Текст книги "Horns of Wicked Ebony"

Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky

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13

Angels swarmed us from all directions, pinning us into the thick thoroughfare at the rear of their camp. The eleven of us closed ranks with Rapp and I on either side, monitoring our periphery.

Assyria needed this distraction to free the prisoners, and a distraction we would give her.

A pulse of white light magic flashed toward me, and I slipped to the left just in time for it to collide with the structure at my rear. Using my momentum, I swung my blade around, digging deep into the shoulder of the caster. The weight of my strike drove him to his knees.

Silver flashed as he swung a small dagger at my thigh in a desperate attempt to maim me. A mocking laugh rumbled in my chest as I jerked my skull-pommeled sword free. My boot landed square in his chest, and he flattened on the ground with a whoosh of air. The knife clattered away, and before he could attempt to rise, I speared him through the heart.

I didn’t stop to savor my victory.

“It’s the Halálhívó!” the Angels in front of us relayed backward.

Fuck. More reinforcements would arrive soon.

“Keep pressing,” I growled at my soldiers.

Rapp barked orders too, trying to stitch our crumbling line back together. Three arrows sailed from his bow and nailed two Angels approaching from a nearby alley. Notching more, he took aim on those in front of us again.

Between us, shadows erupted—Destructors wielded their magic, exploding earth beneath the Angels’ feet. Forced to leap and dodge, their line deteriorated, allowing others to pick them off.

A spear flew from between two tents and impaled one of the Vezető. Rapp swore and shoved the injured male behind him, out of harm’s way. A groan ripped from him as he attempted to remove the sharp end from his shoulder.

Another Demon went down with a gash on his thigh; the Angels fought with more fervor.

Dozens more appeared ahead of us like hornets from a kicked hive. We were outnumbered before we stepped foot outside the Demon camp, but the scales were quickly tipping out of our favor.

Two broad, bulky males raced into the fray, shoving straight to the front. They split their attention, one aiming for me and the other fixating on Rapp. What little time I had to assess our position shattered when the lapis-eyed Angel thrust his blade straight toward my middle. Sparks seared the air as our strikes collided with thunderous force.

Muscles trembling, our blades locked, our teeth gritted, we battled for control. The Angel retracted his sword, throwing me off balance, and swung again. I ducked, kicking my leg out and connecting with his calf, before spinning and letting my bronze blade follow my trajectory. He shrank out of the way, narrowly saving his neck, before pressing forward again. Beside me, the other Demons were locked in battles of their own, all while more white-haired insects streamed in our direction.

What is taking Assyria so long?

With a growl, I shoved the male backward, sending him stumbling over one of his deceased kin. A shout drew my attention to the left, and my heart stopped.

A male, arrows pricking his torso, had kicked Rapp’s legs out from beneath him. With one hand planted on the ground, and the other still gripping the curve of his bow, Rapp was attempting to rise. Time slowed to a crawl as the Angel arced his silver blade straight toward Rapp’s chest.

“No!” I bellowed, leaping toward them. Onyx force exploded from me, colliding with the Angel a split second before I did. We crashed to the ground, spraying dirt in all directions. I yanked a dagger free from its sheath on my thigh and stabbed wildly. We smashed into white, and the structure collapsed on top of us.

Rage sharpened my aim, and I sank the dagger into soft flesh. A grunt of pain met my next strike. Then, I thrashed free of our entanglement. The male grabbed my ankle, and I stomped on his hand, ripping a satisfying cry from his throat. I slashed it wide open before whirling on the remaining fight, expecting Rapp to have reformed our small line.

I stared, veins freezing over, as silver jutted through both sides of Rapp’s chest. It gleamed in flashes of white magic like a polished gem instead of a weapon of war. A heartbeat passed as we locked eyes, his so full of apology.

And then, a roar ripped from my throat, filled with so much rage I hoped the Reaper cowered in its wake and conferred with the Weaver to end this path my friend was on.

