Muscles trembling, our blades locked, our teeth gritted, we battled for control. The Angel retracted his sword, throwing me off balance, and swung again. I ducked, kicking my leg out and connecting with his calf, before spinning and letting my bronze blade follow my trajectory. He shrank out of the way, narrowly saving his neck, before pressing forward again. Beside me, the other Demons were locked in battles of their own, all while more white-haired insects streamed in our direction.

What is taking Assyria so long?

With a growl, I shoved the male backward, sending him stumbling over one of his deceased kin. A shout drew my attention to the left, and my heart stopped.

A male, arrows pricking his torso, had kicked Rapp’s legs out from beneath him. With one hand planted on the ground, and the other still gripping the curve of his bow, Rapp was attempting to rise. Time slowed to a crawl as the Angel arced his silver blade straight toward Rapp’s chest.

“No!” I bellowed, leaping toward them. Onyx force exploded from me, colliding with the Angel a split second before I did. We crashed to the ground, spraying dirt in all directions. I yanked a dagger free from its sheath on my thigh and stabbed wildly. We smashed into white, and the structure collapsed on top of us.

Rage sharpened my aim, and I sank the dagger into soft flesh. A grunt of pain met my next strike. Then, I thrashed free of our entanglement. The male grabbed my ankle, and I stomped on his hand, ripping a satisfying cry from his throat. I slashed it wide open before whirling on the remaining fight, expecting Rapp to have reformed our small line.

I stared, veins freezing over, as silver jutted through both sides of Rapp’s chest. It gleamed in flashes of white magic like a polished gem instead of a weapon of war. A heartbeat passed as we locked eyes, his so full of apology.

And then, a roar ripped from my throat, filled with so much rage I hoped the Reaper cowered in its wake and conferred with the Weaver to end this path my friend was on.

Red veiled my vision. Shadows whipped into a frenzy around me, smacking each Angel it encountered without care or regard. I didn’t call them. Didn’t command them. They merely acted of their own accord while my entire focus was on the male who’d been by my side since we were younglings in the military academy.

I dropped to my knees and slammed my fist into the soaked dirt, calling on the dead to rise up and shield us while I figured out how the fuck I was going to save his life.

“Rokath,” Rapp spit out along with a wad of blood. I didn’t even care that he was using my real name in the middle of the Angel camp. The short sword missed his heart, but it still slashed into his ribs, probably puncturing a lung.

“Don’t fucking speak. Don’t fucking die. Do you hear me?” I ground out, wracking my brain for how to help him.

“Not today,” he wheezed out, and I smacked his leg.

“Save your breath. You offered your blood to the Fates. Your thread will hold strong.” Screams tore through the haze, finally drawing my attention away from him as the dead slaughtered everyone in their path.

But that wasn’t the only contributor to the chaos.

Smoke, thick and reeking, rose like a funeral pyre into the sky. Dread sent an icy chill down my spine.

Where the fuck was Assyria?

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14

Ipitched to the side, catching myself on a pole.

“Rokath!”

Still no response.

Fuck, I needed to get us out of here. Fear lacing my ribs, I raced back to Banand and Zurronar. My hands shook so badly, it took three tries to jam the key into the lock to free Banand.

“We need to go. Now,” I snapped without a hint of remorse. My mate was in trouble, and he wasn’t responding to me.

He said he wouldn’t die…

“Aye,” Banand replied, lifting the keys from me. I didn’t protest, not when adrenaline spiked in my veins and made concentrating impossible.

A clank sounded, and then, the door to Zurronar’s cage swung open. The male stepped forward, using the bars for support, while Banand went to free the others. The five burst from their confines, teeth bared and ready to fight. But all the males wore silver bangles around their ankles and wrists, locking down their magic.

That explained why Zurronar looked like he hadn’t healed from whatever ailment affected him. Banand hooked the maroon-eyed Demon and half-carried him toward the exit. When we emerged into the torture room, Banand paused and shuffled Zurronar to two of the others. Then, he turned to me.

“Do you have a dagger?”

Hesitantly, I drew one from my hidden pocket and handed it to him. “What for?”

He dipped his head to indicate the male closing in on death. “Put him out of his misery.”

My stomach clenched. I’d watched my father slaughter plenty of animals—a horse who had gone lame and could no longer pull a plow, a calf born with a mangled leg, goats that had been unable to deliver their kids. The way Banand spoke reminded me so much of that sentiment. Yet he wasn’t wrong. Offering this male passage into peace was better than allowing the Angels to continue torturing him. I doubted the Angels would offer him a pyre so his soul could move to the next life either.

“I’ll find something to start a fire,” I said, fierce determination spreading through my limbs. We were making our escape, after all, and what better fuck you to the Angels than to burn down as much of their camp as we could on the way out?

Banand told the others to continue to the front of the tent. I searched the shelves for anything flammable. A row of bottles drew my attention, and I snatched at them, yanking off the stoppers and sniffing. The first four were healing potions—nothing to hold a flame. But then, I spotted a jar of oil stuffed behind a few instruments. My heart leaped, and I climbed onto the table, knocking the metal aside with a sweep of my hand.

Lifting the lid, I was immediately assaulted by the stench of seed oil.

This will do nicely.

I dropped down and returned to Banand, whose head was bowed. “Follow the Weaver’s thread to peace. May you live long in your next life,” he prayed, words deep and resonant.

My throat thickened as I dipped my chin to my chest. Quietly, I joined him in honoring our soldier. “May your gift never fade.”

Rokath and I had been exhausted, broken, when we offered a few words to those we had burned for their sacrifice. But he’d insisted on speaking it over every single male. Hadn’t stopped even when his voice was hoarse from the number of times he’d repeated himself. And from that, I’d learned an invaluable lesson in leadership: honor those who followed.

To fight for the Demon cause was to risk the Reaper slicing their thread, and they deserved to be acknowledged, even for a moment.

Banand drew the knife across the suffering male’s throat, and garnet bloomed and spilled over the sides. The rise and fall of his chest halted a moment later, signaling the end to his suffering.

I lifted my head and rolled my shoulders back again, gathering my strength for the next phase of the rescue mission.

A chill swept over me as the tall, lanky male straightened and looked at the jar in my hands. “I am impressed, Assyria. The Halálhívó is known for his cruelty and lack of mercy. It seems some of that has rubbed off on you, at least as far as the Angels are concerned.”

I decided then I liked Banand immensely. He didn’t treat me as some weak female, only good for spreading my legs. He recognized me for who I was and what I was capable of.

“Perhaps I want vengeance of my own,” I shot back with forced bravado, drawing my other dagger. But internally, dread knotted my stomach because Rokath still hadn’t responded to me. Rage drummed on his side of the bond, though it held a potent edge of terror. Whatever was happening with the diversion, it had claimed his sole focus. The sooner we escaped the confines of this miserable striped tent, the sooner they could retreat away from whatever was causing Rokath so much agony.