Page 75 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

B lood darkened my hands, but it was nothing compared to how my vision stained red when a raven arrived.

The new recruit who dared interrupt my torture trembled at the sight of the half-dead Angel.

Shooing him into the hall, I set my tools to the side and wiped my hands on an already dirty cloth.

Assyria followed the male, and by the time I emerged, my mate had walked a few paces away from the door.

Leaning against the wall, the back of her head braced on its cool surface, she looked as if she were trying to picture herself anywhere but here.

The dungeon of the military academy was dank, musty, and wet, with spray from the ocean somehow reaching inside the tiny crevices of rock and securing its place there.

There was no fresh air to be had, and even with the door closed, the stench of our activities pricked my nostrils.

We’d been at this for hours, and she had stomached more than I thought her capable.

Despite her injury, she insisted she needed to study this Angel since he held such a high rank.

In the Angel army, Mryza was the equivalent of a Parancsok, though they all reported directly to Zahal Ishim.

Impersonating him would throw open the door of possibility for us when it came to infiltrating their camp or influencing any Angels we came across.

The garnet-eyed male stood at attention, his back straight and hands tucked. He was bruised, with a split lip and deep gash on one side of his head, but all his injuries would heal by the end of the day.

“Halálhívó,” he said, offering me a quick salute and proffering the message.

A muscle ticked in my jaw as I unfurled the parchment, the thirst for pain unrelenting. Air caught in my throat as I noted the handwriting.

Trol .

Thank fuck he was still alive.

Halálhívó,

A battalion of Angels has split off from the main group, headed east, most likely to Fured.

We didn’t notice their departure until I sent a scout on a mission and he spotted them from a distance.

They must have used some sort of illusion to sneak away.

By our estimates, they should reach you a day after this note.

“Fuck!” I shouted, whirling for the thick stones and punching them, if only to have something to slake an ounce of this rage.

How had they seen us depart? How had they known where we’d go?

Snapping it open again, I kept reading.

We need you to return as soon as possible.

The reason I sent the scout is that their forces have begun to pull back of their own accord.

As discussed, we have not engaged with them since your departure.

From other scouts’ reports, a mass of them are gathering along the wall, both on the border to the north of the Skala Mountains and along the northernmost part of the wall atop the ridges.

We aren’t sure how far south they have spread yet or if they will continue to do so .

I am sending a contingent to the wall as a backstop after I finish penning this note. Afterward, I will begin an advance so we don’t lose sight of more Angels. Please send further instruction if you have it.

I hope this reaches you in time so you can prepare your warriors for the imminent attack.

I bid you to rejoin the larger force once you’ve routed them in Fured.

It is my fear that we can no longer wait for further training and that the Angels are planning some sort of assault now that they know of your absence.

Trol

My hands shook with the force of my fury.

Trol had been a day late in his estimate, which wasn’t entirely his fault, but I was still pissed nonetheless.

The only mercy offered by his words was leverage.

Armed with information about the Angel’s movements, I had a starting point from which to force the Myrza into speaking.

With the Angels spreading like a plague of locusts across Keleti, with my mate wavering on her feet, with how they’d surprised us yet again…I needed all the information I could gather.

“Take this to Hadvezér Rapp and the High Priestess,” I commanded the messenger. “Find Parancsok Olet and tell him to meet us here.”

“Yes, sir,” the male confirmed, offering me a closed-fisted salute. He marched away immediately, leaving me to finish what I started with the Angel Myrza.

“What did it say?” Assyria questioned, her voice threaded with exhaustion.

“Trol warning us of the oncoming attack.” I slammed the door open again, making the Angel jump. The two Vezet? assisting me didn’t flinch, though they regarded me with wide-eyed wariness. Assyria closed the door with less roughness behind her, then took her seat in the corner, arms crossed.

A storm clung to me as I stalked forward and braced my hands on either side of the Myrza. “Why are your brethren going to the wall?”

He pressed his swollen lips together, wincing at the movement. Mine curled back, flashing my sharp, pointed canines. Through gritted teeth, I threatened, “Last chance to speak before I start removing your bones.”

