“You’ve given so much. To everyone. Whether they see it or not.” I moved lower, finding the tension in his jaw.

“What matters is that you see me, mate.” Our eyes locked, and all barriers between us fell, leaving only one raw emotion burning between us—love.

“I do. I see you, Rokath.” Cupping his face, I pressed my lips to his. “Now hold me while we sleep. Because I also know that is what helps you rest more than anything else.”

He offered me a rare smile. “My insomnia is no match for you, little imposter. Much like everything else, you fight it with fire and leave ashes in your wake.”

“Don’t forget that,” I teased as I wriggled off him and stripped out of my clothes. When we were both bare, he flung back the rough blankets. We curled together beneath them. I didn’t merely want to sleep beside him. I wanted to sear the shape of his body into my memory. Sink to darkness together, where we both belonged.

Where we both could drop our masks and just be.

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53

Assyria’s half-finished throne stared at me as I sank onto the floor of the weapons storage. Rapp settled across from me, meeting my gaze for the briefest of moments before turning his focus to the pile of feathers and bone. Assyria perched on a workbench, her long hair unbound, sleep still clinging to her eyes. Yet dark glee brightened them as I twisted the legs about, deciding what needed additions next.

“This one is too short. Better to save it for the back,” Rapp commented, examining an arm bone from one of our more recent attacks.

“Aye,” I agreed, plucking it from him and placing it among a different pile. The adhesive was nearly ready—a mix of sap, boiled hooves, and raw sugar that became clear when dried, leaving the bones perfectly white and ready to intimidate any Angels who foolishly requested a meeting with me.

Let them kneel before the chair built from their fallen and know it was primal devotion that laid the first bone. I couldn’t wait for the first time the Zahal crawled out of his hive, begging for a reprieve from our next assault. The fury that would twist his face as he beheld my mate and me lounging atop the remnants of his soldiers. Another Myrza skull would certainly polish off Assyria’s throne, though it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as the one from the female Ishim had loved adorning one side of mine.

“What’s that smell?” Zurronar asked, his nose wrinkling as he entered the space. Even with the doors flung wide, the sour scent of the adhesive was pungent. Banand offered us salutes, and Zurronar hastily mimicked him.

“At ease,” I told them, dipping the flat stick into the mix and giving it one last stir. Rapp held the first section upright, twine keeping the bones exactly how I wanted them.

“I have a challenge for you. Take a seat.”

Assyria scooted over to give them room along the far wall. Zurronar shot her a wink, and she made a face at him in return. Gritting my teeth against the overprotective beast, I dug the stick into the canister and slathered the first scoop across the bottom. The thick goop dripped onto the threadbare cloth beneath our knees, immediately beginning to harden. Rapp lifted the section ever so slightly off the ground to ensure it didn’t permanently stick.

“You can begin,” I told Assyria down our mental connection.

“How has your relationship with Araquiel developed over the past few months since you’ve been back in the Demon camp?” Assyria asked Banand, straight to the point. I kept an eye on his reaction.

Something flashed across his face, though he managed to smooth it away quickly. “She is our captive, and understandably, she’s unhappy about the situation.”

“Would more freedom make her happy?” I questioned. Another thick layer of adhesive went over the middle, and carefully, I removed the twine there.

“I think it would,” he ventured, his words slow and measured. “I’m assuming there’s a price for it?”

I paused my work and looked straight at him. “You’ve been on our last few raids. What do you think the price is?”

His fingers drummed against his biceps. “You want her to help us.”

Zurronar shifted his weight, crossing one leg over the other. His attention flickered to Banand before he pointedly studied my work.

“She might run off with them if we bring her on a mission like that straight from being shackled,” I replied. “As you said, she is unhappy being a prisoner of war. Which is where you come in.”

Rapp tested the bottom and middle sections of the bones to ensure they were dry enough that removing the top bits of twine wouldn’t send the whole thing falling apart. With a tug, he freed them. I scooped more adhesive and painted it across.

Silence reigned until I stuck the stick back in the container.

“What can I do?” Banand ventured, his tone tipping into eagerness.

Assyria twisted her ring around her finger as she regarded him. “You know her best. What would make her switch allegiance?”

Zurronar let out a sigh, running his hands over his long hair and straightening the leather strap holding it atop his head. “Tell them, Banand.”

The adhesive dripped straight onto the cloth as my hand paused midair. Rapp whipped his head over his shoulder, staring at the pair too.

Banand’s face was nearly as red as his eyes as he glared at Zurronar. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t start this again,” Zurronar shot back. His body tensed, like he was preparing to fight his friend.

The two remained in a faceoff, the room at a complete standstill, until three caws rent the air, and three black crows sailed by the open doors.

Assyria sucked in a sharp breath.

“Whatever you are about to say, it is important,” she whispered. Then she tore her attention to me. “Kiira said the caws and crows are the Fates at work. They might be the crossroads where her visions could change.”

Fuck.

But it all made perfect sense. All the times I’d heard crows since Assyria came into my life roared back—when she was bitten by the snake, when I rode out to meet the Angels to trade for her life, when Blaeze returned to us, during my conversation with Kiira and Xannirin, before the blessing of the mates…

“Tell them,” Zurronar urged again. “Or better yet, show them.”

“Show us what?” I growled, my tone leaving no room for argument. I surged to my feet, the throne forgotten. Rapp, thankfully, kept it upright, though his knuckles were as white as the structure he gripped.

Banand glanced among us all, muscle ticking in his jaw. Fingers clenched and unclenched. “There was a time,” he whispered, but his voice was like a whistling blade through the pregnant silence. “Where I prayed for anything else. For a way out of what the Fates had given me. When we were imprisoned, I’d begged the Weaver for a new path. This wasn’t what I meant.”

A haunted expression claimed Zurronar’s face before he shook it off.

Then, with lips curled back from his teeth, Banand whipped around and yanked his tunic overhead.

Assyria gasped, her hands slapping over her mouth. Bones clattered like a judgmental echo of the dead.

Because between his shoulder blades was a perfect black circle.

Exactly the same as the one between Assyria’s. Between mine.

“Araquiel is your mate?” I questioned because I had to be absolutely fucking sure.

He shrugged his tunic on and fell into the wall like offering the truth hadn’t gutted him. He seared Zurronar with another hateful look. “She is.” The tension in his voice was even more evident than the tension in his posture.

“Fuck, Kiira needs to hear this,” Rapp croaked. He leaped to his feet and jogged to the stairs. I couldn’t agree more, even if I was still pissed she was leaving with him. And that he was the one fetching her.