Page 66 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

O nce again, I stood across from Rokath in a tucked-away corner of the training area.

The idea of impersonating the Halálhívó, intimidating them without softening a single emotion, thrilled me in the same visceral way that my mate did when he claimed me earlier.

The thought of both made my sore center throb.

I pressed my lips together to keep my face neutral.

When did I become so much like my mate?

Whether it was the bond that made me crave this power, this violence, or whether it was yet another part of me I’d suppressed as a way to survive the cruel society I’d grown up in, I didn’t care. I merely dragged it in like I inhaled the cool air, welcoming it inside me.

“Ready?” Rokath asked me, and I nodded.

Dipping my eyes closed, I dove into the well of shadows in my chest. Yanking on the tendrils, I brought them outside of me.

They swirled into a frenzy as I pictured Rokath clearly in my mind.

It wasn’t hard, given how many times I’d stared into his burgundy eyes and run my fingers through his beard.

How many times I’d traced the tattoos over his torso and the edges of his jagged ear.

How many times I’d unraveled beneath him, come undone around the hard length of him, carved open in a way only he knew how to do.

I stretched, grew, thickened, as I became an Imposter.

The complexity of his armor proved to be a challenge.

Brows pinching, I rolled through it, piece by piece.

The dark pants he wore, with the metal strapped over the thighs and his calves.

The heavy boots that adorned his feet. The fitted piece that covered his stomach and chest. The flexible plates that made up the shoulder joint.

And finally, the bracers on his forearms.

Satisfied I’d thoroughly equipped myself, I let the obsidian vortex fall away. Blinking into the present, I jolted when I was eye to eye with my mate. This new height and weight were ones I’d never experimented with before, since they would have made me stand out when I wanted to blend in.

When I spoke, my voice came out exactly like his. “How did I do?”

With an utterly serious expression, he rounded me, and I fought the urge to squirm. “From a distance, no one would know the difference,” he stated when he returned to my front. “How does it feel?”

“Heavy,” I grunted, sweat already breaking out across my brow.

“It’s unnerving looking at myself,” he commented, stepping back and crossing his arms.

At that moment, Rapp hobbled behind the stands and let out a low whistle.

Kiira was tucked under his arm, offering him some support.

But he was growing stronger and stronger by the day, especially aided by the enhanced liquid pium the healers had managed to create from the dried leaves Kiira and Xannirin had brought from Uzhhorod.

“I don’t know who is who and that might frighten me the most,” he commented as he and Kiira took a seat on a bale of hay.

I rolled my eyes, and so did Rokath.

“See!” Rapp looked at Kiira but gestured in our direction.

The High Priestess shook her head. “It’s easy. That’s Assyria.” She pointed to Rokath. A laugh burst out of me before I could stop it.

“No, that’s Assyria,” Rapp declared, knocking his shoulder into hers.

“He’s right,” I replied, grinning.

Kiira merely shrugged like she wasn’t concerned with winning their contest. “The easiest way to figure out who was who was to make a guess and check for reactions.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“Can we return to training?” Rokath grumbled, drawing his sword. The garnets embedded in the skull on the pommel glinted in the sunlight.

Rapp raised his hands in mock surrender.

“I should learn to move like you do,” I told my mate.

“Aye,” he agreed. “While you already do, simply because I’ve overseen so much of your training, learning to swing a broadsword in my form will be different.” He grabbed a second one from beside Rapp and then handed it to me. “Follow my motions.”

Hefting it, I mirrored Rokath’s stance. The weight tugged on my shoulders, and even though I bore my mate’s bulk, it was more difficult than I had anticipated.

Side by side, we stood, swords drawn and poised in the air, as Rapp and Kiira studied us with quiet interest. Rokath stepped forward and swung in a basic maneuver.

I did the same, pausing in the same position he did.

He backstepped and twisted, the tip of his blade arcing in a straight line, like it would across an opponent’s stomach.

I teetered for a moment during the rotation but managed to regain my balance.

He moved forward again, combining several strikes this time. Dragging in a breath, I launched into the same series, completely empty of air by the end.

“Good. Again,” he commanded. We faced Kiira and Rapp, repeating the flow faster this time.

On the third pass, a handful of males and females peeked over the top of the stands, watching their Szélhámos and Halálhívó work in tandem.

