Page 110 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

Z ahal Ishim’s low, poisonous laugh scraped against my nerves. Light coiled around him as though he’d stolen it from the heavens. In the darkness, he radiated an ethereal glow. But there was nothing holy in the rapture on his face.

White twisted around two struggling forms, and the air in my throat constricted.

The Zahal’s magic shoved Banand to his knees. Onyx strands battled for control, but they slipped through his fingers like smoke in the wind. Like whatever power Ishim wielded transcendent even that of a plague-creating Demon.

Araquiel stood at Ishim’s side, eyes like polished glass. Her hands were clasped before her, luminous white binding her wrists into a parody of prayer. A puppet knelt at her Zahal’s altar.

A low growl rumbled in Rokath’s chest. Zurronar skidded to a stop beside us, his maroon eyes wide.

“We didn’t betray you!” Banand shouted in Demonic before more magic shoved into his mouth and silenced him. Tears leaked down Araquiel’s face. Yet she didn’t blink, didn’t move .

Banand thrashed against the blinding strands, a scream shredding his throat. The sound was so feral, so helpless, that my own bond twisted in agony. A male watching his mate weep through the prison of her own body. And his magic was unable to free her.

Another male—a Myrza by the looks of his armor—stepped forward, silver blade gleaming with wicked delight as the Zahal’s magic reflected off the polished surface.

“An abomination,” Ishim began, his nose upturned as he looked between the mates. “This type of filth cannot be allowed to live.”

How did he know?

“Ishim isn’t just a zealot like the rest of the Angels. He’s a parasite. His power of the Hive seizes control of living minds and has them act like his own personal puppets. He must have sensed their bond and invaded Araquiel’s mind to capture them,” Rokath growled into my mind.

That was infinitely more fucked up than Rokath calling upon the dead. He was no better than the males of the Demon Realm who stripped their wives and daughters of autonomy. At least we could fight back.

Araquiel could do…nothing.

“You’d kill them both for a blessing from our deities?” I shouted before I could smother the words, rage rising like a firestorm, directed at this self-righteous male. Lust for his blood coiled in my veins. He needed to fucking die before he snatched the will from another living being.

“This is no blessing,” he shot back. “And your allowing them to live after discovering it is further indication as to why you animals must be eradicated from this earth.”

The Myrza raised his blade overhead, preparing to slice into Banand. Without hesitation, I blasted obsidian spears in their direction in a desperate attempt to knock Banand out of the way of the swinging blade.

Time fractured. The world thinned into singular strands.

Araquiel’s mouth opened in a silent scream, whatever hold Ishim had over her shattering beneath the might of their mating bond. Darkness scorched through the night. Banand’s eyes squeezed shut. Ishim grinned with malice. Rokath leaped between the Angel’s leader and me.

Everyone froze.

Uzadaan and Zurronar stepped forward, the only two of the group who could move. No heartbeats passed as they raced to Banand and Araquiel. Uzadaan knocked the would-be executioner’s blade aside as he tackled him.

Zurronar bolted for Araquiel, earth churning beneath each stride. He reached for her—Fates, so fucking close.

Then, the corner of Ishim’s mouth twitched. Grew into a smile made to slaughter.

Fear flashed among the maroon of Zurronar’s eyes. His magic had faltered, failing him at the penultimate moment.

He twisted mid-stride, but the silver blade was already there. In one swift strike, Ishim buried a dagger between his ribs.

A choked gasp slipped from Zurronar. He stumbled, colliding with Araquiel, his momentum unstoppable. They fell together—their fates entwined, helpless in the grip of the Hive’s will. A blur of limbs and blood, swallowed by the void beyond.

A scream tore through me, nearly as violent as the roar that ripped from Banand’s throat.

But that wasn’t the worst sight before us.