Page 86 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

“ I ’ve been fighting in this army for ten years. Survived too many battles to count. All without a female ‘watching my back’ with her magic,” a Vezet? snarled down at me.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You will speak to me with respect. I am the Szélhámos,” I hissed. Kiira stood by my side, her posture similar to my own as we faced off with this group of detractors. Grem and Zeec flanked us, the latter raising his hackles at the offending male.

Rokath and Rapp were elsewhere, dealing with messes of their own.

Apparently, in all our time away, many had forgotten my mate’s departing decree.

Factions had formed within battalions, those more welcoming of additional aid, while others, like this stupid male, were seasoned and hardened against the violence.

They’d been in so long and so deep they couldn’t see anything outside of swinging their blades.

He scoffed, a sharp, derisive sound that made me want to curl my lips back from my teeth and bite. “A leadership position you did not earn. You were merely given it because you fucked the Halálhívó. ”

Fury ravaged the last scrap of my patience.

“That’s it,” I muttered under my breath.

Vicious obsidian burst from my hands, swirling around us in a frenzied display of my power.

One section lashed out and wrapped around the male’s throat, lifting him off the ground.

His feet flailed through the air. “I am the mate of the Halálhívó. And you’ve been serving long enough to know that his wrath is not something you want to incur.

Not that I need him here to protect me. I am certainly capable of that on my own. ”

Twisting my left hand, I snaked more magic beneath his pants and wrapped them around his pathetic balls. His scarlet eyes bulged so hard I thought they might pop out of his head. In a desperate attempt to break my hold, he called upon his own power. But it was no match for mine.

For me.

I was their final reckoning. Should they fail to submit, they’d never get another chance to die at the hands of the Angels.

“Guard,” I commanded the dogs. They leaped forward, backs bowed as they barked up at the Vezet?.

A sarcastic laugh slipped out of me, and I turned my attention to those surrounding us. “If anyone else has anything to say, I’m more than happy to offer you similar treatment.”

Hard eyes in weak-powered shades of red stared back at me.

Jaws were held tight, as if many were attempting to restrain themselves from speaking.

I threw the first offender away without a second thought, then yanked those few to me.

They stumbled to their hands and knees, and Grem and Zeec circled them like they were nothing more than sheep, ensuring they wouldn’t escape their pen.

I went to the male in the middle and pressed my boot into his fingers.

He glared up at me. “Being his mate still doesn’t mean you’ve earned our respect. ”

I put more weight into my foot. To his credit, he didn’t flinch.

“Allow me to demonstrate why you should then.” Inhaling deeply, I tugged on the threads of my magic and wielded my secondary power.

In a split second, the Halálhívó himself stood before them.

The crowd took a collective step back. With more bulk on my body, two of the male’s fingers cracked, and a string of curses fled his lips.

I stepped away, having proven my point. Then, shadows swirled again, leaving the Myrza who attacked Fured standing before them.

Kiira snapped her fingers at the males. “Behold the Szélhámos and all the magic the Giver blessed her with. The Weaver crossed the Halálhívó’s path with hers for a reason. It is time for you to profess your trust in their divine creations.”

After our conversation the previous night, she looked far healthier.

Divinity glowed from her as she owned her role as High Priestess.

Command exuded from her like she alone decided who would receive the Fates’ blessings.

Maintaining her judgmental glare, she yanked a ceremonial dagger from her side, the hilt embedded with glittering diamonds.

With a simple flick of her wrist, she proffered it to the gathered males.

One brow raised, challenge carved into her posture, she dared them to deny her.

They shifted, looking at their companions as if they were waiting for someone else to make the first offering.

Fucking males.

“You,” I pointed to one of the kneeling offenders. “Will you sacrifice your blood to the Fates? Thank them for keeping you alive only to defy their grand plans?”

Shakily, he sat back on his heels, staring at me with wide-eyed trepidation. Understandable since I was still wearing the form of the Angel. With a sigh, I let it go. Shoulders softened and tension bled from their frames.

“The Fates don’t want obedience. They want devotion. They want willingly-given sacrifices. Do it now if you want the Reaper’s eye to pass over you.”

Begrudgingly, he pulled his own dagger from his hip. Glancing between Kiira and me, he sliced across his palm, then squeezed into a fist. A pattering of crimson dripped down his hand and onto the earth.