His face turned ashen. So far, the damage I had inflicted had been superficial enough that his innate healing abilities would undo most of the damage. But our magic didn’t cover regrowing bones.

I lifted a brow, waiting for a response. He still said nothing.

Shoving back, I said, “Very well then. Hand me that knife.”

One of the Vezet? passed me a wickedly sharp bronze blade. I made a show of flashing the edges in the light, gauging the Angel’s reaction. His aquamarine eyes grew large as the balls I threw for Grem and Zeec.

I knelt in front of him—not out of reverence or deference—but because it brought me closer to his hands.

Bronze chains bound his wrists to the arms of the chair, and I grabbed his fingers and flattened one out.

He twisted, attempting to curl them back into a fist, but I merely smashed the hilt of the blade into the back of his hand, forcing him to relax it.

When I had one pinned, I looked him dead in the eye and dragged the tip of the blade along the meaty part of his lower finger.

“Reaper, may your eye watch over me as I spill blood in your name,” I snarled, adding a psychological element to my torture.

“We spill blood in your name, Reaper,” the Vezet? and Assyria echoed. Our bond flooded with dark desire, my mate’s attention firmly on me.

This performance was as much for her as it was for the Angel. To show her the depth of my devotion, the dark places I’d crawl to protect her.

A scream tore from the Myrza’s throat as I stabbed all the way through and peeled the flesh from his bone. When he saw white, he turned to the side and retched. I rolled my eyes.

Pathetic, every last one of them.

I let him recover because I wanted him to see, to feel when I ripped the bone from its socket. Distraction simply would not do.

He straightened at last, chest heaving. The moment he looked down, I snatched my opportunity. Grabbing his finger by the tip, I ripped my arm back. The digit separated from his body with a satisfying snap.

The scream he released would have curdled my blood if I didn’t fucking love killing Angels so much. The Vezet? laughed, only adding to the torture of the insect who dared think he could take me on and win.

I dropped the severed finger on the Myrza’s lap like a promise as to what would come next. Later, though, I’d strip the rest of the flesh away and add to Assyria’s collection.

I didn’t bother asking him if he was ready to talk yet.

I still had some anger to slake. Without waiting, I stabbed into his middle finger, peeling the muscle away.

Sweat spilled off him, dripping down his temples onto his shoulders, and the palms of his hands were clammy, mixing with the blood seeping from his wound.

A sigh threaded with annoyance slipped out of me as I ripped the second finger from his hand. Garnet spilled from the corners of his mouth. I shot to my feet and gripped either side of his jaw, forcing it open. Then I saw the deep gouges his teeth had left in his tongue.

I tsked like he was an errant child. “Can’t have you doing that again. I still need you to talk. Get me the gag,” I commanded the Vezet?, not even bothering to look away from the Myrza.

When the weight of my new instrument settled in my palm, I dragged it in front of the Angel’s face. Something between a bit for a warhorse and a metal circle, it prevented a prisoner from clamping down on anything that was put in their mouth.

“Open wide,” I taunted, my voice dripping with disdain.

The Myrza attempted to snap it shut. I shook my head, again releasing a disappointed sigh. “If that’s how you want to be.”

Diving into the well of shadows in my chest, I called on the threads of it to take the place of my hands.

They thickened until they forced his jaw open, despite his attempts to snap his teeth shut.

I adjusted the gag until it was level in my hands and pressed.

The cool metal bit into his flesh, and I positioned his lips around the O ring in the center.

Then, I secured the buckle around the back of his head.

Once I was certain the fit was painful, I released my magic.

“There. Much better don’t you think?”

He attempted to curse me around the gag, but all he succeeded in doing was drooling all over himself. Hate filled his aquamarine eyes—nothing new from these Goddess-loving sycophants. Honestly, it was becoming boring.

“Since you don’t seem to value your fingers, perhaps I should move on to another part of your body?” I asked him like he had a fucking choice.

Grabbing my dagger again, I dragged it along his thigh, knocking his severed digits to the floor. I paused when the tip rested near his dick.

There was a singular, universal way to get males to talk that transcended race: threaten their cocks. Most, despite knowing they had zero chance of living, would still protect the organ until their last breath.

And I was losing both patience and time.