Текст книги "Horns of Wicked Ebony"

Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 43 страниц)

I practiced the movement and the words.

“It is blasphemy that she speaks to the Goddess!” Esha snapped, fingers curling around the bars. Her shackles clanked against them as she shook them.

I rolled my eyes and ignored her. “Anything else?” I asked Faeya and Araquiel.

“If you see Banand, tell him a flame waits behind a wall of glass,” Araquiel stated in the common tongue.

I had to clench my teeth to prevent my mouth from falling open. Ice skittered down my spine as she continued to hold my gaze—her gaze. Was Araquiel truly a Sensor? Because it felt to me like she might be a Seer.

If she knew Banand, and knew him well enough to have a specific, albeit cryptic, message to pass along, then she must have had close contact with him. Which meant, I needed to use her form to get to him.

But how could she have possibly guessed what our plans were?

I needed to talk to Rokath.

Dropping my magic, I changed back into my leathers. “I’ll ensure the guards bring you food,” I told them as I secured the ties around the tent again, bathing us in darkness. Then, I hurriedly stuffed everything back into my bag. The mirror went last, securely tucked against the flat side so it wouldn’t break.

“We’ll see if the Fates favor you,” Araquiel said before sinking back into the position she’d been in when I first arrived. If she knew she unnerved me, she didn’t display any sign.

My blood pounded in my veins as I departed, Araquiel’s cold turquoise eyes searing into my mind. What did she know? And why wasn’t she afraid? Something was off with her, with the situation, and the worry knotted my stomach.

In a blink, I slipped through the curtain and into the map room.

“Araquiel knows Banand,” I blurted out. Thankfully, only Rapp, Trol, and my mate were present.

Rokath looked up from his stack of papers, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“She told me, ‘if we see Banand to tell him a flame waits behind a wall of glass,’” I repeated, hands twisting in the strap of my bag.

“What does that even mean?” Rapp asked aloud, thumbing the ring in his lip.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, but what if she could tell us more about his location in the camp?”

“What if it’s a trap?” Rokath shot back. “What if she is playing on your sympathies and guessing at our strategy?”

“I don’t have sympathy for Angels,” I snapped, fingers tightening over the leather.

“You have sympathy for other females,” Rokath said, the hard edge to his voice gone. I opened my mouth to protest, but slammed it shut.

He was right about that, even if I hated admitting it to myself.

“Fine. But what if she is sincere? What if we could save lives, more than just Banand and Zurronar?” I sighed, bracing my hands on a chair and leaning into it for support.

“She has a point, Rokath,” Rapp said. Trol, rightly, remained silent during the exchange. From what I’d seen, Trol was more of the follow orders type, whereas Rapp pushed back on Rokath with more force.

Rokath tossed his papers casually on the table in front of him. “We’ll get her alone and see if she’ll talk. If she does have anything to say, it certainly won’t be in front of the other two. That spitter is a true sycophant.”

Esha, I had to agree, was never going to be swayed to offer anything without force. She’d called me a whore plenty of times and sneered at Rokath more than once with false bravado.

“When?” I asked.

Rokath glanced at the clock beside the pitcher of water. “After we make a sacrifice,” he growled, rising. Rapp and Trol did too. “If the Fates have chosen to weave a path where Araquiel does intend to offer us insight, then we must thank them for it beforehand.”

Shrugging off my pack, I left it in an empty chair and followed my mate into the sunlight.

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11

Nine males stood before me, prepared for our imminent departure. Assyria, on my right, dressed in Araquiel’s white armor, shifted her weight ever so slightly. Sunlight barely slipped through the sharp peaks of the Skala Mountains in the distance as we waited for the final member of our assault team: Rapp.

As if I’d thought him into existence, he emerged from the camp, his long legs carrying him swiftly to our group. With a slight dip of his chin, he relayed that everything was ready for us to initiate the rescue mission.