“Anyone else?” I groused, popping out a hip and narrowing my eyes on the gathered unit. More drew their blades and made similar, albeit small, offerings.

“The Fates will shine their favor upon you in the next battle. For they reward those who are faithful to the paths they weave,” Kiira explained, each word slow and pronounced like they were fucking younglings.

I had to smother a snort.

At least she sounds convincing.

That encouraged a few more contributions, until everyone had at least let a few drops of blood hit the ground.

“Excellent. I shall inform the Halálhívó that your unit does not require additional discipline,” I told them, my voice a mix of snark and sweetness.

Without deigning to wait for a response, I spun on my heel and prowled to the next pennant in the battalion. Kiira fell into an unhurried step beside me, her expression serene compared to my irritated one.

A series of snarls vibrated in Grem and Zeec’s throats before they joined us in navigating the complex maze of the war camp. Trotting ahead, their tongues lolled, and their eyes glittered as if the whole encounter had been an exciting game for them.

“I think we convinced Szarvas squad,” I reported to Rokath.

“Good. Who is left?” he asked. His directness was expected, though I still wished he’d offered a little more sympathy after another squad had been such assholes. They made the Rokath I’d first met look innocent in comparison.

“Zolom,” I replied. At least my mate allowed me to force them to see my value on my own, rather than threatening them on my behalf.

This was the level of autonomy I’d always desired, and that Rokath was holding back the parts of him that wanted to shield me from the vitriol of these males spoke volumes.

“Good luck. Let me know if you need my assistance.”

“Will do.” I focused my attention on the tents looming ahead of us, dragging in a steadying breath. A smattering of caws drew my attention overhead, and I noted three crows high in the blue sky. Kiira’s attention too was drawn there.

“The Fates,” she murmured quietly.

“Something is about to happen,” I replied, coming to a stop.

“Why do you say that?” She whirled, studying me with pointed intent.

“Because ever since Rokath’s soldiers arrived in Stryi to conscript, three crows have appeared at every major turning point in my life.”

We looked at each other for a long moment as Kiira processed that information. “Let’s speak more about this later.”

I nodded, and we continued onto the Zolom section. The Százados waited beneath the flag, an anxious look on his face. “Szélhámos,” he greeted me with a salute. For Kiira, he swept into a bow. “High Priestess.”

We acknowledged him in turn. “Where are they?” I asked.

“Just beyond those tents. But, Szélhámos, they are a bit agitated. There’s one male in particular who is vehemently opposed and he has been stirring up the others all day,” he said, unable to hide the nervousness in his tone .

“And you have been unable to bring your soldier to heel?” I asked.

“I’ve tried, I swear. He’s just…always been a bit on the aggressive side. It serves him well in battle. Not so much in camp. There’s a reason he’s never been promoted,” he explained. He picked at his nails for a moment before shaking his hands out and tucking them behind his back.

“Understood.” I blew out a long breath, looking up to the cloudless sky.

Just one more idiotic soldier to deal with. He’s nothing compared to me.

“Heel,” I commanded the hounds, and they followed us deeper into this section.

It didn’t take long until I heard the would-be orator in action. “...they’re smaller, weaker, slower than us. And their magic? Come on, we all know that even if they have the same color eyes, or darker, they still can’t wield like we can.”

“Fucking asshole,” I muttered under my breath.

“I was going to say righteous prick, but that works too,” Kiira commented, her tone turning sour.

“Ready for this?” I asked her as we neared the tent from which the sound emerged.

“As I’ll ever be.” Then, she forcefully smacked the flap back, bursting into the room like she owned it. I entered with similar bravado, the dogs winging me.

The voices ceased immediately, and my attention locked on the male with eyes of a blood red shade standing at the head of them.

“Kneel,” I ordered, lifting my voice and imbuing it with threat.

A few had the good sense to. Others, not so much.

“If it isn’t the fake-fallen herself,” he sneered. His hair was cropped short, nearly baring his scalp, though he boasted a thick beard. One side of his face was heavily scarred, along with one of his forearms, like he’d been too long in a fire before being yanked out.

But he didn’t frighten me in the least.

I yanked my sleeves back, exposing the H carved into my wrists. “I see no F here, soldier.”