“Reaper, may your eye watch over me as I spill blood in your name,” I snarled, adding a psychological element to my torture.

“We spill blood in your name, Reaper,” the Vezető and Assyria echoed. Our bond flooded with dark desire, my mate’s attention firmly on me.

This performance was as much for her as it was for the Angel. To show her the depth of my devotion, the dark places I’d crawl to protect her.

A scream tore from the Myrza’s throat as I stabbed all the way through and peeled the flesh from his bone. When he saw white, he turned to the side and retched. I rolled my eyes.

Pathetic, every last one of them.

I let him recover because I wanted him to see, to feel when I ripped the bone from its socket. Distraction simply would not do.

He straightened at last, chest heaving. The moment he looked down, I snatched my opportunity. Grabbing his finger by the tip, I ripped my arm back. The digit separated from his body with a satisfying snap.

The scream he released would have curdled my blood if I didn’t fucking love killing Angels so much. The Vezető laughed, only adding to the torture of the insect who dared think he could take me on and win.

I dropped the severed finger on the Myrza’s lap like a promise as to what would come next. Later, though, I’d strip the rest of the flesh away and add to Assyria’s collection.

I didn’t bother asking him if he was ready to talk yet. I still had some anger to slake. Without waiting, I stabbed into his middle finger, peeling the muscle away. Sweat spilled off him, dripping down his temples onto his shoulders, and the palms of his hands were clammy, mixing with the blood seeping from his wound.

A sigh threaded with annoyance slipped out of me as I ripped the second finger from his hand. Garnet spilled from the corners of his mouth. I shot to my feet and gripped either side of his jaw, forcing it open. Then I saw the deep gouges his teeth had left in his tongue.

I tsked like he was an errant child. “Can’t have you doing that again. I still need you to talk. Get me the gag,” I commanded the Vezető, not even bothering to look away from the Myrza.

When the weight of my new instrument settled in my palm, I dragged it in front of the Angel’s face. Something between a bit for a warhorse and a metal circle, it prevented a prisoner from clamping down on anything that was put in their mouth.

“Open wide,” I taunted, my voice dripping with disdain.

The Myrza attempted to snap it shut. I shook my head, again releasing a disappointed sigh. “If that’s how you want to be.”

Diving into the well of shadows in my chest, I called on the threads of it to take the place of my hands. They thickened until they forced his jaw open, despite his attempts to snap his teeth shut. I adjusted the gag until it was level in my hands and pressed. The cool metal bit into his flesh, and I positioned his lips around the O ring in the center. Then, I secured the buckle around the back of his head. Once I was certain the fit was painful, I released my magic.

“There. Much better don’t you think?”

He attempted to curse me around the gag, but all he succeeded in doing was drooling all over himself. Hate filled his aquamarine eyes—nothing new from these Goddess-loving sycophants. Honestly, it was becoming boring.

“Since you don’t seem to value your fingers, perhaps I should move on to another part of your body?” I asked him like he had a fucking choice.

Grabbing my dagger again, I dragged it along his thigh, knocking his severed digits to the floor. I paused when the tip rested near his dick.

There was a singular, universal way to get males to talk that transcended race: threaten their cocks. Most, despite knowing they had zero chance of living, would still protect the organ until their last breath.

And I was losing both patience and time.

The Myrza thrashed wildly against the bronze chains binding him to the chair. More strangled sounds spit through the gag, and instead of hate, pure, unfiltered fear filled his eyes.

Much, much better.

The primal beast in me purred at the sight. Nothing made me feel more in control than drawing that raw emotion out. And right now, after almost losing Assyria again, I needed that.

The sharp tip pressed in, slicing through the fabric clinging to his thighs. His cries increased, but he stilled.

“What’s that? You’re ready to talk?” I mocked.

He nodded vigorously. I didn’t move the dagger.

He made another noise that sounded a lot like “please” in the common tongue. Calling upon my shadows again, I worked the buckle open. Before the metal in his mouth slackened, I shoved onyx tendrils inside, blocking his ability to chomp his tongue in half.

It wouldn’t have been the first time one attempted such a trick.

I removed the bit, then cocked a brow. “So, why are the Angels gathering at the wall? What is the Zahal’s plan?”

“I only know that I was sent here to eliminate your most powerful magic wielders,” he gasped out in the common tongue.

I forced my expression to remain cold and detached. How the fuck did they know about that? Banand and Zurronar had mentioned the torture the new recruits had endured, which is how they knew about Assyria. They must have gotten this information out of them too.

“That’s not good enough,” I replied coolly, dagger biting deeper. A blot of ruby welled up on his white pants.

“Stop! Wait! I’ll tell you,” he half-sobbed.

The blade halted, still pressed into his skin.

“A Seer told us we had to spread out along the wall,” he gasped. “She saw a great, bloody battle in the mountains. Said if we wanted to win, we needed to change our tactics.”

Interesting.

Kiira’s new vision contrasted whatever the Goddess had offered this female. Yet it was known that Angel prophecies were conjecture and interpretation at best. If the Goddess had offered her this scene, it was a venomous presage, not a saccharine omen.

The Demons would claw a victory from those peaks, one that would lead to the moment Kiira had seen of Assyria and me in Sivy.

“Is the Zahal calling on reinforcements for this?” I pressed. It was what I would have done—had done.

He nodded vigorously. “That’s why I was sent here. He wants to weaken you further while he gathers more. Saw what you did with your numbers and wants to recreate it.”

Of course he did. The fucking leech couldn’t think for himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken my tactic and then turned it against me. By now, he should have learned it never worked.

His arrogance was why our historians would etch my name in their books, laud my prowess in battle, and his would disappear into the ether, lost to time.

A knock on the door stole my attention before I could continue my interrogation. “Enter,” I called out, twisting to see who dared intrude when I was in the flow.

Again.

Olet appeared in the doorway. “You wanted to see me?”

My annoyance dissipated. With protesting knees, I rose, the dagger squelching as I removed it from the Myrza’s thigh. A sob choked with relief escaped him. Until I gave the two Vezető a new command. “See what else you can get out of him. Then kill him.”

“No!” the Angel shouted, and the Vezető chuckled darkly. Grabbing new tools, they flanked him. Panic held his eyes open, but I didn’t deign to offer him more of my time. With a jerk of my head, I motioned for Assyria to join us. She shot one last glare at the Myrza, her assessing eyes searing one last look into her memory, and then ducked under my arm and into the hall again.

His scream was cut short when I closed the door behind us. Olet paced a small circle there, picking his head up at our arrival.

“The time has come for us to leave,” I told him.

The grimness in the set of his jaw mirrored my own internal experience. “What of Hadvezér Trol?”