I dragged my attention forward when he shouted, “Go!”

Rokath swung immediately, not waiting for his opponent to gather himself or attempt an opening. The clang of metal striking metal jarred my teeth. Kiira sucked in a sharp breath as Rokath pressed forward, shoving the male backward. He stumbled, half-scrambling to get away from the Halálhívó.

Grem’s head nudged my thigh, and I twisted my fingers in his thick fur. Not that I thought Rokath would lose—there was no way. Honestly, I was afraid for the male facing imminent death. It was only a matter of if Rokath felt like playing with his food or making a quick meal of him.

It turned out to be the latter.

Rokath stalked him across the sand, and the male retreated, retreated, retreated, until he was pinned against the fence. Those who had been pressed against it jolted away. In an instant, Rokath had the asshole gripped by the throat and lifted off the ground like he weighed nothing more than a feather.

“I hope you see just how futile your challenge was,” he ground out, his teeth bared. His attention dragged over the crowd too, holding their gazes—terrified, angry, excited—as the male kicked nothing but air. His face turned the color of his eyes, then a lovely shade of purple. “Should any of you dare to question a direct order again, you will face a similar fate. Me.”

Rokath squeezed harder, his thick fingers digging hard into the offender’s neck.

“Should any of you disrespect the Szélhámos or the High Priestess, you will face their wrath as well.”

Just as the male’s chest stuttered, Rokath tossed him away like he was a scrap of moldy bread. His gaze locked on me and he gestured for me to approach. Shoving off the wall, I stood tall as the attention of the army fell over me. The male choked on the ground, his life prolonged only temporarily.

The scent of piss stung my nostrils as I came to a stop before him. Yet I didn’t deign to give him my attention.

“While I would love nothing more than to torture him for insulting you, mate, I recognize that you making an example of him would elevate the level of respect the rest of them will give you. You have my blessing to do as you please.”

My heart warmed at his consideration. I couldn’t deny how much I loved when this primal, possessive side of him rose to the surface.

“Together. Let’s show them we’re united beyond the words we speak to them.”

His burgundy eyes glinted with malice. Yanking the male up by the collar, he forced him to face me. I drew the dagger I used during the daily ritual sacrifice to the Fates and stalked forward.

“Weaver, Giver, Reaper, I draw blood in your name!” I shouted, letting the blade flash in the sunlight. “Reaper, curse this male who questions the holy weavings of you and your sisters.”

The first slice was across his cheek, drawing a cascade of ruby to the surface of his skin. The male grimaced. “You were only able to do that because you’re too weak to face me yourself. You need the Halálhívó to hold me in place.”

Rokath’s growl ruptured the air—feral, furious, final. The crowd surged back, away from the threat.

I laughed, low and laced with venom. “That was entirely the wrong thing to say.”

A split-second later, Rokath threw him to the ground again, pressing a heavy boot into the male’s chest. The male wheezed, ribs caving beneath the weight of Rokath’s wrath. “You’ve insulted our chain of command enough. I will not give you further opportunity to fight because you’ve already lost. And as for the insult you offered the Szélhámos, well, I’ll let her choose how she wants to end your life.”

He jerked his head, giving me permission to act. Yet I already knew exactly how I wanted to kill him. With a devious smile on my lips, I dove into my well of magic, pulling the offender’s form over mine.

Let them all watch him die by his own hand. Let them choke on the horror of it—the horror of what my rare power was truly capable of. Let them see the Fate that walked among them, alongside their Halálhívó.

Whispers broke out as I stalked forward again. The male’s eyes widened as he stared up at his reflection. “It’s a shame that you chose this route, really. You could have fucked sooner rather than later had you not.”

He blinked as if he were trying to comprehend hearing his voice coming from somewhere other than his own mouth. Still holding my ceremonial dagger, I knelt, dragging the tip along his unmarred cheek until I reached the tip of his ear.

“Since you were unable to hear our commands…” I sliced, yanking his ear away from his head. Blood spurted from the wound, and he screamed. I tossed it aside and moved the blade to his eye.

“Since you were unable to see the value in the new order…”

“Wait, no!” he started, but I stabbed. I had to clench my teeth around the bile that rose in my throat. Violence had never been my first inclination—but this wasn’t senseless abuse. It was power in its purest form. And I’d wield it however necessary to prove my fucking point.

I shuffled until my dagger hovered over his dick. “Since you were offended that my mate and I could couple and you could not…” I felt the cringe of every gathered male as I sank the blade to the hilt.

Blinded by pain, the male convulsed, limbs twitching toward the sky, then collapsed backward. I let my magic go and rose, holding my mate’s gaze.

“Your orders, Szélhámos?”

“End him.” The two words rolled off my tongue with such ease.

Rokath removed his boot and replaced it with the tip of his blade, right over the male’s still-beating heart. “For the insults lodged toward the Szélhámos, my Fates-given equal.” Then, he jammed his sword down.

We remained locked in that position, both bloody, desire thrumming down our bond, as the final bits of the male’s life drifted away.

Silence reigned around us.

“Think we proved our point?” I spoke into his mind.

“I think so, little imposter.” He broke our connection and glanced around us, lips curled back from his teeth.

“Are the consequences clear?” His tone was low, threatening, and made my core flutter.

Nods answered him as far as I could see.

“Good. You are all dismissed. Assimilate into your new units by the end of the day or face punishment,” he barked, contempt darkening his tone.

Trol put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, drawing attention and issuing further commands. Rokath wiped his blade clean, then took mine and did the same. His hungry gaze raked over me, sending a shiver down my spine. “After that display, I need to be inside you.”

“Please,” I whimpered.

He glanced at Rapp. “Help Trol. I’ll return later.”

Rapp sniggered as Rokath and I passed him and entered the barracks. Then, loud enough that we could hear, he said to Kiira, “That was just foreplay for them. It’s a good thing we’ll be out here for a while.”

A small giggle escaped me as the door swung shut behind us.

Rokath had ordered their obedience; I had demanded their devotion. Not only to me, but to every sacred, bleeding, rage-honed female who walked among them.

They would not soon forget what had transpired.

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49

Rokath’s fingers trembled against my skin as he stripped me—not with hesitation, but with desperate need sharpened by war. Here, with no knowledge of where the Angels were, every moment was danger. Every heartbeat could be our last. Every detractor could spell our death.

Leather fell away, leaving only my breasts and core covered. A shiver swept through me, and I bowed into him, seeking the heat of his skin. To remind me he was still here. Still breathing. Still with me.

His lips pressed into my neck, hot and wet. Sharp teeth trailed across my pulse point, eliciting a hiss. “You are my sacred fire. Born to wage war beside me. To live as a legend with me.”