Page 112 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

I could almost feel her eyes rolling. “Let go of your magic now before you exhaust yourself. The wall is holding and the space between the stone and the trees is clear.”

I had the moment I leaped for her, because she was the most precious thing in this entire world and I’d rather burn out every last drop on saving her.

“Then we need to press on,” I told her. “We’re not in Sivy yet, and there are still more Angels standing between our current position and the capital.”

Releasing the tension in my arms, I allowed her out of my hold, though I hated every inch of space between us.

She let out a small laugh as she ran a hand over the new dents in the black metal on my chest. “You’re going to hate this when you see it in the light.”

I sighed and shook my head. “Where did you leave the rest?”

“Up there,” she jerked her head in the direction of the wall. “Figured you’d want to regroup before advancing.”

She wasn’t wrong.

With a groan, I pressed to my feet, swaying slightly as I put weight on my injured leg. But the wound wasn’t deep, and enough time had passed that the silver’s effects were wearing off.

“Come, let’s find the others.” I slipped my hand around hers and hobbled off the cliffs—before any more crazy ideas sprouted in her mind. She tucked close to my side, letting me lean into her for support.

Bodies littered the ground as we trudged uphill, my lungs and legs burning from the exertion of the last few hours. When we emerged into the clearing, I found most of the Deathveiled huddled together, Olet among them.

And, to my utter surprise, Banand and Araquiel.

“Halálhívó,” they greeted me in unison. Every single one dropped to a knee and rested their foreheads on their arms before rising.

“I’ve never seen you wield so many at once before,” Olet said, awe lining his tone. Then his attention fell to the garnet dripping down my leg. He reached into a pocket of his fighting jacket and pulled out a vial of green.

All I could do was gaze upon my bold, beautiful mate, even as I gulped down the pium. “Well, I’ve never had someone to protect like this before.”

She grinned up at me, though sorrow glistened in her eyes. And our bond told me exactly where it originated.

“Who did we lose?” I asked, attention flitting among the group to see if I could figure for myself. “Where is Zurronar?”

Araquiel dipped her gaze briefly, clearing her throat. “I lost him in our roll. I couldn’t find him.” Her voice was thick and heavy. Banand closed his eyes, tipping his head toward the sky. The two had been through horrors too awful to speak together. Even before that, they’d been inseparable.

To lose Zurronar now, after I’d promoted him again, after he’d continued to fight in the army, carrying his untarnished honor, was a massive blow.

Araquiel hugged his side, and yet he still didn’t lower himself to this moment with us. Grief on the battlefield was a risk, and one he knew all too well. Death was inevitable, as much as we loathed losing the ones we loved.

Assyria sniffed, wiping at her eyes. I squeezed her hand, letting her know I was there. I wanted her to feel. Wanted Banand to feel. And all the rest too.

But the war wasn’t won yet.

“We lost a few thousand. Lots of archers, fewer ground soldiers,” Olet reported. “Though the Angel casualties were far higher.”

I scanned the area, noting the sheer number of white haired bodies face-down in the soaked earth.

“We need to move out. We can beat them back to Sivy if we move quickly. Send a group of able-bodied to fetch horses, wagons, and other supplies. The rest need to reform and follow us immediately. The night is long, and we have an advantage in the dark.”

“Yes, sir.” Olet saluted me, then turned on his heel and jogged up the hill. Wings sprouted from his back, and he swept toward the wall, sounding off orders.

Banand and Araquiel turned to us, and the latter cleared her throat. “Thank you. For saving us. My life, my blade, my magic, are yours to command.” Araquiel knelt, her head resting on her arm. Love and pride shone in Banand’s eyes as he looked at his mate. Yet beneath it was a profound sadness.

“Go with Parancsok Olet. Assist him however he needs. Your service was and is commendable,” I said. He could at least find the space to feel for a few moments, saving face with the rest of the soldiers, if he returned to his quarters.

Banand grasped his mate’s arm and helped her to her feet. Wings unfurled behind them—black membrane and white feather brushing. “We’ll rejoin you soon.” And then, they leaped into the skies, hand in hand. I couldn’t blame them. They’d almost lost each other after finally accepting their bond.

The rest of the group remained, awaiting my next command.

Units from all directions converged, and once a large enough force had gathered, I spoke. “You all fought well tonight, but the battle is far from over. Press our advantage. Conquer what should be ours. Protect our race from those zealots. Százados, reform your ranks and continue your march.”

The officers organized their squads, working with quick precision.

The Deathveiled lingered, sitting on the ground, catching their breath, cleaning off their blades.

I noted that other than Zurronar, we’d only lost one other, and none of the females.

Grem and Zeec flopped on their sides, tongues wet with red and lolling.

Feral grins pulled their muzzles back like they’d reveled in their slaughter.

I removed my helmet, letting the winter night air cool my overheated form. Exhaustion tugged at my limbs, and the shadows in my chest were scarcely more than a gray whisper. Clouds moved in overhead, and then, fat flakes fell from the sky. They nearly sizzled as they hit my bare scalp.

“Let’s hurry it up!” I shouted. We needed to move out before we lost too much of their trail to the oncoming storm. My breath frosted in front of me, indicating just how quickly the temperature was dropping.

Thankfully, they did. Even Banand and Araquiel managed to rejoin us, noting that Olet would oversee the supplies moving forward and didn’t require extra assistance.

I brought my fingers to my lips and whistled.

As one, the mass of bodies began to move, Assyria and I at the front.

But when we reached the rocks where we’d defeated Ishim, I tugged her to the side.

It would provide us with a view down into the valley below, and with her keen eyes, she could help me spot any lingering danger.

Grem and Zeec trotted to the edge, scanning for themselves. Curiosity had me peering down to see if I could find the body of the Angel army’s leader. The drop was steep and long. There was no way he could have survived a fall of that magnitude.

But I had to be sure.

The Zahal’s broken form crumpled over a group of severe boulders. Garnet leaked from the hole caved into his head, and a sharp point protruded from his ribs.

Assyria drifted to my side, helmet tucked under her arm, wispy hairs at her brow plastered to her forehead, and looked down at him too.

“Funny. I’ve now killed two males that ended up looking like this after.”

My attention sliced to her. I raised a brow in question.

She shrugged, a small smile curving her lips. “I caved Vagach’s head in with a meat mallet after I stabbed him in the ribs. Then I buried him in a deep hole. Just dropped him in there without a care. Basically, he looked exactly like that.” She gestured toward Ishim’s form below.

A wicked laugh burst from me before I could stop it. I shook my head at my mate. I shouldn’t have expected anything different from her.

Draping an arm over her shoulders, I tugged her into my side. Salt mingled with a rosy garden as I buried my nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. Our bond hummed with contentment—the kind that came with unwavering devotion on both sides.

The last of the Angels’ white light faded overhead as they retreated further down the mountain. Boots crunched over the fallen leaves and branches as the Demon army marched on.

Yet in the darkness, Assyria and I burned brighter.

Hate? That was where we’d begun. Somewhere in the vehement abhorrence, we’d found vast adoration in those wounds buried deep inside us. They’d called to one other, healed bit by bit by our bond. Until a love, so dark, so tempting, so infinite, remained.

“I love you, Assyria. My perfect mate,” I murmured.

With a soft sigh, she leaned into me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I love you, Rokath. My forever protector.”

We stood together in the hush, the mountain a silent witness to all we had lost, all we had gained. Her pulse thrummed with mine, steady and even, when both had raced at the thought of either being permanently stilled.

A moment passed before she spoke again.

“Thank you for living.”