“Don’t overdo it,” I reminded him as a few soldiers picked up polearms and stabbed into the Angel line again.

“I won’t,” he said, but I didn’t believe him. Like Rokath, he’d fight through the pain, to his own detriment.

But then, a shockwave swept across the battlefield, bringing with it a sound so sharp, so piercing, I fell to my knees. Clutching my head, I succumbed to the agony, unable to think about anything other than the moment the pain would stop. When the acuteness abated, I dropped my hands, finding them soaked in blood. My ears rang as if the bell from the academy tolled inside them.

A glint caught my eye, and I looked up from the crimson to glimpse silver swinging for my neck.

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41

The piercing psionic wave dropped hundreds in front of me. Hands clamped over ears. Faces contorted in agony. Mouths unhinged in silent screams. Plunging into my well of magic, I yanked shadow into existence and plugged my ears. The force of the blast brushed over me, and I half-expected for it to knock me unconscious like so many before me. Yet my magic held.

Panting, I raised my sword and leaped into action, defending those still recovering from the deafening attack. None of them would be able to hear for a while, though. It wasn’t the first time many had experienced the brutality of high-level Angel magic, but fuck if they sent one of their aquamarine-eyed here, it wasn’t a good sign.

They weren’t probing, testing our defenses. This wasn’t mere strategy on Zahal Ishim’s part. This was a step in their extermination plan.

“Assyria, are you okay?” I sent down our bond.

But I was met with silence. Numbness. Emptiness.

My stomach plummeted to the core of the earth.

Fuck, what if she’d been knocked unconscious by the blast?

But this void wasn’t that; it was the very same as when the Angels had taken her before. Rage boiled my blood and renewed my vigor. I never should have allowed her onto the battlefield. I should have kept her behind the walls of the keep, safe.

Shadows surged from me like a volcanic inferno, clawing across the ground without my command. A roar shredded my throat, halting the Angels racing toward me. Their blue eyes were wild as I whipped my blade around, clearing a semicircle in one savage swipe.

Because right fucking now, I needed every ounce of my power to slaughter those who dared take my mate from me.

Dragging in a desperate breath, I dropped to one knee, the impact shaking the ground around us.

Assyria was the kindling that stoked the flame inside me. She was my reason for fighting, reason for fucking breathing. She was everywhere in me—the roses tattooed on my skin, her name the blood rushing through my veins, our bond the center of my power.

Her initial was carved into my wrists. She’d claimed me as much as I’d claimed her.

She could not die. I was the fucking Halálhívó. The Fates would bend to me. The Reaper could not have her, not today. Not until I was fucking ready.

With teeth gritted against any possibility of losing her, I cocked my fist, curling my fingers into my palm with the force of my fury.

And

Then

I

Punched.

An earthquake rocked the ground as a riot of ebony blasted out of me. The shockwave swept in all directions and yanked corpses upright just as Angels fell to their knees from the force of the tremor. A hundred, then a thousand rose, their lifeless eyes staring, unblinking, into the oncoming enemy.

The sight of them trembling didn’t slake an ounce of the primal panic eating me alive.

I flung my hands forward. Disjointed bodies plunged into the still-living, tearing frightened screams from the throats of many Angels. The sound invigorated me, called to the dark parts of me that craved violence. While the corpses worked, I scanned the chaos for Assyria.

Ice froze my spine. Air lodged in my lungs. Blades dug between my ribs.

Instead of myself standing on the hillside it was her. A maelstrom of onyx swirled around her, and a bronze blade, coated in a thick layer of ruby, barely held a silver sword off her chest. Rapp was curled on the ground beside her, his back to me.

I went utterly still as her arms trembled.

Like a tremor before a collapse.

Like a roll of thunder before a storm.

And then…

She fell.

“No!” I roared, taking off at a dead sprint toward my mate. Along the way, more bodies rose, racing for them with unnatural speed. Cries of alarm sounded from the group facing off with Rapp and Assyria as the horde of the lifeless confronted them.

The Angel female that had been battling with Assyria turned, screaming at her soldiers to close rank. They did, polearms jutting forward and halting the dead’s advance. My mate and Rapp were blocked from me.

A snake constricted my chest. More shadow poured out of me until the bottom of my massive well appeared.

But I couldn’t stop.

I had to get to her.

Had to stop this agony.

Living Demons joined me a moment later, Destructors picking apart their lines while Corruptors rotted the ground beneath their feet. I angled myself to the outside, trying to work around them.

Grem and Zeec bounded out of the chaos, jaws snapping around weapons and ripping them from steady hands. I’d trained them for viciousness, but the way they went for throats next, dragging Angel after Angel to the ground, was feral, as if they too sensed the importance of bringing this group down.

A pile of Demon bodies became visible—the last place I had seen Assyria. I dragged in another breath and called them to rise, praying Rapp wouldn’t ascend with them.

Begging the Reaper not to let Assyria.

Sweat slicked every inch of my skin. My limbs trembled from the effort of holding thousands aloft at once. And blinding, debilitating pain gripped my ribs.

Burgundy eyes flashed at me. Then a devious smile. Those long lashes blinked, brushing against her high cheekbones. Her hips swayed as she approached me.

I fell to my knees at the sight.

“Assyria,” I breathed, reaching for her.

She opened her mouth to laugh, but the snarky edge to it was gone.

And something sharp bit against my neck.

The illusion fell away, leaving two Angels standing before me. An ice-blue eyed one laughed again, the trilling grating against my nerves as she pressed her sword harder into the spot between my chest plate and my helmet.

The other stood where I’d seen my mate.

I’d been so desperate for any sign of her, these insects had exploited me.

Just like in my dream.

Grem and Zeec snarled, but I barked an order for them to leave me. To search for Assyria instead.

“Quiet,” the one holding the blade hissed. “Release your magic.”

I did, mostly because I needed to conserve what little power I had left to blast these two away.

“The mighty Halálhívó on his knees for you, Hayyel,” the Illusionist cackled in Angelic.

“Should I blow powder in his face too? Shut down his bond?” she replied.

Primal rage tightened every muscle in my body. This parasite again. She needed to die as much as Zaph did.

“I think he’ll come willingly since we have his mate,” the second replied, her grin all wicked maliciousness. “After all, he sacrificed fifty thousand for her last time. What do you think he’d do to have her now?”

My sanity snapped.

Disregarding the pain, I gripped the sword and flung it from Hayyel’s hands. Ruby slicked my palms as I bled for the Fates. Made another offering so that Assyria might still live. I wrapped them around her throat and crunched.

“I would do anything for my mate,” I snarled in her face. My Angelic was rough and violent, so unlike their lyrical voices. “I’d crawl across Keleti with jagged shards in my knees if that’s what it fucking took to get to her. I’d hunt down every single white-winged fanatic until I had her in my arms again. I’d burn the Eső Forest down tree by tree. I’d melt the glaciers atop the Skala Mountains and flood the earth with my fury. There is nothing I wouldn’t do. Nothing.”