Banand and Araquiel turned to us, and the latter cleared her throat. “Thank you. For saving us. My life, my blade, my magic, are yours to command.” Araquiel knelt, her head resting on her arm. Love and pride shone in Banand’s eyes as he looked at his mate. Yet beneath it was a profound sadness.

“Go with Parancsok Olet. Assist him however he needs. Your service was and is commendable,” I said. He could at least find the space to feel for a few moments, saving face with the rest of the soldiers, if he returned to his quarters.

Banand grasped his mate’s arm and helped her to her feet. Wings unfurled behind them—black membrane and white feather brushing. “We’ll rejoin you soon.” And then, they leaped into the skies, hand in hand. I couldn’t blame them. They’d almost lost each other after finally accepting their bond.

The rest of the group remained, awaiting my next command.

Units from all directions converged, and once a large enough force had gathered, I spoke. “You all fought well tonight, but the battle is far from over. Press our advantage. Conquer what should be ours. Protect our race from those zealots. Százados, reform your ranks and continue your march.”

The officers organized their squads, working with quick precision. The Deathveiled lingered, sitting on the ground, catching their breath, cleaning off their blades. I noted that other than Zurronar, we’d only lost one other, and none of the females. Grem and Zeec flopped on their sides, tongues wet with red and lolling. Feral grins pulled their muzzles back like they’d reveled in their slaughter.

I removed my helmet, letting the winter night air cool my overheated form. Exhaustion tugged at my limbs, and the shadows in my chest were scarcely more than a gray whisper. Clouds moved in overhead, and then, fat flakes fell from the sky. They nearly sizzled as they hit my bare scalp.

“Let’s hurry it up!” I shouted. We needed to move out before we lost too much of their trail to the oncoming storm. My breath frosted in front of me, indicating just how quickly the temperature was dropping.

Thankfully, they did. Even Banand and Araquiel managed to rejoin us, noting that Olet would oversee the supplies moving forward and didn’t require extra assistance.

I brought my fingers to my lips and whistled. As one, the mass of bodies began to move, Assyria and I at the front. But when we reached the rocks where we’d defeated Ishim, I tugged her to the side. It would provide us with a view down into the valley below, and with her keen eyes, she could help me spot any lingering danger.

Grem and Zeec trotted to the edge, scanning for themselves. Curiosity had me peering down to see if I could find the body of the Angel army’s leader. The drop was steep and long. There was no way he could have survived a fall of that magnitude.

But I had to be sure.

The Zahal’s broken form crumpled over a group of severe boulders. Garnet leaked from the hole caved into his head, and a sharp point protruded from his ribs.

Assyria drifted to my side, helmet tucked under her arm, wispy hairs at her brow plastered to her forehead, and looked down at him too.

“Funny. I’ve now killed two males that ended up looking like this after.”

My attention sliced to her. I raised a brow in question.

She shrugged, a small smile curving her lips. “I caved Vagach’s head in with a meat mallet after I stabbed him in the ribs. Then I buried him in a deep hole. Just dropped him in there without a care. Basically, he looked exactly like that.” She gestured toward Ishim’s form below.

A wicked laugh burst from me before I could stop it. I shook my head at my mate. I shouldn’t have expected anything different from her.

Draping an arm over her shoulders, I tugged her into my side. Salt mingled with a rosy garden as I buried my nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. Our bond hummed with contentment—the kind that came with unwavering devotion on both sides.

The last of the Angels’ white light faded overhead as they retreated further down the mountain. Boots crunched over the fallen leaves and branches as the Demon army marched on.

Yet in the darkness, Assyria and I burned brighter.

Hate? That was where we’d begun. Somewhere in the vehement abhorrence, we’d found vast adoration in those wounds buried deep inside us. They’d called to one other, healed bit by bit by our bond. Until a love, so dark, so tempting, so infinite, remained.

“I love you, Assyria. My perfect mate,” I murmured.

With a soft sigh, she leaned into me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I love you, Rokath. My forever protector.”

We stood together in the hush, the mountain a silent witness to all we had lost, all we had gained. Her pulse thrummed with mine, steady and even, when both had raced at the thought of either being permanently stilled.

A moment passed before she spoke again.

“Thank you for living.”

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Epilogue

Six Weeks Later

Silence hung like a bloated cloud in the command center as all the most important players in the Demon Realm slumped around it. The map of Keleti that hogged the center of the table had been replaced with a single unfurled parchment.

A peace treaty.

Yet instead of savoring the triumph, I sucked on something sour.

My attention flicked to Rapp. His hair was a mess, his beard so grown out it nearly covered the rings in his lip. Purple bruises dotted his eyes—the underside from a lack of sleep, the full ring from when Xannirin had landed a heavy blow during their previous brawl.

The Kral looked no better. His regal, arrogant posture had vanished, leaving behind a shell of a male. He didn’t meet my gaze, even as I speared it into him. No, all he could look at was the offering, written in Kiira’s elegant script.

Rokath gripped the back of my chair. I didn’t need to see him to know his fury was on the precipice of boiling over.

Trol, out of all of us gathered, looked the most rested and relaxed. But he didn’t carry the emotional weight the rest of us did. He’d always been a loyal commander, an unyielding force, heralding the army when Rokath and Rapp needed to navigate the complex political web of the realm.

“The Angels call this a peace treaty,” Xannirin spit out, unwilling and unable to disguise his disgust. All our attention snapped to him. “This is a hostage negotiation. One we will win, and after, we’ll strike anyway.”

A growl threaded with violent intent emanated from my mate. “All of this is your fucking fault, Xannirin. You don’t get to determine anything anymore.”

The Kral dragged his gaze past me to Rokath.

Rapp’s fingers tightened over the table before he shoved it away, the stones pinning the parchment swaying and tumbling with a clatter. He paced the length of the room like a cougar trapped in too small a cage. “Sign the fucking treaty, Xannirin.”

“You, of all people, don’t get to talk to me like that,” Xannirin snarled, snatching for Rapp’s sleeve. The Hadvezér jerked out of his way at the last second.

Ice crawled down my spine as I called on the onyx strands of my magic, ready to break up yet another fight between the two males. “Shut the fuck up, both of you.” I rose, my height nothing to intimidate them with, yet both paused their hateful, heated glares at one another and trained them on me. “Kiira made her choice. You have to live with it, Xannirin. Are you so fucking selfish that you can’t do this one thing for her? After everything you’ve done?”

A muscle feathered in his jaw. He raked his hands through his greasy hair, tugging on his scalp. “You don’t know what this means for me.”