Red veiled my vision. Shadows whipped into a frenzy around me, smacking each Angel it encountered without care or regard. I didn’t call them. Didn’t command them. They merely acted of their own accord while my entire focus was on the male who’d been by my side since we were younglings in the military academy.

I dropped to my knees and slammed my fist into the soaked dirt, calling on the dead to rise up and shield us while I figured out how the fuck I was going to save his life.

“Rokath,” Rapp spit out along with a wad of blood. I didn’t even care that he was using my real name in the middle of the Angel camp. The short sword missed his heart, but it still slashed into his ribs, probably puncturing a lung.

“Don’t fucking speak. Don’t fucking die. Do you hear me?” I ground out, wracking my brain for how to help him.

“Not today,” he wheezed out, and I smacked his leg.

“Save your breath. You offered your blood to the Fates. Your thread will hold strong.” Screams tore through the haze, finally drawing my attention away from him as the dead slaughtered everyone in their path.

But that wasn’t the only contributor to the chaos.

Smoke, thick and reeking, rose like a funeral pyre into the sky. Dread sent an icy chill down my spine.

Where the fuck was Assyria?

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14

Ipitched to the side, catching myself on a pole.

“Rokath!”

Still no response.

Fuck, I needed to get us out of here. Fear lacing my ribs, I raced back to Banand and Zurronar. My hands shook so badly, it took three tries to jam the key into the lock to free Banand.

“We need to go. Now,” I snapped without a hint of remorse. My mate was in trouble, and he wasn’t responding to me.

He said he wouldn’t die…

“Aye,” Banand replied, lifting the keys from me. I didn’t protest, not when adrenaline spiked in my veins and made concentrating impossible.

A clank sounded, and then, the door to Zurronar’s cage swung open. The male stepped forward, using the bars for support, while Banand went to free the others. The five burst from their confines, teeth bared and ready to fight. But all the males wore silver bangles around their ankles and wrists, locking down their magic.

That explained why Zurronar looked like he hadn’t healed from whatever ailment affected him. Banand hooked the maroon-eyed Demon and half-carried him toward the exit. When we emerged into the torture room, Banand paused and shuffled Zurronar to two of the others. Then, he turned to me.

“Do you have a dagger?”

Hesitantly, I drew one from my hidden pocket and handed it to him. “What for?”

He dipped his head to indicate the male closing in on death. “Put him out of his misery.”

My stomach clenched. I’d watched my father slaughter plenty of animals—a horse who had gone lame and could no longer pull a plow, a calf born with a mangled leg, goats that had been unable to deliver their kids. The way Banand spoke reminded me so much of that sentiment. Yet he wasn’t wrong. Offering this male passage into peace was better than allowing the Angels to continue torturing him. I doubted the Angels would offer him a pyre so his soul could move to the next life either.

“I’ll find something to start a fire,” I said, fierce determination spreading through my limbs. We were making our escape, after all, and what better fuck you to the Angels than to burn down as much of their camp as we could on the way out?

Banand told the others to continue to the front of the tent. I searched the shelves for anything flammable. A row of bottles drew my attention, and I snatched at them, yanking off the stoppers and sniffing. The first four were healing potions—nothing to hold a flame. But then, I spotted a jar of oil stuffed behind a few instruments. My heart leaped, and I climbed onto the table, knocking the metal aside with a sweep of my hand.

Lifting the lid, I was immediately assaulted by the stench of seed oil.

This will do nicely.

I dropped down and returned to Banand, whose head was bowed. “Follow the Weaver’s thread to peace. May you live long in your next life,” he prayed, words deep and resonant.

My throat thickened as I dipped my chin to my chest. Quietly, I joined him in honoring our soldier. “May your gift never fade.”

Rokath and I had been exhausted, broken, when we offered a few words to those we had burned for their sacrifice. But he’d insisted on speaking it over every single male. Hadn’t stopped even when his voice was hoarse from the number of times he’d repeated himself. And from that, I’d learned an invaluable lesson in leadership: honor those who followed.

