“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.