I tried my best to ignore them and focus on what Rokath was doing.

He added a few ducks and dips as if we were fighting real enemies, pushing me to the limits of what he knew I was capable of.

Faster and faster we danced as I found a rhythm, half a second off from my mate’s performance.

The blood rushing in my ears drowned out all other noise.

Finally, Rokath ceased movement. I finished my last strike, then let my blade hang at my side. My chest heaved from the exertion, and my heart thundered against my ribs.

Yet it wasn’t nearly as forceful as the sounds coming from above. I dragged my gaze up. The top of the stands was crowded with onlookers. The entry side to the small space behind them was completely blocked too. Awe etched the face of every male and female.

“How?” someone questioned, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of the Halálhívó in duplicate.

This was a turning point—where I proved I was allowed to stand beside Rokath. That I was meant to.

Kiira winked at me as I flicked my attention to her and Rapp, then my mate. He sheathed his sword across his back. With a long exhale, my magic fell away, revealing my true form.

“She truly is his equal,” a former priestess said from somewhere in the mix. The males around her nodded .

Whispers of my honorific reached my ears, each instance threaded with reverence.

“You all have training you should be doing,” Rokath growled up at them, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With sheepish yet excited expressions, they slunk away from the grandstand and returned to their stations.

“You didn’t have to dismiss them,” I sighed, running my hands across my face. Wisps of hair had escaped my braid, and they slicked back with my sweat. My nose crinkled as I looked at my hands, then dried them on my pants.

“We don’t have time for dalliances,” Rokath grumbled.

Rapp snorted like he wholeheartedly disagreed, and I bit my lip to smother my grin. “This is all foreplay for you two. I’d call that a dalliance.”

Rokath shot him a dagger-like glare, and he merely shrugged.

“It was quite impressive,” Kiira commented, smoothing out her skirt. “Let them see you, at least for a little while, if you do this again. It will help their belief. I’ll write to the capital about it as well, helping to sway the nobles and populace, as I promised Xannirin.”

Rapp leaned back, bracing his hands on the hay behind him. “Still can’t imitate magic though, right?”

I shook my head. “I wish because I know that would be helpful.”

Rokath came to my side and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. Fingers under my chin tilted my face up to him. “You are so helpful. You’re doing enough.”

“But I want to do more. My power has so much potential,” I protested with a huff. “I can become anyone. Surely there’s another way I can help with that?” Olrus’s words slammed into me, almost from another lifetime, like divine intervention.

“They’ll exploit your magic and turn you into an assassin. Who knows where they would send you and who they would want you to kill.”

Had Olrus been correct in his assessment? That I’d be weaponized for someone else’s gain? Perhaps. But I wanted this. I was choosing this path. And if it could save the Demon race, help my mate win this war, I’d gladly do it over and over and over again.

“What if…” I trailed off, mulling over how to phrase my request in a way Rokath wouldn’t immediately reject. “What if I used my magic to impersonate more Angels too? We capture the high ranking ones, I can sneak into their camp and gather intel or something.”

Rokath’s expression hardened, and a swell of fear and fury swept down our bond. “I can’t risk you like that.”

“Wait, she has a point though,” Rapp interrupted, rising from the hay.

We turned our attention to the Hadvezér, who stood with more ease than he had in weeks.

“What have we always done best? Spinning stories. Assyria can enter their camp and spread rumors and then retreat. She doesn’t even have to be someone high ranking to do it. ”

“Her Angelic isn’t good enough,” Rokath shot back, his fingers tightening.

“We can practice more,” I said, excitement thrumming in my veins. “I picked it up quickly before.”

A muscle ticked in Rokath’s jaw. “Counterpoint. What have the Angels always been best at?”

“Ambushing us,” Rapp grumbled, his brows furrowing.

“It’s time we turn the tables on them.” Rokath paced a slow circle between us, staring at the pennant flags whipping atop nearby towers.

“Assyria can act as a lure to peel off sections of their army. She’ll infiltrate, spread rumors, stories, drop hints on our location.

That will bring them straight into our traps. ”

Rapp’s eyes brightened, and a sinister smile crossed his face. “I like it.”

“We’ll gather everyone with the power to render themselves invisible with shadow to accompany her.” Rokath halted and faced his Hadvezér. “She’ll be protected on the ground, and you can send your best fliers for overwatch.”