No Angels started at my sudden appearance.

Thank the Fates.

The candles flickered with my brought-in breeze. I whipped around, gathering my bearings. The front room held crates, none of which were open. I sniffed the air and scented a hint of citrus. But beneath it was the unmistakable stench of unwashed bodies.

Stepping carefully among the boxes of wood, I followed my nose until it led me to another room, narrower than the last. A long workbench stretched along the expanse, dozens of instruments tossed haphazardly across it.

Bile rose in my throat as I crept forward. A table, similar in size to the one I’d been strapped to, waited. Rows of metal teeth smiled up at me, red with past ruin. And on the one beside it? A Demon, half-hidden beneath a dark sheet. Ruby oozed from his back, dropping like rain into the narrow slots beneath him. A small moan rasped in his throat.

How is he still alive?

Breathing through my mouth, I closed the remaining distance and rose to my tiptoes to peer over him. His breath was shallow, and his face was pale. Sweat dotted his brow, and when I glanced at his arms, I noticed the yellow pus poised to drop onto the floor. He was dying, and likely soon, with how horribly infected the cut was.

Pain had drowned his awareness long enough that he didn’t even stir at my presence.

These fucking Angels. Why did they feel the need to harm us so? What had they hoped to gain from that male? He wasn’t one I recognized, which meant he likely belonged to Trol’s battalions. They had less information to offer than almost anyone else in the army. Was this torture all for fun?

Gritting my teeth, I turned away from him. I needed to find Banand and Zurronar, and fast. A few more steps took me into another room, much darker than the others.

“Fucking Fates,” I cursed in Demonic, doubling back to fetch more candles. When I returned—new burns from wax and all—I swept through the room, nearly shrieking when I came face to face with a handful of males crouched together in a cage.

They shot to their feet immediately, gripping the bars. One rattled them fiercely, spewing curses at me in Demonic that had me dropping my mouth wide open. Even after all my time spent in a war camp, I had never imagined such a colorful use of the words of our language.

“Where are Banand and Zurronar?” I cut them off, speaking Demonic back to them.

The rattler froze, his brows furrowing. The rest took a half step back. One gave away their location with a telltale glance. Ignoring the dumb ones, I strode deeper into the dark until I found two familiar looking faces.

“Blessed by the Giver,” I breathed, securing the candle on the ground. One set of burgundy eyes and one set of maroon eyes stared back at me with an absolutely understandable amount of confusion.

“Araquiel?” Banand asked slowly, gripping the bars and pressing his face to them. Brows furrowed, he searched my face.

So they did know each other.

Picking apart the threads of my magic, I allowed my true face to appear rather than the Angel’s.

Banand jerked back like he’d been slapped, while Zurronar blinked rapidly. “Assyria?”

I turned my attention to him. Maroon was clouded by a milky film, and a sickly pallor clung to his dark skin. He looked worse than he had only a few weeks ago.

“Sh!” I admonished them, glancing around us. “I’m here to rescue you. The sentries could return at any moment. How do I open these cages?”

“Your voice…” Zurronar trailed off, coming closer to the flames. A wheeze wracked his frame, and he turned his face into his shoulder to cover his mouth.

A stone settled in my stomach. I had to get him out of here and to a healer, fast. Izgath died because of me, and the least I could do was save his brother from the same fate.

“How are you here?” Banand asked. “How were you Araquiel?”

I cut my attention to him. “I’ll explain later. But she told me to tell you a flame waits behind a glass wall.” Narrowing my eyes on him, I gauged his reaction to the words. Suspicion still curled in my gut.

The plague-creating Demon rose slowly, his gaze distant, as if he were deep in thought. I snapped my fingers at both of them, needing them to help me help them. “How do I get you out of here?”

“Keys should be on a ring in the torture room,” Banand said with a glance at Zurronar. On shaky legs, he stood too. He swayed, gripping the bars for support.

“I’ll be right back,” I promised, then raced past the other captives and returned to where one slowly bled out on the nail table.

Of course, the Fates-damned keys dangled on a hook too high for me to reach, even in Araquiel’s taller form. With a huff, I jumped, snatched at the dangling teeth of one, and yanked. The ring flew through the air and clattered against the floor.

Cursing, I stooped to collect them. A blinding agony exploded behind my ribs. One hand shot out to steady me, while the other clutched my chest. That spot right in the center, where our connection lived among my magic, screamed.

Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

“Rokath! Are you okay? What’s happening?” I shouted down our bond.

Rage detonated from his side.

The roar that followed quaked the earth beneath my feet.

And then everything went still.

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13

Angels swarmed us from all directions, pinning us into the thick thoroughfare at the rear of their camp. The eleven of us closed ranks with Rapp and I on either side, monitoring our periphery.

Assyria needed this distraction to free the prisoners, and a distraction we would give her.

A pulse of white light magic flashed toward me, and I slipped to the left just in time for it to collide with the structure at my rear. Using my momentum, I swung my blade around, digging deep into the shoulder of the caster. The weight of my strike drove him to his knees.

Silver flashed as he swung a small dagger at my thigh in a desperate attempt to maim me. A mocking laugh rumbled in my chest as I jerked my skull-pommeled sword free. My boot landed square in his chest, and he flattened on the ground with a whoosh of air. The knife clattered away, and before he could attempt to rise, I speared him through the heart.

I didn’t stop to savor my victory.

“It’s the Halálhívó!” the Angels in front of us relayed backward.

Fuck. More reinforcements would arrive soon.

“Keep pressing,” I growled at my soldiers.

Rapp barked orders too, trying to stitch our crumbling line back together. Three arrows sailed from his bow and nailed two Angels approaching from a nearby alley. Notching more, he took aim on those in front of us again.

Between us, shadows erupted—Destructors wielded their magic, exploding earth beneath the Angels’ feet. Forced to leap and dodge, their line deteriorated, allowing others to pick them off.

A spear flew from between two tents and impaled one of the Vezető. Rapp swore and shoved the injured male behind him, out of harm’s way. A groan ripped from him as he attempted to remove the sharp end from his shoulder.

Another Demon went down with a gash on his thigh; the Angels fought with more fervor.

Dozens more appeared ahead of us like hornets from a kicked hive. We were outnumbered before we stepped foot outside the Demon camp, but the scales were quickly tipping out of our favor.

Two broad, bulky males raced into the fray, shoving straight to the front. They split their attention, one aiming for me and the other fixating on Rapp. What little time I had to assess our position shattered when the lapis-eyed Angel thrust his blade straight toward my middle. Sparks seared the air as our strikes collided with thunderous force.