and coloring as they stepped out of the shadows, hands raised.

A sharp whistle had Grem and Zeec lowering to the ground, eyes glued to the males, but still in a relaxed posture. “Who goes there?” I shouted.

“We were sent from Ustlyak to greet you,” one called out in return. I stopped my horse and the entire procession. Rapp trotted to my side from his position toward the rear, having heard the exchange of words.

“Escort,” I commanded Grem and Zeec, and in unison, they rose, herding the two forward and closer to us.

A fierce protectiveness rose in my chest, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at my mate. She sat stoic with her chin held high as they approached, not an ounce of fear emanating from her expression or down our bond. Whether she was foolish or stupid for it, I couldn’t decide. To her credit, she’d never truly been afraid of me either, and these two were nothing in comparison.

The two strode forward with the occasional backward glance at the hounds, and they wisely kept their hands raised. Finally, they stopped, though Grem and Zeec remained in close proximity, attention focused with well trained precision.

“Kneel,” I told them.

“You sure like telling people to do that,” Assyria spoke in my mind.

“Now is not the time,” I snapped back.

They dropped to their knees, bowing their heads to the ground in deference to me. I leaped from my horse, shaking the ground with my landing. Rapp followed a moment later, shadows swirling around his arms. One swallowed, hands trembling with the barest movements, as we stalked forward.

With a flick of his wrists, Rapp sent black binds around their wrists, keeping them suspended in the air as I bent to examine them. As a Binder, his magic would block all access to theirs, and they’d remain immobile until he released them. This routine was one Rapp and I executed with swift movements, having stopped and disarmed many over our centuries together.

I tossed one paltry dagger to the side, then stepped back and studied the two. By their clothes, they weren’t noble, certainly not from the merchant class either. The dusty, stained linen spoke of long, difficult days trying to survive in this wasteland they called home.