She approached the crowd again, letting her words linger in the air.

“But now, they are full.”

More than a few mates glanced at once another, small smiles tugging at their lips.

“Let us pray,” she whispered, dropping her head to her chest. Like a wave, the gathered knelt.

“Weaver, who entwines soul to soul with threads unseen, bless these bonds you have spun. Let their steps fall in perfect harmony. Let the colors of their tapestry blend. May the path before them be unbroken, even in war.”

Muttered affirmations to the Weaver abounded. I grasped Assyria’s hand again. “Blessed by the Weaver.”

Kiira intoned again. “Giver, grant them magic not just to wield in battle, but to sustain each other in weariness. Let their power rise in tandem, their union a force that sings your name in every breath and blow. By their combined might, may they bring majesty to your name.”

The soldiers and townspeople prostrated themselves. So too did the mated pairs.

“Reaper, let your eye pass over them, for they walk the path you have permitted. Should they falter, let them rise together. And if death comes, let it come to both, for what you have bound shall not be easily undone.”

Assyria’s fingers tightened in mine. Kiira looked to the cloudy sky like she could peer through their heavy gray and beg the Fates to let them all live. With how close the two were, there was no doubt my mate had confessed to my cousin her fears about my survival. Our survival. Simply because we loved one another.

Releasing a shuddering breath, I rose to my full height. Our bond hummed with bliss, rather than contention. Like a beast with a mind of its own, it had fought us both, forced us together, and we’d faced our reckoning because of it.

Now, it needed to do no such thing.

Kiira lifted each couple one by one, offering them further blessings. The rest of us watched on.

“Bound by the Weaver, sanctified by the Giver, protected by the Reaper, go now as two who are one, and let the world tremble at what love has wrought.”

Kiira’s final words sent a chill straight to my core. Assyria looked up at me, those dark lashes fanning against her cheeks.

“Always mine, little imposter.”

“Always yours.”

As the army dispersed, I knew, deep down, that our love would send tremors through the Angels in the coming days. For our departure was imminent. I only hoped that empowering Assyria, aiding her in impersonating high ranking officers, wouldn’t result in her death.

Because if she perished, I’d follow. Leave the whole army to burn to ashes. There was no point in saving the Demons if I couldn’t have my mate with me after.

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51

Wisps of white magic flitted through the alpine trees ahead as we crept toward the Angel scouting party. The group prepared their encampment for the night, erecting tents, lighting fires, and cooking meat. Swirls of black shrouded us, hiding any movement that might garner attention.

A twig snapped. My closed fist flew into the air. The soldiers behind me halted. I didn’t dare breathe as I listened for the next telltale step. From between two trunks, a figure emerged, not even a stone’s throw away from me. Blue eyes scanned the dark forest.

All that kept us hidden from him was a wall of our magic.

“Everything okay?” Assyria appeared in my mind.

“Movement ahead. Hold your position,” I shot back, my entire focus on the approaching male.

The muscles in my legs burned from holding this crouched stance. Yet we couldn’t move without alerting him to our presence.

A bush rustled. The Angel swept off to my left, searching for the source of the sound. My fingers flexed, preparing to grab the hilt of my blade and free it from my back.

But from the clearing, a female called out for him.

With one last look into the abyss, he returned to the safety—temporary as it may be—of his unit.

Air fled my lungs. I glanced over my shoulder, noting the position of my half of the Deathveiled.

Assyria had taken the others in a long loop around the outside so we could ambush them from multiple directions.

“On my mark,” I said down the bond.

A flicker of unease swept from Assyria before our connection muted. My heart lashed against my ribs before I reminded myself it was merely from her magic and not because an Angel had taken her.

This was the first time she’d impersonate the Myrza we’d slaughtered in Fured. This was the test that our plan might work. Executing it flawlessly was essential. One fuck up, and we’d have to scrap everything and start over.

It was for that reason we’d only spoken Angelic the past week.

A loud rustling drew the attention of the unit. Their heads whipped in Assyria’s direction. Breath lodged in my throat. Like a white wraith, the Myrza—Assyria—appeared in the night. The flickering of the fire cast her in a haunting relief. Blood and grime caked the white armor, making her appear as if she’d been traveling for weeks.

“Report,” she barked with authority in Angelic. A startled few shot up from their seats, greeting her with the traditional words praising the fucking Goddess.

“We thought you were dead,” one of the males spluttered. “The Zahal said the Halálhívó arrived in the mountains weeks ago with new reinforcements.”

“The Zahal was mistaken. A few of us escaped once we realized we were going to be overpowered in Fured. We managed to survive long enough to return to our home and out of those cursed lands,” she replied coolly. Her accent was slightly off from his, but I doubted anyone would notice. Her words were also carefully chosen and practiced, because we needed at least one survivor to run back to the larger group and spread the word that one of their own was betraying them.

“Then where are they?” a female pressed, scanning the area.

“They’re safe.” She stepped closer to the fire, holding her hands over it as if she were trying to warm them. Winter in the mountains was bitter, and snow draped over rocks and tree branches like lattices of lace.

“Safe where?” the same female asked. The disbelief and suspicion in her cerulean eyes was evident, even from this distance.

“Let’s go,” I ordered under my breath. Dropping my magic, I rose to my full height and unsheathed my sword. Despite my best effort, the scrape of the edge against the scabbard still shredded the night. Down the line, the remainder of the Deathveiled did the same.

“In the Demon army,” Assyria replied, drawing a weapon of her own and swinging it through the flames. The tip nicked the female’s throat, and blood sprayed from the wound. She slapped a hand over it like that would save her.

Screams ripped the still air as we charged forward, our heavy steps ringing a death knell. Assyria grabbed a male with lapis eyes and held a knife to his neck while we slaughtered the rest. He struggled against her hold, managing to wrench himself free.

She cursed in Demonic and lunged for him. Shadow shot out of my palms and wrapped around him, dragging him to his knees. Assyria regained control of him again.

I approached, rivulets of crimson Angel blood dripping with each strike of my foot against the earth. “Where are the rest of you?” I growled at the male in Angelic.

His mouth sealed tight. Defiance blazed in his eyes even as they locked on my soaked sword. I turned my attention—very intentionally—to Assyria. “Well played, Myrza. You’ll have a place in the new order once we slaughter Stadiel and Iaoth.”

The male’s eyes went wide. “Traitor!” he screamed in Angelic, thrashing against my binds. “How dare you betray the Goddess for these animals?”