Truly, I was just going through the motions of cleaning myself. Worry dug its claws deep into me, making it hard to focus on anything but trying to breathe. Trying to squash the utter terror that Rapp may not survive his grievous wound.

With a shuddered exhale, I set the cloth over the rim of the basin to dry. Gripping both sides of it, I prepared to turn around and face what was left of the day. One tear fell, and then another. I quickly swiped them away, not wanting Rokath to see me cry.

My mate and I hadn’t spoken since we rose, far later than we normally did. Between the physical exhaustion of our mission to the pure, unbridled fear holding our bond taut, neither of us had slept well. I doubted Rokath had slept at all, his insomnia worsened by our friend’s thread mere moments from being snipped by the Reaper.

Slowly, I spun toward Rokath.

Eyes distant, he strapped on piece by piece of his black metal armor. I swept my gaze over him, noting his honorific tattooed into his knuckles, the skulls wrapping the base of his neck, the snake fangs crinkled by the worry lines on his forehead.

The powerful presence he normally carried was entirely absent.

Grem and Zeec let out low whines from where they watched us both. Neither of us had the heart to kick them out of the bed, even when the four of us crammed into it was incredibly uncomfortable.

The sound tore me from my spot across our small home. I perched on the edge of the hard mattress, stroking Zeec’s long, pointed ears and scratching under Grem’s throat. Their soft fur was soothing, but nothing would relieve this ache until I knew Rapp would live.

Rokath loomed like a storm on the horizon. Yet he didn’t wield the threat of lighting and thunder. No, his shoulders held the slightest hunch like they were clouds weighed down by rain, and his strong brows were tense. A line creased the area between them too.

On tiptoes, I reached up and smoothed it with my thumb. He sighed and leaned into my touch. A moment passed before he wrapped his arms around me and tugged me closer. We said nothing, not needing to when our every emotion was shared. The bond allowed us to comfort each other in ways others would never understand.

“The worst part about all of this is that now I have to go lead. Have to pretend that I am fine when I am not,” Rokath murmured, so quiet I thought I’d imagined it.

I tipped my head up to look at him. A muscle feathered in his jaw. “I haven’t felt like this in…centuries.” He blew out a long breath, and I cupped his face.

“I’ll be there with you,” I promised. “Our pain is shared now.” I repeated the phrase I’d told him time and time again as his hardened exterior cracked.

Both of us had been lonely, albeit in our own ways—him, thinking he had to bear the burdens of his leadership alone, me, thinking that I couldn’t trust anyone to care for me.

Every day, Rokath demonstrated that he would protect and support me; every day, I would show him he had me to lean on.

“We need to debrief Banand and Zurronar today.” Rokath reached down and brushed the back of his knuckles across my cheek. “Since you were so fearless in their rescue, you should be there too.”

I nodded, the pride that should have bloomed dying like a bud caught in a late-spring frost. “I should probably be the one to tell Zurronar about…” I trailed off as darkness ignited in Rokath’s eyes. The reminder of Izgath, who he’d burned on a pyre after we had been caught almost coupling, when my true identity had been revealed, when our mate bond had snapped into place, was clearly still a touchy subject with him.

“You were always mine,” he growled, the possessiveness in his tone heating my low belly.

“I know,” I reassured him. I didn’t have the energy to spar with him, nor was it an appropriate time when his emotions were stretched to their limits. “Now, I’ll always be yours. Promise.”

He leaned down and kissed me with a tenderness that surprised me. Instead of him claiming me, he merely let our lips linger together for a brief moment. “Let’s go.”

I slipped my hand into his as we emerged from our accommodation. It was these simple touches that grounded me the most—in knowing Rokath was here and our love wouldn’t leave me bereft of him.

He whistled for Grem and Zeec to follow. Clouds covered the skies, and a breeze rustled through the spaces between the temporary buildings around us. The sullen atmosphere perfectly matched my mood.

We passed into an open avenue a moment later, a sudden gust of wind whipping the pennant flags about. The sickly smell of burnt fabric and flesh hit my nostrils, and I jerked up the scarf to cover my nose.

Rokath halted, craning his neck in the direction of the Angel’s camp. “There’s still smoke.”

“Well, I did use seed oil to start the fire,” I commented. “It’s extremely difficult to put out. Water usually isn’t enough.”

Rokath snorted and shook his head before continuing forward. “I should have known I wasn’t the only one capable of receiving your fire.”

“You really should have. I don’t know why you would have thought otherwise, honestly,” I quipped, some of the ache in my heart easing as our banter began.

“Perhaps I should teach you to channel it in other ways so I am not the sole target,” he replied, opening the entry to the command center and allowing me to pass.

“But it’s far more fun when you are,” I pouted, then broke into a grin.

Rokath rolled his eyes and steered me past the throne of bones and into the map room. Trol was there, along with a few other officers.

“Halálhívó.” He closed his fist and brought it to his forehead before saluting Rokath. The others did the same. Then, they all dipped their heads to me. Clearly, our successful mission had garnered me some additional favor with them.

“Find Banand and Zurronar and tell them their presence is required here,” Rokath told one of the Parancsok.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, then dipped out of the tent.

“The rest of you are dismissed.” They quickly gathered their belongings and departed, leaving us behind with Trol.

“I checked on Rapp earlier. He’s still sleeping,” Trol said before Rokath or I could voice the question.

At least he wasn’t still dying. Sleeping was a good sign.

I hope.

“Thank you,” Rokath murmured, sinking into one of the chairs. I found another and dragged it beside him. Since we were inside, I slipped the scarf off my head and plopped it on the table in front of me.

Rokath flicked a corner of it out of his way as he studied the map. Then, with a grumble, he raked a hand over his scalp and rubbed the back of his neck. “Trol, I hate to ask this of you, but I think Rapp will need to return to Fured with us to recover. Do you feel capable of holding here until we return with reinforcements?”

“Whatever you need, Halálhívó,” he swore. “I know your friendship with Rapp runs deep.”

Rokath picked his head up and met the gaze of his Hadvezér. I remained a silent bystander in their exchange, watching with rapt fascination at the changes in Rokath. “Do not think I don’t value you too, Trol. I picked you from the academy for a reason.”

Like us, Trol had burgundy eyes. His hair was cropped close to his head, and he always wore tight fitting leather armor that left his arms bare. Unlike Rapp and Rokath, no ink decorated his skin. I’d only had a few brief interactions with him, and I realized I didn’t know what rare magic he possessed.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your power?” I blurted out, unable to smother my interest.

Trol turned his attention to me, though not with the same gruffness he showed the soldiers. A hint of a smile rose to his lips. “I am a Rifter. Basically, if you combine the best parts of Destructors and Nightmares, that is what I do. I create slashes in the air or on the ground that seem so real that the Angels avoid them. There are consequences of them falling into them, of course.”