Page 21 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

A ngels swarmed us from all directions, pinning us into the thick thoroughfare at the rear of their camp. The eleven of us closed ranks with Rapp and I on either side, monitoring our periphery.

Assyria needed this distraction to free the prisoners, and a distraction we would give her.

A pulse of white light magic flashed toward me, and I slipped to the left just in time for it to collide with the structure at my rear. Using my momentum, I swung my blade around, digging deep into the shoulder of the caster. The weight of my strike drove him to his knees.

Silver flashed as he swung a small dagger at my thigh in a desperate attempt to maim me.

A mocking laugh rumbled in my chest as I jerked my skull-pommeled sword free.

My boot landed square in his chest, and he flattened on the ground with a whoosh of air.

The knife clattered away, and before he could attempt to rise, I speared him through the heart.

I didn’t stop to savor my victory.

“It’s the Halálhívó!” the Angels in front of us relayed backward.

Fuck. More reinforcements would arrive soon.

“Keep pressing,” I growled at my soldiers.

Rapp barked orders too, trying to stitch our crumbling line back together. Three arrows sailed from his bow and nailed two Angels approaching from a nearby alley. Notching more, he took aim on those in front of us again.

Between us, shadows erupted—Destructors wielded their magic, exploding earth beneath the Angels’ feet. Forced to leap and dodge, their line deteriorated, allowing others to pick them off.

A spear flew from between two tents and impaled one of the Vezet?. Rapp swore and shoved the injured male behind him, out of harm’s way. A groan ripped from him as he attempted to remove the sharp end from his shoulder.

Another Demon went down with a gash on his thigh; the Angels fought with more fervor.

Dozens more appeared ahead of us like hornets from a kicked hive. We were outnumbered before we stepped foot outside the Demon camp, but the scales were quickly tipping out of our favor.

Two broad, bulky males raced into the fray, shoving straight to the front.

They split their attention, one aiming for me and the other fixating on Rapp.

What little time I had to assess our position shattered when the lapis-eyed Angel thrust his blade straight toward my middle.

Sparks seared the air as our strikes collided with thunderous force.

Muscles trembling, our blades locked, our teeth gritted, we battled for control.

The Angel retracted his sword, throwing me off balance, and swung again.

I ducked, kicking my leg out and connecting with his calf, before spinning and letting my bronze blade follow my trajectory.

He shrank out of the way, narrowly saving his neck, before pressing forward again.

Beside me, the other Demons were locked in battles of their own, all while more white-haired insects streamed in our direction.

What is taking Assyria so long?

With a growl, I shoved the male backward, sending him stumbling over one of his deceased kin. A shout drew my attention to the left, and my heart stopped.

A male, arrows pricking his torso, had kicked Rapp’s legs out from beneath him. With one hand planted on the ground, and the other still gripping the curve of his bow, Rapp was attempting to rise. Time slowed to a crawl as the Angel arced his silver blade straight toward Rapp’s chest.

“No!” I bellowed, leaping toward them. Onyx force exploded from me, colliding with the Angel a split second before I did.

We crashed to the ground, spraying dirt in all directions.

I yanked a dagger free from its sheath on my thigh and stabbed wildly.

We smashed into white, and the structure collapsed on top of us.

Rage sharpened my aim, and I sank the dagger into soft flesh.

A grunt of pain met my next strike. Then, I thrashed free of our entanglement.

The male grabbed my ankle, and I stomped on his hand, ripping a satisfying cry from his throat.

I slashed it wide open before whirling on the remaining fight, expecting Rapp to have reformed our small line.

I stared, veins freezing over, as silver jutted through both sides of Rapp’s chest. It gleamed in flashes of white magic like a polished gem instead of a weapon of war. A heartbeat passed as we locked eyes, his so full of apology.

And then, a roar ripped from my throat, filled with so much rage I hoped the Reaper cowered in its wake and conferred with the Weaver to end this path my friend was on.

Red veiled my vision. Shadows whipped into a frenzy around me, smacking each Angel it encountered without care or regard.

I didn’t call them. Didn’t command them.

They merely acted of their own accord while my entire focus was on the male who’d been by my side since we were younglings in the military academy.

I dropped to my knees and slammed my fist into the soaked dirt, calling on the dead to rise up and shield us while I figured out how the fuck I was going to save his life.

“Rokath,” Rapp spit out along with a wad of blood. I didn’t even care that he was using my real name in the middle of the Angel camp. The short sword missed his heart, but it still slashed into his ribs, probably puncturing a lung.

“Don’t fucking speak. Don’t fucking die. Do you hear me?” I ground out, wracking my brain for how to help him.

“Not today,” he wheezed out, and I smacked his leg.

“Save your breath. You offered your blood to the Fates. Your thread will hold strong.” Screams tore through the haze, finally drawing my attention away from him as the dead slaughtered everyone in their path.

But that wasn’t the only contributor to the chaos.

Smoke, thick and reeking, rose like a funeral pyre into the sky. Dread sent an icy chill down my spine.

Where the fuck was Assyria?