Page 23 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

“ F all back to camp!” I shouted in Demonic.

My reanimated soldiers formed a line of their own, hollowing out a space for us to collect ourselves and retreat.

Not that the Angels paid us much attention anymore.

The smoke had thickened with the wind gusting in our direction, and a jagged inferno scorched the sky.

Dozens broke rank, drawn toward the blaze like moths to a flame.

“Rokath, I’ve got them!” Assyria relayed.

Thank you, Weaver.

We’d spilled more than enough blood for at least one part of this fucking rescue mission to go well.

“This is going to hurt,” I told Rapp, adjusting my position so I could heft him into my arms.

“Fuck!” he swore as I shoved my arms under his torso. The sword clanked against my armor as I rose, and more blood poured from the deep gash. I couldn’t remove it, not yet, or he’d bleed out without question.

“When do you get so damn heavy,” I huffed as I called on more obsidian tendrils to help me hold him steady.

“Had to…compete with you,” he replied, unable to remain si lent despite my clear instruction. I growled another warning at him. He was going to kill himself at this rate. And then I’d have to reanimate him to slake my rage at him fucking dying on me.

The Parancsok who had accompanied us raced over, eyes popping wide as he took in Rapp’s pale form.

“Halálhívó, I will accompany you in the skies. We must take Hadvezér Rapp to the healers immediately,” he stated like I didn’t fucking know that.

“Aye,” I gritted out, muscles and magic straining from the effort.

Then, he shouted at the others to continue to the trees. Black membranous wings sprung from between my shoulder blades, and I leaped into the sky. Rapp jerked once, then slumped, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Stay with me,” I snarled, using more of my power to hold his now limp body straight.

The Parancsok joined us a moment later, onyx swirling from his hands and spearing toward the ground, where a group of white wings winked out of existence, preventing them from following us. Not that they had much interest in pursuing us when the rear portion of their camp was ablaze.

“Was this your doing?” I asked Assyria, scanning the treeline for any sign of her. That was where we’d agreed to meet once the prisoners had been rescued.

“Oh, so now you respond to me,” she snapped back, fear and anger threading her tone. “I thought you were hurt, Rokath!”

“I am not, but Rapp is.”

“I can see that.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Finally, I spotted movement in the trees. I shouted at the retreating males to join them, torn between saving Rapp and protecting my mate.

Fuck, why did I allow myself to care? To feel? Before Assyria, the panic holding me hostage wouldn’t have dared emerge from the cage I kept it in. I would have kept a level head. Rapp wouldn’t have gotten slashed in the first place.

Assyria’s voice cut through my internal chaos like a blade. “You can’t blame yourself, Rokath.”

How she could be so calm when I was falling apart was beyond me.

“Stay safe. Return to camp immediately.”

“Banand is overseeing our retreat, and the others have caught up. Now go. Save Rapp. I can’t lose him too.” The sob was evident even down our mental connection. She’d lost so many in her life, and I wouldn’t allow her to suffer any more grief if I could help it.

So I pushed harder, flying a slightly too long path between the trees and the camp in an attempt to both keep an eye on Assyria and carve a direct line to the healers for Rapp.

What felt like years passed as the red dots in the distance expanded into recognizable shapes.

They were nothing in comparison to the slick, hot garnet that coated my arms. My armor.

Dripped on the ground like a gutted animal as I flew my friend to the only people who could save his life.

Air heaved in and out of my lungs from the level of my exertion.

The Parancsok accompanying me screamed out orders the moment we were within earshot of the camp.

Where there had once been a restless calm, chaos burned.

Demons took up arms and raced toward Lutsk to ensure the safe return of the prisoners.

Healers bolted from their workstations and tore their gazes skyward, gauging the distance and what they’d need when we finally landed.

A sea of red, gray, and black swept underneath me. I glided lower and lower, until finally I was close enough to hit the ground at a run. My shadows tightened over Rapp, his breath so, so fucking shallow. The lead healer raced over, simultaneously guiding me and assessing his Hadvezér.

Two apprentices rolled the canvas flaps back, beckoning us inside.

They secured them in place after we passed, the crisp night air flowing through their workspace.

A group of experienced healers prepared a table, spreading white cloths, rolling up a towel at the head, and filling basins with fresh water.

They snapped to attention when I reached it, fingers twisting as they wrapped their magic with mine.

Together, we eased Rapp to the table, his body hovering just enough that the blade protruding from his back wasn’t forcibly jutted out.

The lead healer shouldered through, giving the silver sword a thorough examination before barking orders.

His fingers closed around the hilt, lifting it ever so slightly as the space between Rapp’s leather armor and the quickly-staining cloth closed.

I held my breath as his limp form hit the table, certain that the movement would jostle the weapon and immediately kill him.

A breath wheezed out of him, and then, all inky swirls disappeared.

The healers jumped to work, each second a precious commodity.

One dragged three fingers through the dark ruby staining his skin and sucked them into his mouth.

Someone placed their hands on me in an attempt to drag me backward.

I shrugged them off as I watched the male slice deep into his arm and allow his lifeblood to pour into a glass container.

“Halálhívó, we’ll take it from here,” a healer said, his voice distant like he was underwater. Or maybe it was me that swam beneath the depths, for I felt like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t tear my gaze away from Rapp’s pale form.

