My hands balled into fists.

“It took decades to properly plan everything. The Kral and his two brothers had to perish together for Xannirin to inherit the throne. But we didn’t execute it until I’d worked my way up the ranks of the army. After a particularly nasty skirmish along the wall, I’d had enough. We were lacking in males to defend the Demons and the Angels were growing more fervent by the year. Thankfully, Kiira was in agreement when I sat the two of them down and told them it was time. She might have been a bastard, but she was no stranger to the brutality the three imposed.”

“At least you had each other,” Assyria murmured, hands flattening over my chest. My heart beat into her palm, as if it knew that it was utterly safe in her care. As if it knew it belonged only to her.

“Aye. And Rapp too. He might not be of royal blood, but he helped us through it all,” I said. Already, I felt lighter, like by speaking the worst memories into existence, they could no longer fester on my soul.

“So the three of you killed them?” she clarified.

I shook my head. “Only I landed the killing blows, little imposter. By then, I was numb to the act. Xannirin hadn’t taken more than a handful of lives, and Kiira, well, I didn’t want to taint her.”

“You’ve always protected everyone, Rokath. Who ever protected you?”

I clenched my teeth, fighting off the spear of sorrow digging into my chest. Assyria had an uncanny ability to name my deepest desires and unveil the well of emotion that accompanied them. Air froze in my lungs as I forced the sob back down. “No one. I needed no one.”

Assyria shook her head. “You wanted no one because then you’d have to share this with them. But I’m here now.” She cupped my cheek, and only when she swiped her thumb across it did I realize a salty tear had slipped out. “Let me protect your emotions like you protect my body. Let me be your comfort when it all feels like too much. Lay your worries, your fears, your pain at my feet. We can shoulder this burden together.”

At that, I shattered. I snatched Assyria closer, banding my arms around her so our bodies melded together like the ores used to forge weapons. Chest heaving, I buried my grief, my shame, my anger into her hair. The scent of roses filled my nostrils, allowing me to fall deeper into the love she offered. One that was unquestionable, unrelenting despite my revelations, and so pure I was still certain I didn’t deserve it.

Assyria poured raw empathy for what I was forced to endure down our bond. Tumbling with it was how much she loved me for sharing those horrific moments with her. My mate held no walls between what she felt and what she expressed. Vulnerability was something that had been burned out of me centuries before, and yet with Assyria, it was safe to let my own crumble to ash.

“Thank you,” I managed to grind out. Straightening, I allowed her to see the gratitude written in my eyes—on my soul. For that was where she lived inside me.

Her dainty hands caressed and cleaned my face. “I love you, Rokath. Nothing will ever change that.”

I nodded, too exhausted to speak. I was raw, flayed open, and these weren’t feelings I particularly cared to experience.

Slowly, she eased out of my embrace and took my hands again. “Let’s sleep now.”

I let her direct me to our bed, blowing out candles along the way. When she crawled onto the mattress, I darkened the final hint of light, then joined her. Settling against my pillows, I said, “Come here.”

Without hesitation, she curled into my embrace, and I snaked my arms around her. Her soft curves melted into the hard planes of my body as I wholly enveloped her. My eyes closed, and she traced my tattoos. “Thank you for telling me all of that,” she whispered into the darkness. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

“It wasn’t,” I admitted. Exhaustion tugged at every fiber of my being, and for once, sleep offered itself to me freely. Perhaps it was Assyria in my arms, the highs and lows of the day, or fucking everything catching up to me, but when I crashed, I crashed hard, falling into the deepest slumber I’d had in years.

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10

With only a single day before our planned rescue of Zurronar and Banand, I wanted—needed—additional time to study the three Angel females. Taking on their forms was essential to the mission’s success. The execution had to be flawless, for my safety as much as everyone who was accompanying us to rescue the Demons imprisoned in the Angel camp.

You’ve got this, Assyria.

Rokath and I parted ways in the bone room, and I couldn’t help the flush that crept across my cheeks at the memory of the way he’d taken me on it a few days prior.

Tracing a path through the black tent, I found the caged females. In this back room, they were close enough that Rokath, Rapp, and the other officers were only a shout away, but far enough I could practice in peace.

Not that I would need anyone to save me. With the bronze bangles on their wrists and ankles, their magic was locked away, and the bars of the makeshift camp prison separated them from me. And my magic? Now, more than ever, it was an extension of me, honed like the edge of a blade and ready to draw at a thought’s notice.

“Honored by our divine creator,” I greeted them with the traditional Angelic words as I entered the sectioned-off part of the command center. Three sets of blue orbs snapped to me. Only Esha narrowed hers. Despite the stormy ocean color denoting her as the one with the least power among them, she acted as if she wielded magic like Araquiel, the most powerful. Faeya’s eyes brightened when they landed on the bundle in my arms—fresh clothes.

They’d surrendered their armor for my use the same day we captured them. Surrendered wasn’t quite the right word. It was more like the males had forcibly removed it from their bodies. The white and grey clothing, now pristine, rested in my pack, ready for me to don as part of the final run-through.

“Those are for us?” Faeya asked in Angelic.

“Yes,” I replied, placing the pile on a stool so I could slide the straps off my shoulders. The bag thudded against the carpet, and I rolled out my neck, relieved of the burden. Then, I approached the cage.

Faeya and Esha shot to their feet. Araquiel remained seated, her back braced against the bars on the opposite side of the cage, knees tucked to her chest. She scrutinized me and her cellmates with a detached air. To be fair, I’d studied the three of them with the same intensity, since knowing a bit about their personalities would help me respond appropriately should I be stopped by someone who knew them.

At this point, I was torn between taking on Faeya’s form or Araquiel’s. Had the latter been more forthcoming, less calculated, she would have been the easy choice. Being caged didn’t exactly allow them to show their true personalities though. Was Araquiel as shrewd as she seemed? Or was it her survival instincts kicking in to protect her?

Esha was a solid no with her eye color. She wouldn’t be in a position of importance in regard to the Angel’s prisoners. She was also the most openly hostile, and again, I wasn’t sure if it was borne of the situation or if that’s who she truly was.

Faeya seemed to accept her position by the second day. She spoke Angelic with me despite not knowing why I was practicing. While she hadn’t willingly offered up any extra information, she seemed to be the most congenial of the three. From my time living under Vagach’s abuse, I recognized her behavior for what it was: fawning. Yet it was far more helpful than the other two’s attitudes.

Stretching my arms to their max, I placed the clothes on the bars and retreated. After all, they were still Angels, and I didn’t trust them. This small act of kindness was due to my need to garner more information from them.