“Don’t tire yourself out,” I cautioned, stepping closer so we battled side by side. “It will be a long night yet.”

A group of Angels fell to their knees in front of us, clawing at their eyes. We leaped through the shimmer, cutting all of them down. Izzenna appeared from Assyria’s right, wiping sweat from her brow. With another twist of her hands, she created a new nightmare. We stomped them out of existence.

Assyria released my form with her next breath, the height and bulk unnecessary as the Deathveiled worked magic and weapons together to carve a gouge into the Angel’s line. Yet for every dozen we cut down, two dozen more came to take their place.

The scent of iron thickened the air. The leakage of corpses soaked the dirt. And still, we fought.

Movement above caught my eye, and I snapped a hand out, barely managing to yank Assyria out of the way of a falling Angel. His glassy, lifeless navy eyes stared up at the light slowly petering out overhead.

She stumbled into me, and I savored the feeling of steadying her. My grip tightened of its own accord. I was a possessive beast, especially with her here on the battlefield. My pulse pounded in my ears, and hers beat against my armor.

With her safe in my arms, I snatched an opportunity to assess our surroundings. In every direction, Angels and Demons battled for the cleared space in front of the wall. The left flank was holding strong, but the right was faltering. Angels pressed inward like they were flexing the bend of a bow, and the soldiers struggled to straighten out.

“We need to head that way.” I spun her so she saw what I did.

“Then let’s go,” she replied, determination threaded in her tone. I forced myself to release her.

“With me!” she shouted at the others. I cursed as she took off at a sprint, leaving me behind. Izzenna and Vokkia raced after her, leaping over the bodies they’d helped slaughter and whooping from the thrill.

Zeec bounded alongside my mate, and I whistled at Grem to follow, rage and fear a tumult in my chest. The rest of the males chased after us, Uzadaan swinging a massive hammer at an Angel who tried to take advantage of our change in direction.

Blood pooled under broken wings—feathered and membranous alike.

Another group burst through the trees, cutting off my line of sight to my mate. Fury flared, and I swung a powerful arc toward the center. The Angel soldiers leaped out of the way, then two lunged for me at once. A blast of shadow sent one stumbling. Grem leaped, teeth bared, and closed them around the male’s throat. The second I sliced from dick to sternum.

Zurronar froze three more of them, allowing another female to stab each between the ribs as she raced by, following the Szélhámos who had given her the ability to stand on the battlefield in the first place. The devotion these former priestesses showed my mate warmed my cold heart.

The threat cleared, I finally reunited with her—and not a moment too soon. An Angel female leaped for her, and their weapons collided. Assyria’s teeth gritted in determination. A small explosion rocked the ground at their feet, but Assyria bent her knees and absorbed the blow. Vokkia leaped in and finished her off.

“Thank you,” Assyria panted. Then, she saw me approach, and relief unpinched her brows.

“Do not run off without me again,” I growled, my tone leaving no room for argument. Yet pride—at her merciless kills, at her unyielding effort, at how far she’s come since our bond snapped into place—heated me from the inside out.

She shot me a saccharine grin. “Make me.”

My nostrils flared as my cock twitched. “Now is not the time for your games.”

“Come on, Halálhívó. We both know we love nothing more than this banter.” Lust flooded our bond as she stepped closer. “And fucking after we get bloody.”

A low groan vibrated against my ribs. I grabbed her arm and yanked her close. “I will fuck you on the streets of Sivy after this for your continued disobedience and use of that smart mouth.”

“Do it,” she purred, batting her long lashes against her cheeks. “But for now, we have a battle to win.”

Dark satisfaction curled through me at the devious look in her eyes. My blood sang for her. For the slaughter. For what would come after. “Aye, we do.”

I released her, and she flipped the hilt of her sword around her wrist. Zurronar’s squads had held the line while we stole a moment amid the bloodshed. He and Banand worked in tandem to dent the Angel’s forces as the Deathveiled regrouped. Araquiel moved between them, many of her kin screaming obscenities in her face as she jabbed a glaive into their midst.

I watched for a moment, wondering if she’d falter. If doubt would cross her stoic expression. If she’d turn that weapon on her mate and the Demons around her.

She didn’t, even as a tear carved down her cheek, mixing with her sweat.

An oncoming attack ripped my attention away. Metal clashed in my ears, and I disarmed the male in three vicious movements. I fell into the steady rhythm of strike, parry, kill, command. Grem and Zeec worked diligently to take down Angels alongside us, ensuring my mate was fully protected. The Deathveiled thrived, working in perfect unison.

Until the trees shivered like one of the Fates had dropped among them. My blade stilled mid-air. The females closed ranks around Assyria.

From the shadowed abyss of the trunks, a figure emerged.

And grinned like a silver blade gleaming in the dark.

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63

Zahal Ishim’s low, poisonous laugh scraped against my nerves. Light coiled around him as though he’d stolen it from the heavens. In the darkness, he radiated an ethereal glow. But there was nothing holy in the rapture on his face.

White twisted around two struggling forms, and the air in my throat constricted.

The Zahal’s magic shoved Banand to his knees. Onyx strands battled for control, but they slipped through his fingers like smoke in the wind. Like whatever power Ishim wielded transcendent even that of a plague-creating Demon.

Araquiel stood at Ishim’s side, eyes like polished glass. Her hands were clasped before her, luminous white binding her wrists into a parody of prayer. A puppet knelt at her Zahal’s altar.

A low growl rumbled in Rokath’s chest. Zurronar skidded to a stop beside us, his maroon eyes wide.

“We didn’t betray you!” Banand shouted in Demonic before more magic shoved into his mouth and silenced him. Tears leaked down Araquiel’s face. Yet she didn’t blink, didn’t move.

Banand thrashed against the blinding strands, a scream shredding his throat. The sound was so feral, so helpless, that my own bond twisted in agony. A male watching his mate weep through the prison of her own body. And his magic was unable to free her.

Another male—a Myrza by the looks of his armor—stepped forward, silver blade gleaming with wicked delight as the Zahal’s magic reflected off the polished surface.

“An abomination,” Ishim began, his nose upturned as he looked between the mates. “This type of filth cannot be allowed to live.”

How did he know?

“Ishim isn’t just a zealot like the rest of the Angels. He’s a parasite. His power of the Hive seizes control of living minds and has them act like his own personal puppets. He must have sensed their bond and invaded Araquiel’s mind to capture them,” Rokath growled into my mind.

That was infinitely more fucked up than Rokath calling upon the dead. He was no better than the males of the Demon Realm who stripped their wives and daughters of autonomy. At least we could fight back.

Araquiel could do…nothing.

“You’d kill them both for a blessing from our deities?” I shouted before I could smother the words, rage rising like a firestorm, directed at this self-righteous male. Lust for his blood coiled in my veins. He needed to fucking die before he snatched the will from another living being.