To fight for the Demon cause was to risk the Reaper slicing their thread, and they deserved to be acknowledged, even for a moment.

Banand drew the knife across the suffering male’s throat, and garnet bloomed and spilled over the sides. The rise and fall of his chest halted a moment later, signaling the end to his suffering.

I lifted my head and rolled my shoulders back again, gathering my strength for the next phase of the rescue mission.

A chill swept over me as the tall, lanky male straightened and looked at the jar in my hands. “I am impressed, Assyria. The Halálhívó is known for his cruelty and lack of mercy. It seems some of that has rubbed off on you, at least as far as the Angels are concerned.”

I decided then I liked Banand immensely. He didn’t treat me as some weak female, only good for spreading my legs. He recognized me for who I was and what I was capable of.

“Perhaps I want vengeance of my own,” I shot back with forced bravado, drawing my other dagger. But internally, dread knotted my stomach because Rokath still hadn’t responded to me. Rage drummed on his side of the bond, though it held a potent edge of terror. Whatever was happening with the diversion, it had claimed his sole focus. The sooner we escaped the confines of this miserable striped tent, the sooner they could retreat away from whatever was causing Rokath so much agony.

I dipped the blade into the jar, wetting it with the oil, then flung drops all around us.

Banand chuckled and fetched a few long-stemmed candles from a nearby table.

“Light it up,” I told him, anger pounding through me. These fucking Angels would burn for how they’d treated my kith and me. “We’ll spread more on the way out.”

“Aye, mate of the Halálhívó,” Banand said, tipping the flame toward a wet spot on the dead Demon’s pants.

Careful not to spill any seed oil on my clothing, I retraced my steps to the front of the tent, where the others waited with Zurronar. Smoke billowed, thick and greedy, devouring everything around it. Banand emerged from the cloud at a jog, carrying two more candles. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” I quipped, calling on my magic to weave Araquiel’s face back over my own. A few of the males let out low coughs, and I smothered one of my own.

“Bury your faces in your shoulders,” Banand suggested, yanking up his dirty tunic to cover his nose. The others did as he suggested.

My shadows fell away, and a few gave me a wary glance as I became the Angel female again. “I’ll go first,” I croaked in Demonic, trying not to inhale the cloying air.

Using the back of my hand, I eased the entrance open, scanning for any indication that the two sentries had returned. When I found no sign of life, I slipped outside, only slightly disappointed I wouldn’t get to slice them up on our way out.

Once I was certain the area was clear, I held the flap open for the others.

“That way,” I pointed in the direction of the almond trees. “Hurry, we don’t have much time.”

The two hauling Zurronar between them rushed forward first, followed by the other three. Banand and I brought up the rear, spreading more fire in our wake. Shouts rang out in all directions as more and more smoke filled the sky.

A particularly large tent, the white broken up by a pattern of swirls, loomed ahead of us, and I beelined toward it. Dropping my dagger in the grass, I gripped both sides of the nearly empty jar and flung the remaining contents on the light fabric. Then, I tossed it down the alley, more oil spilling along the way. Banand threw one candle toward the jar and the other onto the massive spot on the tent. Flames ignited, the heat causing us to flinch back.

“That should take a while to put out,” I commented, satisfaction curling through me.

So maybe I hadn’t slaughtered any Angels today, but I’d burned their fucking camp and the prison they’d kept us in.

“Come on, we need to move,” Banand said, glancing around us. “Can’t have the Halálhívó kill me for failing to protect his mate after I am finally rescued, can I?”

I snorted and jogged alongside him, checking down each avenue we passed to ensure we weren’t being pursued. To my relief, no Angels appeared. The Fates were truly on my side for my first mission, a welcome change from how the rest of my life had unfolded.

The edge of the camp came into view, and the others crossed into the narrow strip of land between the tents and the trees.

