Let the Angels come searching for their stolen soldiers afterward. Let them walk into the sharp teeth of the Demon camp. I’d savor the moment I got to remind the Zahal of who the fuck I was and why he should fear me.

Assyria slipped her hand into mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Do you really think this will work?” Yet despite the conviction in her tone, her palm held the barest shake.

“Yes,” I told her, but then I slid into her mind, to make a promise I wanted no one else to hear. “If this is what choosing your life looks like…then I’ll shape the fucking world to keep that choice intact. I’d do anything for you, little imposter.”

“Keep proving that, then,” she shot back, but the usual snark was tempered.

I glanced at Trol and Rapp for subtle confirmation of their belief. Both were steadfast. I certainly believed in her—she’d proven her strength time and time again. But belief didn’t win wars; if it did, the Angels would have slaughtered us from their fervency alone.

Power was what decided the victor. Magic, strength, leverage…it mattered not, so long as one possessed it.

And as Assyria looked up at me like I was everything she needed in this life, I planned on gathering it in spades to keep my mate safe.

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6

Three white-haired and wild-eyed females stared up at us from their position on the ground. Two Vezető worked to hold each of the Angels in place, shoving them to their knees and preventing them from rising. Bronze cuffs flashed in the midday light. Even with the futility of their situation, they writhed like vipers, kicking up a storm of dust.

I adjusted the scarf around my head to cover my nose and mouth so I wouldn’t breathe in any more than necessary. While I hadn’t worn a veil since the fateful day we left Gyor Palace, this lightweight fabric was an absolute necessity in the hot, dry land. Even with the light bronze shade of my skin, the altitude of the Paks Desert made it burn. At least in Lutsk, we were on the fringes of it—not like we had been as we’d wandered through the endless expanse and nearly died.

Blood slicked the Vezetős’ arms from dozens of tiny cuts, while others who had assisted in the skirmish limped by us on their way to the healers’ tents. None minded as ruby dripped to the earth, feeding the Fates for bringing us a much-needed victory.

A female with ocean blue eyes spit at my feet. “Whore,” she cursed in the common tongue. The other two followed suit.

A growl ripped from Rokath’s throat, and he took a menacing step toward the instigator. A Vezető fisted her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look into the eyes of the Halálhívó. For that was exactly who Rokath was at that moment. My mate wore many masks—I was finding that this one was one I especially loved to see. Something about the way he elicited a flash of fear in her eyes as he towered over her made my low belly heat.

“What is your name?” he demanded in the common tongue. If I were to impersonate them, I needed to know as much as possible. Their identities were essential to that.

Her lips curled away from her teeth, but she said nothing. Rokath waited a moment before questioning her again. “What is your name?” He switched to Angelic, but the command in his tone was undeniable.

Her expression faltered for a moment before she recovered her hateful one. Rokath snapped his head toward one of the Vezető holding her. “Nightmare, now,” he ordered in Demonic, then stepped back.

The Vezető’s chest expanded, and the air in front of the Angel shimmered. A memory of the day we’d tested everyone’s magic with the Lovak Squad flitted through my mind. The way Dromak had screamed at whatever the male had shown him. It didn’t take long for the female’s shrieks to pierce the air, replacing the echoes of my former friend.

The other two shouted at her in Angelic, the melody of their words lost among the frantic bursts. Yet their comrade couldn’t hear them, so utterly consumed in the dreamscape. Desperate hands attempted to claw at her head, but the other Vezető caught them and forced them to hover in front of her. She jerked against the hold, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Stop!” she cried in the common tongue.

The Vezető looked at Rokath for confirmation. He nodded.

The air returned to normal, and the Angel’s breasts heaved against her leather armor. “My name is Esha.”

Rokath didn’t bother acknowledging her before he moved to the cerulean-eyed one. “And you?” he demanded in the common tongue.

“Faeya,” she replied, a slight tremble in her voice.

“I am Araquiel,” the third offered without Rokath having to question her. Her turquoise eyes bounced between my mate and me. From the previous day’s lessons with Rokath, I knew the color of her eyes made her the most powerful out of the three. It was the third most powerful in all of the Angel realm, in fact. Whoever managed to capture her needed a promotion to Százados.

“I agree with you on that,” Rokath spoke into my mind.

Her hair was the color of the fog that rolled over the plains of Stryi in the early autumn mornings. Cut short, it brushed the tops of her shoulders. Most of it had spilled out of a strip of leather atop her head. Dirt and blood caked her face, but beneath it, she had delicate features, thin eyebrows, and full lips.

“Why do you keep us alive?” she asked, each word rolling off her tongue with a thick accent.

Rokath snorted and continued his interrogation instead. “What are your powers?”

“I conjure light,” Esha offered immediately. I pressed my lips together to smother a laugh. One nightmare and she was ready to confess everything.

“I am an Amplifier,” Faeya revealed with a sigh.

Rokath returned his attention to Araquiel. She held her chin high, refusing to cower beneath the Halálhívó. A long moment passed before she spoke. “I am a Sensor.”

“Suppression or amplification?” Rokath clarified.

“Both,” she said simply, her expression placid. Yet her eyes held the barest hint of judgment, like she was guarding herself and gauging us simultaneously. Something twisted in my gut, like a warning bell that something rang false. Angel power was Goddess-blessed, hence their worship of Her, and many possessed powerful mind magics.

Had she spoken true about her power?

“See that they are fed and bathed. Do not take the cuffs off them for any reason,” Rokath told the supervising Parancsok while I continued to study the three. Araquiel, based on her strength alone, would be the one I’d need to focus on the most. With the insignia in her armor, I suspected she held status among the Angel army too.

“What would you like us to do with them after?” the male replied.

Rokath flicked his attention to the currently empty cage off to one side in the square. “Have that brought into the command center,” he dipped his head to indicate the object, “and lock them in there.”

“Aye, Halálhívó,” the Parancsok said, offering him a close-fisted salute. To me, he dipped his chin. “My lady.” Then, he directed his group away.

At least someone is coming around to me.

Though I’d technically been part of the nobility while married to Vagach, hearing him refer to me as such in relation to Rokath didn’t feel…right. Like I was some attachment to him rather than an extension of him. Nor did I think of Rokath as royalty, despite him belonging to the most prominent house in the Demon Realm.

To me, he was my mate. My protector. My villain. Nothing else mattered, not anymore.

Rokath’s revelation of my Giver-blessed powers had helped paint me in a new light. To the Parancsok, at least, I now had some use other than wetting Rokath’s cock. Outside of the highest circles, keeping my magic secret was paramount. If the Angels knew of my ability in addition to being Rokath’s mate, we’d have to adjust our plans yet again.