“Would you like to ride in the wagon? You’ll be hotter but at least then you won’t have to see it,” he offered, concern etching his face.

I knew what he was thinking—this was why they didn’t have females in the Demon army. But as I faced him, a petite figure with long braided hair caught my attention. The head was turned away from me, and the body was facedown on the earth, but there was no mistaking the Angel female who had fought and died for her realm.

I sucked in a breath and squared my shoulders because I needed to prove to these males that a female could hold a place among them during the war. That we were worthy of more equal treatment than we currently received. “I’m ready to continue,” I pronounced, my voice steady and firm. These males wouldn’t question my presence after today.

Lifting my chin, I rode past the bloated bodies with carrion birds picking at them and toward the roar of battle and clashing metal. Blood rushed in my ears, increasing to a cacophonous crescendo when we rounded a tumble of rocks and spilled onto the field of war. Even more of it slicked the ground from where the wagons had pulled off to one side, with a mile or so distance to the nearest fighters.

My breath fled as I beheld the apocalyptic scene, flashes of light and dark battling among silver and bronze. Shrieks and howls rent the air, slamming into me with so much force I instinctively wanted to flee. But I gritted my teeth and moved forward, trying to stay hidden among the moving wagons.

The stench was even worse here, sweat and metal combining with the dust and assaulting my face as the wind blasted across the flat expanse. It carried with it the sounds of the dying too, piercing that part of me that was acutely aware of the pain of loss.

And there was so much of it.

The Demons had their backs to us, leaving mounds of white-haired bodies in their wake, and very few dark-haired ones. I scanned the fray in search of a helmet with horns of wicked ebony.

It didn’t take long to find my mate. Not when the cries of anguish shifted to ones of horror.

I froze as I beheld the Halálhívó in all his glory.

Rokath stood on his own, a ring of bodies a dozen paces in every direction. Shadows swirled like a dark twister around him as he made a dramatic move to curl his fingers into his palm.

Then he dropped to one knee.

He cocked his arm back.

And he slammed his fist into the ground.

The earth trembled with fear beneath me.

A shockwave of shadow blasted from the circle, ghosting across the ground and wrapping around the dead bodies scattered across the field. Slowly, they perked up, some wielding weapons of silver, others weapons of bronze.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

A collective roar sounded from the still-living Demons, and they charged forward with renewed vigor as the dead joined them in fighting the Angels.

“Reaper,” I murmured, heart pounding against my ribcage as I watched the scene unfold. It was unlike anything I had ever seen, could have possibly dreamed of, with Rokath acting like a God in directing the movements of them all.

Pebbles coated my skin, and a chill settled over me, banishing the heat of the sun.

Hundreds, thousands of bodies under his command fell upon the Angels, fighting as furiously as any of the living.

When the Angels hacked at them, however, they did not flinch. Did not rest, did not surrender, and with horror I watched one dead leap onto a living male and rip his throat out with his teeth. Another speared the reanimated corpse from behind, and it turned its fury on the newcomer who barely managed to slice its head from its shoulders.

The male panted, a look of pure anguish on his face as he beheld his fallen comrades. The corpse remained motionless. The Angel who it killed, however, rose again, under the command of Rokath’s power, and launched himself at the still-living one.

All I could do was stare in slack-jawed awe as the tide crashed over the Angels, each fresh corpse only an addition to Rokath’s growing horde. It was a terrifying sight to behold, and yet my body yearned for my mate. His power was intoxicating, and I opened the block I kept firmly over our bond to let it infuse me.

As if he sensed me finally, he tilted his head over his shoulder, and all I could see in the slit in his helmet was one maniacal burgundy eye. Rokath wasn’t just the Halálhívó and the leader of the entire Demon army. No, he was a Weaver of fate himself, with power to bring any God to their knees. And as he returned his attention forward, the Angels did just that, dying faster than they could flee.

Because I knew one thing for certain about Rokath.

He offered no mercy.

The battle was over within minutes, and still, I couldn’t close my mouth. Finally, I understood the fervency of belief in Rokath and Xannirin. The worship. The veneration.

The Giver wouldn’t create a power like his if she and the other Fates didn’t have plans for him to wield it.

My anxiety over his well-being earlier that day seemed like a silly thing now that I had borne witness to his prowess. He didn’t need me to fret that he might die on the battlefield.

In fact, he didn’t need me at all.

And yet as that riot of shadow stopped swirling, he faced me again, eyes colliding with mine with the force of a violent thunderstorm. Like lightning had struck between us, I leaped from my horse and he raced toward me, snatching me in his arms and crushing me against him. I yanked the horns atop his head and tossed the skull-shaped helmet to the side, and then his mouth was on mine, furious, hot, passionate.

No, he did not need me. But he desired me. Wanted this. And I did too.

The thought struck me like a thunderclap, stealing my breath even more than the swipe of Rokath’s tongue against my own. The thought frightened me, but I groaned wantonly into his mouth anyway. Wrapping my legs around his armored waist, I barely managed to lock my feet together. In his arms, I was tiny, and after watching him wield his power, I felt so incredibly safe.

Our bond was an opened floodgate, the high of the battle cascading from him into me, heating my blood. My core throbbed with the need of him, and wave after wave of lust swept over us both.

“I need to be inside you,” he growled into my mind.

“Yes,” I pleaded back, not caring that we had an audience or were surrounded by dead and dying bodies.

Rokath broke our kiss, chest heaving, eyes wild. He placed me gingerly on my feet, then whispered in my ear, “Run.”

A thrill shattered through my veins, and I bit my lip and spun on my heel, wasting no time in racing across the ruby ground toward the rumble of rocks.

“Fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven…” Rokath counted down, spiking my heart rate and making me pump my arms faster. A grin split my face as I willingly ran, ecstatic for what would happen when Rokath caught me. Gone was the female Vagach had beat into bitter submission, who gripped the sheets and waited for him to finish. I had bloomed into a fiery female, owning that I too enjoyed this game of chase and the intensity of Rokath’s desire coursing down our bond.

I stuck out a hand and grabbed a jutted stone, using it to propel me around the bend faster, putting more distance between us.

“Ten, nine, eight…”

Sweat dripped from my temples and down my spine, but I wasn’t going to stop running until Rokath grabbed me. I skidded around another bend in the rock, the sounds of battle nearly dying out as I slipped between two large boulders. The slot offered a semblance of privacy and protection, and I glanced around, trying to find another exit or way to scramble up the rocks.

The ground trembled beneath my feet, and I spared a glance over my shoulder, finding Rokath a hundred yards behind me and closing in quickly. A laugh tore free and I raced forward again. But before I got much farther, I felt him reach for me. Spinning, I avoided his grip, then ducked under his outstretched arm and raced in the other direction. What I lacked in size, I compensated with agility.