Araquiel, to my shock, had offered us the exact location of the tent where the Angel’s prisoners were held. Yet when I pressed her, trying to bend and break her into revealing her true intentions, she snapped her mouth shut. No amount of prodding or threats opened it again. The sharpness in her gaze pricked my back long after I’d locked her in the cage with the other two again.

I still didn’t trust her. Even if our scouts had surmised that exact zone after their mission to determine possible locations where Banand and Zurronar were being held.

A cold knot of dread coiled in my gut as Rapp joined me on my left, his bow slung over his torso. A quiver brimming with arrows waited too, stuffed so tightly I hoped that he’d be able to pull them out without losing them all in the process.

I glanced down at Assyria, a war raging inside me. One side of me was proud—of her tenacity, of her relentless drive to master Angelic, of her growing control of her magic. On the other was the possessive beast that couldn’t lose her again.

Not because I wouldn’t sacrifice fifty thousand more soldiers for her. Fuck, the whole army could be decimated so long as I had her.

She was my reason for everything now; without her, I had no motivation to protect the rest of the Demons. I’d want the Reaper to claim me just so I could be with Assyria again, either in our next lives or the ones after. Because there was no doubt in my mind that I’d always find her. Our souls called to one another like horns blown across the battlefield.

My mate looked up at me through dark lashes. The remnants of daylight glinted in her eyes, highlighting the mosaic of burgundy.

“Everything will be okay, Rokath. I’ll be fine. Besides, if something bad happens, you’ll put a dent into their forces trying to get to me.”

She had such an incredible way of soothing these new emotions that smashed their way out of the cage I’d kept them in. And calling me out when my feral, protective instincts got the better of me.

“I’d burn the fucking world to get to you, little imposter. If an Angel so much as blinks at you wrong, I will slit their throat and rejoice in the blood we spill for the Fates.”

The corner of her mouth twitched up. She never shirked from my darkness. In fact, she embraced it more and more with each passing day. Our shared trauma certainly opened up a wicked side of her, one that I wanted to see more of.

“Let’s begin before I change my mind.”

Assyria shot me a devious grin before sinking to her knees and bowing her head. Rapp and the force of nine in front of me did the same.

The sun painted the dirt in a final swipe of gold. I yanked the ceremonial knife from its sheath and flexed my fingers around the hilt. Soon, the ground would be red, and not only from the offering the twelve of us were about to make.

We’d held prayers with the entire army at high sun, as we did every day, but with the risk I was taking, allowing Assyria to traipse through the Angel’s camp like she belonged there, I wanted—needed—to ensure the Fates would work in our favor.

And they fucking loved blood.

“Weaver, who spins the threads of our fates, lay down the path for us to tread, unyielding and unbroken. We walk at your command, our feet bound by the threads you have woven. Guide us to glory as we rescue our brethren tonight from the clutches of those who would see the Demons eradicated. Bind our fates, so that we may rise victorious.”

I sliced a deep gash into my palm, letting crimson flow freely toward the churned earth. After, I handed the knife to Assyria. She offered a generous amount, then prostrated herself. Rapp, too, bled openly, shooting a pointed look at the male in front of him who didn’t dig deep into his flesh. Chastised, he wrapped his palm around the blade and squeezed more ruby out.

“Giver, bless us with abundant wells of magic so we wield in your name during battle. Let the blood we spill slake your thirst, and let us slaughter those who defy your design. Gift us with the power we need to bring majesty to your name. By our blood, we honor you.”

“By our blood, we honor you,” the ten males and Assyria echoed, marking their faces with long swipes of their hands. It had been my mate’s suggestion that we paint ourselves in shades of red to match our eyes. When we confronted the Angels tonight, they’d see the monsters they thought we were. Let them believe what they wanted. So long as we won, I didn’t give a fuck.

“Reaper, whose curse falls upon those who stray from the path, let us not taste your wrath. We offer this blood as a pledge of our loyalty. Let your eye wander elsewhere and damn those who question your mighty power. Should we fall tonight, offer swift passage into another life.”