“Faster!” Banand shouted. The males in front of us put on a burst of speed. My heart thudded against my ribs as Banand and I sprinted for cover, in close pursuit. My lungs burned from the smoke I had inhaled, and an ache blossomed between my ribs.

But I didn’t stop. Didn’t relent my pace. Not when the sweet scent of almonds began to overpower that of the earthy seed fire.

Our group burst into the orchard, chests heaving. The males leaned against thick trunks, slumping down to hide themselves from view. Banand went to Zurronar immediately, checking him over for any sign of his condition worsening.

“Rokath, I’ve got them!” I shouted down our bond. Doubled over, hands gripping knees, I sucked down air like I had water once we’d survived the harsh desert.

I turned to look back at the camp, mouth popping open when I noticed just how far our fire had spread. Screams filled the air, and I squinted, attempting to find the rest of the strike team among the chaos.

A few staggered toward us, half-running as the flames highlighted their forms in ruby and gore. Wings battered the air overhead, drawing my gaze upward.

And when I spotted my mate, a cry tore from my throat.

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15

“Fall back to camp!” I shouted in Demonic. My reanimated soldiers formed a line of their own, hollowing out a space for us to collect ourselves and retreat. Not that the Angels paid us much attention anymore. The smoke had thickened with the wind gusting in our direction, and a jagged inferno scorched the sky. Dozens broke rank, drawn toward the blaze like moths to a flame.

“Rokath, I’ve got them!” Assyria relayed.

Thank you, Weaver.

We’d spilled more than enough blood for at least one part of this fucking rescue mission to go well.

“This is going to hurt,” I told Rapp, adjusting my position so I could heft him into my arms.

“Fuck!” he swore as I shoved my arms under his torso. The sword clanked against my armor as I rose, and more blood poured from the deep gash. I couldn’t remove it, not yet, or he’d bleed out without question.

“When do you get so damn heavy,” I huffed as I called on more obsidian tendrils to help me hold him steady.

“Had to…compete with you,” he replied, unable to remain silent despite my clear instruction. I growled another warning at him. He was going to kill himself at this rate. And then I’d have to reanimate him to slake my rage at him fucking dying on me.

The Parancsok who had accompanied us raced over, eyes popping wide as he took in Rapp’s pale form.

“Halálhívó, I will accompany you in the skies. We must take Hadvezér Rapp to the healers immediately,” he stated like I didn’t fucking know that.

“Aye,” I gritted out, muscles and magic straining from the effort.

Then, he shouted at the others to continue to the trees. Black membranous wings sprung from between my shoulder blades, and I leaped into the sky. Rapp jerked once, then slumped, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Stay with me,” I snarled, using more of my power to hold his now limp body straight.

The Parancsok joined us a moment later, onyx swirling from his hands and spearing toward the ground, where a group of white wings winked out of existence, preventing them from following us. Not that they had much interest in pursuing us when the rear portion of their camp was ablaze.

“Was this your doing?” I asked Assyria, scanning the treeline for any sign of her. That was where we’d agreed to meet once the prisoners had been rescued.

“Oh, so now you respond to me,” she snapped back, fear and anger threading her tone. “I thought you were hurt, Rokath!”

“I am not, but Rapp is.”

“I can see that.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Finally, I spotted movement in the trees. I shouted at the retreating males to join them, torn between saving Rapp and protecting my mate.

Fuck, why did I allow myself to care? To feel? Before Assyria, the panic holding me hostage wouldn’t have dared emerge from the cage I kept it in. I would have kept a level head. Rapp wouldn’t have gotten slashed in the first place.

Assyria’s voice cut through my internal chaos like a blade. “You can’t blame yourself, Rokath.”

How she could be so calm when I was falling apart was beyond me.

“Stay safe. Return to camp immediately.”

“Banand is overseeing our retreat, and the others have caught up. Now go. Save Rapp. I can’t lose him too.” The sob was evident even down our mental connection. She’d lost so many in her life, and I wouldn’t allow her to suffer any more grief if I could help it.

