Page 92 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

W isps of white magic flitted through the alpine trees ahead as we crept toward the Angel scouting party. The group prepared their encampment for the night, erecting tents, lighting fires, and cooking meat. Swirls of black shrouded us, hiding any movement that might garner attention.

A twig snapped. My closed fist flew into the air. The soldiers behind me halted. I didn’t dare breathe as I listened for the next telltale step. From between two trunks, a figure emerged, not even a stone’s throw away from me. Blue eyes scanned the dark forest.

All that kept us hidden from him was a wall of our magic.

“Everything okay?” Assyria appeared in my mind.

“Movement ahead. Hold your position,” I shot back, my entire focus on the approaching male.

The muscles in my legs burned from holding this crouched stance. Yet we couldn’t move without alerting him to our presence.

A bush rustled. The Angel swept off to my left, searching for the source of the sound. My fingers flexed, preparing to grab the hilt of my blade and free it from my back.

But from the clearing, a female called out for him.

With one last look into the abyss, he returned to the safety—temporary as it may be—of his unit.

Air fled my lungs. I glanced over my shoulder, noting the position of my half of the Deathveiled.

Assyria had taken the others in a long loop around the outside so we could ambush them from multiple directions.

“On my mark,” I said down the bond.

A flicker of unease swept from Assyria before our connection muted. My heart lashed against my ribs before I reminded myself it was merely from her magic and not because an Angel had taken her.

This was the first time she’d impersonate the Myrza we’d slaughtered in Fured. This was the test that our plan might work. Executing it flawlessly was essential. One fuck up, and we’d have to scrap everything and start over.

It was for that reason we’d only spoken Angelic the past week.

A loud rustling drew the attention of the unit.

Their heads whipped in Assyria’s direction.

Breath lodged in my throat. Like a white wraith, the Myrza—Assyria—appeared in the night.

The flickering of the fire cast her in a haunting relief.

Blood and grime caked the white armor, making her appear as if she’d been traveling for weeks.

“Report,” she barked with authority in Angelic. A startled few shot up from their seats, greeting her with the traditional words praising the fucking Goddess.

“We thought you were dead,” one of the males spluttered. “The Zahal said the Halálhívó arrived in the mountains weeks ago with new reinforcements.”

“The Zahal was mistaken. A few of us escaped once we realized we were going to be overpowered in Fured. We managed to survive long enough to return to our home and out of those cursed lands,” she replied coolly.

Her accent was slightly off from his, but I doubted anyone would notice.

Her words were also carefully chosen and practiced, because we needed at least one survivor to run back to the larger group and spread the word that one of their own was betraying them.

“Then where are they?” a female pressed, scanning the area.

“They’re safe.” She stepped closer to the fire, holding her hands over it as if she were trying to warm them. Winter in the mountains was bitter, and snow draped over rocks and tree branches like lattices of lace.

“Safe where?” the same female asked. The disbelief and suspicion in her cerulean eyes was evident, even from this distance.

“Let’s go,” I ordered under my breath. Dropping my magic, I rose to my full height and unsheathed my sword. Despite my best effort, the scrape of the edge against the scabbard still shredded the night. Down the line, the remainder of the Deathveiled did the same.

“In the Demon army,” Assyria replied, drawing a weapon of her own and swinging it through the flames. The tip nicked the female’s throat, and blood sprayed from the wound. She slapped a hand over it like that would save her.

Screams ripped the still air as we charged forward, our heavy steps ringing a death knell. Assyria grabbed a male with lapis eyes and held a knife to his neck while we slaughtered the rest. He struggled against her hold, managing to wrench himself free.

She cursed in Demonic and lunged for him. Shadow shot out of my palms and wrapped around him, dragging him to his knees. Assyria regained control of him again.

I approached, rivulets of crimson Angel blood dripping with each strike of my foot against the earth. “Where are the rest of you?” I growled at the male in Angelic.

His mouth sealed tight. Defiance blazed in his eyes even as they locked on my soaked sword. I turned my attention—very intentionally—to Assyria. “Well played, Myrza. You’ll have a place in the new order once we slaughter Stadiel and Iaoth.”

The male’s eyes went wide. “Traitor!” he screamed in Angelic, thrashing against my binds. “How dare you betray the Goddess for these animals?”