“We pledge our devotion to the Reaper,” they replied. “Let our victory be swift. Our lives, our magic, our very essence, are the Halálhívó’s to command.”

“Rise,” I told them, and they straightened. Already, my wound had closed. Assyria returned the knife to me, and I took a small rag to it before tucking it away again. The handpicked Vezető and Százados returned to their stances, shoulders squared and not a hint of trepidation in their red eyes. Only one Parancsok was among them, pulled from one of Rapp’s winged battalions. His Suppressor power could hold back the magic of two dozen Angels should we need to make a quick escape.

Rapp approached them and relayed final instructions while I spoke with Assyria.

“Signal to me if you find yourself in trouble,” I told her, my tone leaving no room for argument.

She had the nerve to roll her eyes. “Not like you’ll be in my mind the entire time.” Despite her bravado, a whisper of anxiety traveled down our bond.

“I’m serious, Assyria.” I stepped toward her, slipping the knuckle of my first finger under her chin and tilting it up. Those devious burgundy eyes locked onto my own. “Do not take any unnecessary risks.”

“In and out,” she promised with a sigh. I wrapped my arms around her small frame and tugged her close, inhaling her floral scent. My heart thundered against my ribcage, and the bond thrashed like a wild beast, beseeching me to chain her to our bed and rescue Banand and Zurronar myself.

She looked up at me, her dark locks cascading down her back. “You stay safe too.” Even now, despite constant reassurance, a trickle of fear that our love would result in my death, remained.

“Little imposter, the Fates brought us together for a reason. I will not die, not until we’ve won this war and I’ve had centuries to explore every inch of your body,” I growled.

Assyria’s pupils darkened. “You definitely have more exploring to do.”

“As do you,” I rumbled, hand trailing down her ribs to dig into her hips. “I want you to uncover every dark desire you were denied. I’ll make you feel so alive, you’ll forget anything occurred before our bond snapped in place. Every breath, every touch, every orgasm you have in your body—they are all mine.”

My cock hardened against the tight leather of my pants as lust flooded our bond. I dragged Assyria closer so she could feel the promise in my words. “Tonight, we’ll celebrate our victory with sweat and skin and those sweet sounds you make when my mouth is between your thighs.”

Fisting the back of her hair, I crashed my lips against hers, not caring that the soldiers bore witness. There was nothing tender about this kiss; it was all claim, all possession, all brutality. My teeth sank into her bottom lip and drew a hint of blood. My tongue lapped at it before twining with hers and letting the metallic taste coat both our mouths.

Assyria’s chest heaved as I released her. “Now call upon your magic.”

She blinked a few times, the haze of desire lifting from her. After a glance over my shoulder, I adjusted my dick to a more comfortable position. Fires sprang to life around us as night encroached, casting flickering light over the utter perfection that was Assyria’s face.

Throwing me one last lustful look, she brushed her hands over Araquiel’s clothing. Then, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Obsidian burst from her hands and swirled around her in a violent twister. After realizing how slowly she worked to pull on her disguises, I’d suggested she use her shadows around her body to help. Her time to transform had plummeted, until it took only a blink for her to become an Imposter.

I’d barely had time to marvel at how proud I was before the Angel stared back at me, taller, fuller, and with turquoise eyes utterly unfamiliar to me.

Our bond grew muffled, like someone had thrown a thick fur over it. The pure, unfettered fear that had gripped me from the moment she didn’t respond to my call on the salt flats roared back to life.

“Can you hear me?” Assyria spoke into my mind, immediately easing the worry.

“Aye,” I replied, a hint of relief trickling in despite my attempt to keep my tone even. We’d been practicing for days, and although I knew that we could speak, hearing her voice soothed me in a way I previously would have refused to admit.

A few of the males gasped before faking a cough. None of them had seen Assyria’s magic before, and a primary reason for their selection was because their lips could be trusted not to move once we returned to camp. Only a handful knew exactly what power her burgundy eyes offered her.