So I pushed harder, flying a slightly too long path between the trees and the camp in an attempt to both keep an eye on Assyria and carve a direct line to the healers for Rapp. What felt like years passed as the red dots in the distance expanded into recognizable shapes. They were nothing in comparison to the slick, hot garnet that coated my arms. My armor. Dripped on the ground like a gutted animal as I flew my friend to the only people who could save his life.

Air heaved in and out of my lungs from the level of my exertion.

The Parancsok accompanying me screamed out orders the moment we were within earshot of the camp. Where there had once been a restless calm, chaos burned. Demons took up arms and raced toward Lutsk to ensure the safe return of the prisoners. Healers bolted from their workstations and tore their gazes skyward, gauging the distance and what they’d need when we finally landed.

A sea of red, gray, and black swept underneath me. I glided lower and lower, until finally I was close enough to hit the ground at a run. My shadows tightened over Rapp, his breath so, so fucking shallow. The lead healer raced over, simultaneously guiding me and assessing his Hadvezér.

Two apprentices rolled the canvas flaps back, beckoning us inside. They secured them in place after we passed, the crisp night air flowing through their workspace. A group of experienced healers prepared a table, spreading white cloths, rolling up a towel at the head, and filling basins with fresh water. They snapped to attention when I reached it, fingers twisting as they wrapped their magic with mine.

Together, we eased Rapp to the table, his body hovering just enough that the blade protruding from his back wasn’t forcibly jutted out. The lead healer shouldered through, giving the silver sword a thorough examination before barking orders. His fingers closed around the hilt, lifting it ever so slightly as the space between Rapp’s leather armor and the quickly-staining cloth closed.

I held my breath as his limp form hit the table, certain that the movement would jostle the weapon and immediately kill him.

A breath wheezed out of him, and then, all inky swirls disappeared. The healers jumped to work, each second a precious commodity. One dragged three fingers through the dark ruby staining his skin and sucked them into his mouth. Someone placed their hands on me in an attempt to drag me backward. I shrugged them off as I watched the male slice deep into his arm and allow his lifeblood to pour into a glass container.

“Halálhívó, we’ll take it from here,” a healer said, his voice distant like he was underwater. Or maybe it was me that swam beneath the depths, for I felt like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t tear my gaze away from Rapp’s pale form.

A fist slammed into my chest, sharp and shocking—a rope yanking me out of the deep water. In a blink, I returned to myself, noting that my mate stared up at me, her burgundy eyes shining with a tumultuous mix of emotion.

“Let them work, Halálhívó. You’re blocking their way,” she whispered. Two tears tracked down her face as she glanced over her shoulder.

Nodding, I backstepped, dragging Assyria with me. A handful of chairs jutted against a wall, and I sank onto one, pulling my mate into my lap. I needed her, and she needed me.

“Fuck, Assyria, I can’t lose him.” She still wore Araquiel’s clothing, but that garden-like scent of her, the one that had captivated me since the moment it hit my nostrils, was there, stronger and steadier than I was in that moment.

“I know,” she choked out, wrapping her slender arms around my neck. I crushed her against me, not caring that blood soaked my torso. That there were others that needed attending. That I should have checked on Banand and Zurronar.

Weaver, Reaper, Giver, I always do as you bid. Please don’t let him die. I need him to help win this war in your name.

Terror and sorrow tumbled down our bond. Assyria trembled, and then a quiet whimper wracked her chest. Her hand slapped over her mouth.

She’s trying to be strong for me.

“Feel what you need to feel, little imposter,” I choked out. Her emotions were always so strong, and normally, I tried to block them out. But this time, I let them wash over me, joining my own.