A fist slammed into my chest, sharp and shocking—a rope yanking me out of the deep water. In a blink, I returned to myself, noting that my mate stared up at me, her burgundy eyes shining with a tumultuous mix of emotion.

“Let them work, Halálhívó. You’re blocking their way,” she whispered. Two tears tracked down her face as she glanced over her shoulder.

Nodding, I backstepped, dragging Assyria with me. A handful of chairs jutted against a wall, and I sank onto one, pulling my mate into my lap. I needed her, and she needed me.

“Fuck, Assyria, I can’t lose him.” She still wore Araquiel’s clothing, but that garden-like scent of her, the one that had captivated me since the moment it hit my nostrils, was there, stronger and steadier than I was in that moment.

“I know,” she choked out, wrapping her slender arms around my neck. I crushed her against me, not caring that blood soaked my torso. That there were others that needed attending. That I should have checked on Banand and Zurronar.

Weaver, Reaper, Giver, I always do as you bid. Please don’t let him die. I need him to help win this war in your name.

Terror and sorrow tumbled down our bond. Assyria trembled, and then a quiet whimper wracked her chest. Her hand slapped over her mouth.

She’s trying to be strong for me.

“Feel what you need to feel, little imposter,” I choked out. Her emotions were always so strong, and normally, I tried to block them out. But this time, I let them wash over me, joining my own.

When Thast had died, it was only minutes between hearing of his execution and then committing it.

Now? Rapp’s future was shrouded in fog. His injury was grave.

I lingered on the precipice of losing another friend, staring over the cliff and waiting for a strong wind to send me careening down it.

I had less control now than I had that fateful day my father and the former Kral forced me to slaughter Thast and the two others.

A thousand jagged thoughts tore through my mind as we waited for something, anything, from the healers. They continued to block Rapp from view as they ringed him, flinging crimson cloths into buckets. An apprentice raced for more potions. Inky wisps twisted around the arms of the lead healer.

Assyria sobbed harder, and I kept clutching her because fuck she was the only certainty in my life right now.

She needed this embrace just as much as I did.

Rapp had been the only one rooting for us since the day our bond snapped into place.

The memory of him howling with laughter when Assyria had challenged me after I told her to obey him like she would obey me hit me like an avalanche.

How different would things have been if I’d listened to Rapp and Kiira initially?

Assyria eventually quieted, sniffing softly as she continued to rest her head on my shoulder. Our bond was a mess of exhaustion from both sides, and yet we refused to move from our silent vigil.

The frenzy of their work died down. Less rags were thrown. Their shadows dissipated like smoke in the wind. I stroked Assyria’s ebony hair, the rhythm as soothing to me as it was to her. I hated being still, yet I couldn’t move, save for that one small motion.

An underling brought the lead healer a cup of water, and he drank it greedily, stepping back from Rapp’s too-still body.

My stomach plummeted when he turned toward us, face haggard and haunted.

With a sigh, he set the drink aside, then picked his way through the injured.

Others still lingered at Rapp’s side, murmuring amongst themselves.

Assyria straightened in my lap and dashed the backs of her wrists over her eyes, trying to clear them .

“Halálhívó,” the lead healer began slowly, wiping his hands on a clean rag.

With a grumble, he glanced around and found another chair.

Gripping the back, he spun it and then eased himself onto the seat with an audible squeak.

He braced his elbows on his knees, exhaustion dragging his frame down. “Hadvezér Rapp is stable, for now.”

The snake constricting my torso loosened.

“But–”

It tightened again.

The lead healer sighed heavily. “That could change at any moment. His wound was mere inches from fatal. We’ve also completely run out of pium stores. Should someone else suffer such an egregious injury, we would be unable to save them.”

His attention flicked to my mate, and I understood his meaning.

“What are his chances of living?” I asked, each word dragged from the depths of despair. I needed to prepare myself—and Assyria—for the worst.

He glanced over his shoulder, watching his team work for a moment before responding.

“Honestly? With everything we poured into him, I think they are high. But do not take that as a promise,” he warned.

The lead healer had always been straight with me, which was one of the reasons I’d promoted him to the position.

“Thank you,” I choked out, relief like a potent drug passing between Assyria and me. “I will ensure we replenish your stores as soon as possible. Whatever you need, I will procure for you.”

He nodded, then rose like a creaking ship. The fatigue rimming his eyes was undeniable. “He will have a constant watch until he wakes.”

When he attempted to maneuver his chair back into place, Assyria shot to her feet. “Let me,” she said, taking it from him. He didn’t fight her, merely trudged back to the table and spoke with the others still working on their Hadvezér.

Then, she turned to me, slowly, like the motion harmed her. Swollen, puffy eyes snagged mine, and her shoulders hunched like her tears had dragged her to the depths of despair. We’d both suffered a physical and emotional toll—and there was no end in sight.

I rose. “Come,” I said, holding a hand out to her.

She accepted readily and nestled into my side.

My gaze lingered on my unconscious friend.

A thick row of stitches covered his torso, throwing off the smooth lines of his ink.

He’d be annoyed that years of painstaking work to decorate his body had been ruined, but fuck it.

He’d be alive and that was far more important.

Taking one last look at him, I steered Assyria out of the tent. We stepped into the broken night, smoke from the fire my mate had started trickling into our camp.

I slammed to a halt. In the shifting air, among sand and ash, stood our strike force—and a handful of the prisoners we’d saved.

And they all stared directly at my mate.