I released him, and Assyria shoved him to the ground.

The male clutched the cut beneath his jaw.

We needed him alive after all. “Because I know we will lose to them after seeing their power in Fured. Better to survive than to live for a Goddess who is not protecting us,” she explained.

A flit of horror crossed her face as she mixed up the words for live and die.

A chill colder than the ice dug into the boulders swept down my spine. In the heat of the moment, Demonic curses could be overlooked. But with his entire focus trained on her, that one wrong word could upend our plans.

Anxiety flooded our bond. Assyria’s thumb pressed into her forefinger, searching for a ring that wasn’t there.

I kept my gaze firmly on the male, gauging his reaction. My hand twitched, ready to slaughter him if he caught Assyria’s mistake.

The male at our feet didn’t seem to notice—thank the Reaper. His face twisted into abhorrence as he started up at the visage of his former officer.

“Run and tell the others to meet here if they wish to survive the rest of this war,” I growled in the common tongue, tearing his ire to me. He shrank away as I leaned ever so slightly forward. The raw, helpless fear in his eyes was delicious and everything I’d been missing these past months .

Assyria kicked him in the ribs with the side of her boot. “Now!”

He wasted no further time scrambling to his feet and bolting through the trees. The soldiers behind us let out sinister laughs as we watched him race away until his white hair was no longer visible in the dark.

“What do we do now?” Uzadaan, a ruby-eyed male who had known Assyria from the beginning of her journey, asked.

After his performance with her in the initiation ceremony and learning his magic allowed him to freeze blood and thereby render a person unable to move, I permitted him to join her guard.

He very much understood the consequences of harm befalling my mate.

He’d protected her well during the Battle of Fured too.

“Leave the bodies. They’ll likely return knowing that we didn’t burn them. But first, we leave a message.” I found an Angel with a flayed-open stomach and dug my fingers in. They squelched as I pulled them free, coated in his blood.

I went to one of the rocks and cleared it of snow and ice. The Angels wanted a Goddess? I’d give them one in Assyria.

I painted my message in steaming garnet.

JOIN OR DIE

“Loot the camp and let’s get going. It’s fucking cold and we have a long march back to the wall.”

The firelight flickered over the dark art, one line dripping into another as I smeared it in all three languages to ensure I was entirely clear.

When I finished, I found the Deathveiled rummaging through bags.

A few knocked over tents and caused general mayhem with wicked grins on their faces.

Assyria drifted to my side, still wearing her stolen skin.

Her brows were pinched, and her hand hovered over her stomach like she was going to be sick .

Unfortunately, she’d have to maintain her magic until we were safely beyond the wall again. A scout spotting the transition would ruin our plans, and now they knew the Myrza was about, they’d be everywhere searching for him and the supposed survivors.

“You did well,” I praised her, resisting the urge to reach for her. Any affection on my end would indicate something amiss too.

“I fucked up,” she stated. “Twice.”

“He didn’t notice,” I tried to reassure her, but she shook her head.

“I have to do better.” A muscle feathered in her jaw. “There is no other option.”

“You will. I’ll make sure of it.” That seemed to ease some of her lingering frustration.

“What will you do if a group of Angels returns here, actually wanting to join us?” she asked, changing the subject.

I snorted. “They won’t. One Myrza isn’t enough.” Not that I truly thought any would. They’d rather die than be captured by us. Who would willingly surrender to our control?

The soldiers stuffed their packs, hefting them onto their shoulders. One by one, they trudged into the trees. I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder as we followed, almost expecting another dozen Angels to emerge from the darkness.

Silence, save for the crunch of snow and twigs beneath our boots, reigned as we returned to the wall.

An icy breeze rustled the branches overhead, dusting us in a fine white powder.

I brushed my shoulders off, not wanting my armor to rust. Assyria shivered, and instinct roared to wrap her in my arms, to offer her what heat I could.

“We’ll be back soon,” I reassured her. After almost losing her in the battle, I’d become even more attuned to her needs. The slightest shift in her down our connection snapped my focus to her. The next time our bond went mute, I’d know the instant it happened.

Because I wasn’t naive enough to think that another occurrence was impossible.