When Thast had died, it was only minutes between hearing of his execution and then committing it. Now? Rapp’s future was shrouded in fog. His injury was grave. I lingered on the precipice of losing another friend, staring over the cliff and waiting for a strong wind to send me careening down it. I had less control now than I had that fateful day my father and the former Kral forced me to slaughter Thast and the two others.

A thousand jagged thoughts tore through my mind as we waited for something, anything, from the healers. They continued to block Rapp from view as they ringed him, flinging crimson cloths into buckets. An apprentice raced for more potions. Inky wisps twisted around the arms of the lead healer.

Assyria sobbed harder, and I kept clutching her because fuck she was the only certainty in my life right now. She needed this embrace just as much as I did. Rapp had been the only one rooting for us since the day our bond snapped into place. The memory of him howling with laughter when Assyria had challenged me after I told her to obey him like she would obey me hit me like an avalanche.

How different would things have been if I’d listened to Rapp and Kiira initially?

Assyria eventually quieted, sniffing softly as she continued to rest her head on my shoulder. Our bond was a mess of exhaustion from both sides, and yet we refused to move from our silent vigil.

The frenzy of their work died down. Less rags were thrown. Their shadows dissipated like smoke in the wind. I stroked Assyria’s ebony hair, the rhythm as soothing to me as it was to her. I hated being still, yet I couldn’t move, save for that one small motion.

An underling brought the lead healer a cup of water, and he drank it greedily, stepping back from Rapp’s too-still body. My stomach plummeted when he turned toward us, face haggard and haunted. With a sigh, he set the drink aside, then picked his way through the injured. Others still lingered at Rapp’s side, murmuring amongst themselves.

Assyria straightened in my lap and dashed the backs of her wrists over her eyes, trying to clear them.

“Halálhívó,” the lead healer began slowly, wiping his hands on a clean rag. With a grumble, he glanced around and found another chair. Gripping the back, he spun it and then eased himself onto the seat with an audible squeak. He braced his elbows on his knees, exhaustion dragging his frame down. “Hadvezér Rapp is stable, for now.”

The snake constricting my torso loosened.

“But–”

It tightened again.

The lead healer sighed heavily. “That could change at any moment. His wound was mere inches from fatal. We’ve also completely run out of pium stores. Should someone else suffer such an egregious injury, we would be unable to save them.”

His attention flicked to my mate, and I understood his meaning.

“What are his chances of living?” I asked, each word dragged from the depths of despair. I needed to prepare myself—and Assyria—for the worst.

He glanced over his shoulder, watching his team work for a moment before responding. “Honestly? With everything we poured into him, I think they are high. But do not take that as a promise,” he warned. The lead healer had always been straight with me, which was one of the reasons I’d promoted him to the position.

“Thank you,” I choked out, relief like a potent drug passing between Assyria and me. “I will ensure we replenish your stores as soon as possible. Whatever you need, I will procure for you.”

He nodded, then rose like a creaking ship. The fatigue rimming his eyes was undeniable. “He will have a constant watch until he wakes.”

When he attempted to maneuver his chair back into place, Assyria shot to her feet. “Let me,” she said, taking it from him. He didn’t fight her, merely trudged back to the table and spoke with the others still working on their Hadvezér.

Then, she turned to me, slowly, like the motion harmed her. Swollen, puffy eyes snagged mine, and her shoulders hunched like her tears had dragged her to the depths of despair. We’d both suffered a physical and emotional toll—and there was no end in sight.

I rose. “Come,” I said, holding a hand out to her. She accepted readily and nestled into my side. My gaze lingered on my unconscious friend. A thick row of stitches covered his torso, throwing off the smooth lines of his ink. He’d be annoyed that years of painstaking work to decorate his body had been ruined, but fuck it. He’d be alive and that was far more important.

Taking one last look at him, I steered Assyria out of the tent. We stepped into the broken night, smoke from the fire my mate had started trickling into our camp.

I slammed to a halt. In the shifting air, among sand and ash, stood our strike force—and a handful of the prisoners we’d saved.

And they all stared directly at my mate.

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