It was best to keep it that way. After all, the reason for our strike was because word of Banand’s power to create plagues had spread into the Angel’s camp. What would the Angels do if they knew my mate could walk among them undetected?

Clearing my throat, I leaned down to pick up my mask, but froze with my fingers wrapped around the metal. Assyria placed her hand on my arm. I almost threw her over my shoulder and carried her back to our camp-home. But I was trying to do better, be better for her.

So I dragged in a breath and secured the final piece of my armor over my head. Horns of wicked ebony curled from the black skull that covered my face. Only my eyes shone through the sockets. The helmet was designed to intimidate and remind the fucking zealots exactly who I was.

Settling it in place did that for me too. “Let’s go,” I commanded, violence threaded in my tone. A bloodthirsty grin spread across Rapp’s face, and he banged his fist against his chest. The other males did the same, a roar of pride tearing from them.

The air was charged as we split into our respective groups. Energy flared as we drew our weapons.

Yet when I took the first step outside of the confines of our camp, fear I’d never known slammed into my gut like a war hammer.

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12

Darkness suffocated the path ahead as we crept toward the Angels’ camp. We couldn’t afford even the barest hint of a torch to find our path, lest we risk being discovered. Instead, what little light the stars offered guided our way. No moon rose in the sky, its mass covered by the same ink as the rest of the world around us.

Lutsk, despite its crumbling buildings and churned earth, didn’t hold the dangers the Paks Desert did. Namely, venomous cobras that would strike at the slightest provocation. A shiver wracked my spine at the memory of the one who sank its fangs into my calf and the blistering burn in my veins that followed.

Rokath remained at my side as we picked our way over smashed fences, avoided rotting orange pumpkins and fat purple beets, and tried not to twist an ankle on an unseen dip in the ground. The closer we drew to the white tents in the distance, the louder the melodic voices grew. My focus remained mere feet in front of me as I tried not to think about how I was walking into the nest of hornets.

We clung to a copse of almond trees once we’d passed through the worst of the outskirts of the city. The cloying scent was enough to turn my already queasy stomach. I wanted to prove myself to the whole damn army, and yet fear still clung to me like this black cloak Rokath had insisted I wear while in Araquiel’s form. Her foggy hair and white uniform were much easier to spot than the dark ones sported by the males accompanying us.

Rapp and the Parancsok led our party, and after several glances in the camp’s direction, Rapp held up his closed fist. We all halted immediately behind him.

“Now is where we part, little imposter,” Rokath rumbled in that gravelly tone that always heated my blood.

I swallowed, though my mouth was drier than the Paks Desert. “I will let you know once I’ve located them.”

“We will wait for your signal to cause a diversion,” Rokath assured me again, though I wasn’t sure which one of us needed it more.

But I wasn’t the weak female who had cowered beneath Vagach’s onslaught. I was the fucking Imposter, the only one to ever live, and I would use my magic to save Banand and Zurronar just as Rokath used his to protect us on the battlefield.

I owed it to Izgath—the male who had died protecting my true identity—to rescue his brother. I owed it to myself to claim my power in my own right.

Tugging at the strings of the cloak, I let it fall away, then handed it to my mate. I made to step away, but he snatched my wrist and tugged me into his chest again. “I love you,” he said, his tone so low no one but me heard.

“I love you too, Rokath. Now release my wrists so I can rescue the two males you so thoroughly lost. Someone has to clean up your mess after all.” I patted his chest for extra effect.

He grunted in response but peeled his fingers away.

Dragging in a steadying breath, I turned away from him, briefly locking eyes with Rapp, who nodded in reassurance. The confirmation of his belief in me was another layer to my armor.

You can do this, Assyria.

Shadows flickered in my chest like a crackling fire, ready for me to call upon them should I need them. Then, I departed the haven of almond trees, keeping a low, slow pace as I approached the first row of white tents. My hearing remained on high alert, listening for voices around me, trying to catch snippets of conversation and also gauge where others might be walking. Just because I looked like Araquiel and spoke a few words of Angelic didn’t mean I had any intention of traipsing straight through the neat rows without a care in the world.

