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 Vezető, 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.

Deathcaller Duet book 2 - pre order

Dying to know what Rokath felt when he claimed Assyria for the first time? Find out in this exclusive bonus scene.