Clinging to the dark periphery, I searched for a striped tent on the outer circle. Araquiel had said that was the best place to enter. From there, the prisoner’s cages were only four rows inward, in a similarly decorated tent.

One minute passed, then two, before I finally found it. Hovering against the edge of the canvas, I peered around to ensure the way was clear. Only a distant hum of activity reached my ears. It was the dining hour in the Angel camp, another reason Rokath had strategically selected this time for our assault.

I crept forward, shoulders tense and attention darting over everything. Two rows in, a sharp peal of laughter stopped me in my tracks. Footfalls mingled with the sound, both drawing closer.

Shit, shit, shit.

I glanced around, searching for a place to hide. Finding a narrow alley between the backs of two tents, I darted to the space. The white-blonde hair of a tall female flashed at the edge of my vision moments before I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle my breathing.

“...Zahe is so dreamy, really,” one giggled.

“But he’s not even a Bassi,” the other pointed out with a longing sigh. “My father said if I were to find a male in the army, it had to be an officer.”

“Forget what your father says. He’s not here. Besides, the Goddess loves when we smoke her blessed herbs and screw beneath her stars,” the first replied.

“It’s been far too long since we’ve done that. I think next time…”

Their voices faded away, and not a moment too soon. Breath slammed into me, battling against my racing heart for space in my chest. I waited another minute before emerging from my hiding spot.

“Everything okay?” Rokath asked down our bond.

“Fine.”

I shut Rokath out, needing to focus. After a thorough assessment of my surroundings, I made my way forward again. The striped tent should be close…

There.

I ducked into the darkness again.

Ivory lines jutted against a blue as bold as the midday sky. It was long, nearly as long as the command center in the center of the Demon camp, and just as wide. And outside it stood two guards. Two tall torches rested on either side of them, casting flickering light around the area.

One shifted his weight, and ice shattered through my veins. It was the very same one I’d kneed in the face during my own captivity. That ice gave way to fire when he flicked his attention in my direction. He hadn’t seen me—yet.

“Found them,” I told Rokath.

“Wait until they move before attempting to enter,” he replied, ever the commander.

“I know,” I snapped back, my attention still wholly fixated on the sentries.

The two chatted quietly, too far away for me to hear what they were saying. It wasn’t long before distant shouts reached my ears.

The diversion had begun.

Instantly, their hands flew to the hilts of their swords. They shared a concerned look. One stepped forward, but the other shook his head and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Fuck.

Clashing steel rang out, and flashes of white lit up the sky above us. Their attention drawn upward, I took the opportunity to dart forward, closer to a pole with ropes wrapped around it, securing the stretched canvas in place.

A shriek pierced the air, and one of the males swore. “We can leave them for five minutes. If we’re there, those Demons will be dead in record time.”

The other chuckled. “True enough. No one fights like us.”

I smothered the urge to roll my eyes.

Drawn swords scraped the night air, and I pressed myself into the shadows once more, even calling on my magic to thicken them and hide myself from view. The two raced by a moment later. I counted my heartbeats, hoping they wouldn’t return immediately.

More shouts rang out, louder and thankfully still in the distance. Seizing my opportunity, I bolted toward the unguarded entrance. I yanked daggers from hidden pockets on my ribs and burst through the canvas.

No Angels started at my sudden appearance.

Thank the Fates.

The candles flickered with my brought-in breeze. I whipped around, gathering my bearings. The front room held crates, none of which were open. I sniffed the air and scented a hint of citrus. But beneath it was the unmistakable stench of unwashed bodies.

Stepping carefully among the boxes of wood, I followed my nose until it led me to another room, narrower than the last. A long workbench stretched along the expanse, dozens of instruments tossed haphazardly across it.

Bile rose in my throat as I crept forward. A table, similar in size to the one I’d been strapped to, waited. Rows of metal teeth smiled up at me, red with past ruin. And on the one beside it? A Demon, half-hidden beneath a dark sheet. Ruby oozed from his back, dropping like rain into the narrow slots beneath him. A small moan rasped in his throat.

How is he still alive?

Breathing through my mouth, I closed the remaining distance and rose to my tiptoes to peer over him. His breath was shallow, and his face was pale. Sweat dotted his brow, and when I glanced at his arms, I noticed the yellow pus poised to drop onto the floor. He was dying, and likely soon, with how horribly infected the cut was.

Pain had drowned his awareness long enough that he didn’t even stir at my presence.

These fucking Angels. Why did they feel the need to harm us so? What had they hoped to gain from that male? He wasn’t one I recognized, which meant he likely belonged to Trol’s battalions. They had less information to offer than almost anyone else in the army. Was this torture all for fun?

Gritting my teeth, I turned away from him. I needed to find Banand and Zurronar, and fast. A few more steps took me into another room, much darker than the others.

“Fucking Fates,” I cursed in Demonic, doubling back to fetch more candles. When I returned—new burns from wax and all—I swept through the room, nearly shrieking when I came face to face with a handful of males crouched together in a cage.

They shot to their feet immediately, gripping the bars. One rattled them fiercely, spewing curses at me in Demonic that had me dropping my mouth wide open. Even after all my time spent in a war camp, I had never imagined such a colorful use of the words of our language.

“Where are Banand and Zurronar?” I cut them off, speaking Demonic back to them.

The rattler froze, his brows furrowing. The rest took a half step back. One gave away their location with a telltale glance. Ignoring the dumb ones, I strode deeper into the dark until I found two familiar looking faces.

“Blessed by the Giver,” I breathed, securing the candle on the ground. One set of burgundy eyes and one set of maroon eyes stared back at me with an absolutely understandable amount of confusion.

“Araquiel?” Banand asked slowly, gripping the bars and pressing his face to them. Brows furrowed, he searched my face.

So they did know each other.

Picking apart the threads of my magic, I allowed my true face to appear rather than the Angel’s.

Banand jerked back like he’d been slapped, while Zurronar blinked rapidly. “Assyria?”

I turned my attention to him. Maroon was clouded by a milky film, and a sickly pallor clung to his dark skin. He looked worse than he had only a few weeks ago.

“Sh!” I admonished them, glancing around us. “I’m here to rescue you. The sentries could return at any moment. How do I open these cages?”

“Your voice…” Zurronar trailed off, coming closer to the flames. A wheeze wracked his frame, and he turned his face into his shoulder to cover his mouth.

A stone settled in my stomach. I had to get him out of here and to a healer, fast. Izgath died because of me, and the least I could do was save his brother from the same fate.

“How are you here?” Banand asked. “How were you Araquiel?”

I cut my attention to him. “I’ll explain later. But she told me to tell you a flame waits behind a glass wall.” Narrowing my eyes on him, I gauged his reaction to the words. Suspicion still curled in my gut.

The plague-creating Demon rose slowly, his gaze distant, as if he were deep in thought. I snapped my fingers at both of them, needing them to help me help them. “How do I get you out of here?”

“Keys should be on a ring in the torture room,” Banand said with a glance at Zurronar. On shaky legs, he stood too. He swayed, gripping the bars for support.

“I’ll be right back,” I promised, then raced past the other captives and returned to where one slowly bled out on the nail table.

Of course, the Fates-damned keys dangled on a hook too high for me to reach, even in Araquiel’s taller form. With a huff, I jumped, snatched at the dangling teeth of one, and yanked. The ring flew through the air and clattered against the floor.

Cursing, I stooped to collect them. A blinding agony exploded behind my ribs. One hand shot out to steady me, while the other clutched my chest. That spot right in the center, where our connection lived among my magic, screamed.

Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

“Rokath! Are you okay? What’s happening?” I shouted down our bond.

Rage detonated from his side.

The roar that followed quaked the earth beneath my feet.

And then everything went still.

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