Horns of Wicked Ebony

28

Kiira and I descended the stairs hand in hand. The freely given affection was healing me as much as it was healing her. “You know, I always wished for a sister. Prayed for one when I was young, someone for me to be with like Rokath and Xa

“You’re going to make me cry,” I choked out, giving her a squeeze. Memories of my own sister flashed through my mind. She’d been the last of my family to die in the plague. But maybe, just maybe, I could find the same feelings with Kiira and among the females in Fured.

“I mean it. We have a sisterhood among the priestesses, but I can’t share with them like I can with you. You are as much in this as I am now,” she told me.

Flickering light appeared ahead as we descended the final spin of the tower. All was quiet with the late hour, not even a whisper of the guards who normally stood at the base to protect their Kral. We reached the landing, striding into the chilly night air. A shiver wracked my frame, and I released Kiira to rub warmth into my arms.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you?” I asked her, backing toward Rokath’s tower. Rapp and the healing wing were in the opposite direction. With a glance behind me, I realized no sentries were posted at the entry or along the hall.

They must be on a break.

“I’ll be fine,” she swore, wrapping her jacket tighter over her torso. “Get some sleep. You look exhausted.”

I snorted. “So do you.”

Kiira’s eyes widened, her breath catching—not the reaction I expected. “Assyria, watch–”

Something hard slammed into my back, sending me careening forward. Kiira shrieked, leaping out of the way. I twisted my body at the last moment, landing hard on my bad shoulder. Pain flared, and a loud pop reached my ears.

“Fuck,” I cursed, clutching my arm. Kiira continued to scream, and I tore my eyes open to find a male towering over me, molten pitch coiling around him. Thick whips snapped Kiira into a nearby column. Her sounds ceased, leaving only my thundering heart in my ears.

I shoved my feet into the ground and pushed back, creating distance between me and the hooded male. With the darkness covering his face, I had no way of knowing what his eye color was. What his secondary power might be.

“Rokath!” I screamed down our bond, snatching at the inky well in my chest.

A silver blade flashed in the firelight.

Without thinking, I flung my magic in all directions, covering Kiira should he attempt to slit her throat while she was unconscious.

“Where are you?” Rokath growled, my fear a wildfire down the bond.

“Base of the tower,” I managed to get out as the male leaped for me. He crashed into me, sending the air screaming from my lungs. A sharp sting sliced across my cheek. Stars danced in my vision. But I’d managed to avoid a dagger to the heart.

My shadows stuttered from the contact with silver. I gritted my teeth and dug deeper into my well.

This fucker would not kill me.

Obsidian power surged, shoving him off me. Wheezing, I flung out a hand, holding him at bay. Agony lashed my shoulder as I raised my other arm to twist the dark tendrils toward his hood to reveal his identity.

Stone trembled above us. A wicked grin curved the corner of my mouth. “You’ve made a terrible mistake.”

The would-be assassin snarled and slashed through my magic. Each rope screamed in protest as it shattered into nothingness. Adrenaline flooding my veins, I rose, preparing to fight with my fists.

He lunged again, and I ducked under the blow, dancing away from him. He followed, silver whooshing by me as I continued to dodge.

Why did there have to be so many fucking stairs to that tower?

I had no doubt Rokath was careening down them at a breakneck pace.

Positioning myself between the male and Kiira, I snapped, “Who sent you?”

Because the moment Rokath reached me, this male was dead.

He said nothing, silent as a wraith. I shoved more magic at him, attempting to knock him off balance and remove his cloak. But with a wave of his hand, he cast a shield of onyx at the last moment. Darkness claimed the space between us. My heart thundered against my ribs.

I couldn’t see him, could scarcely see my own hands. What if he flung the blade at me now?

The thought had barely finished before I was moving. And not a moment too soon.

Metal clattered against stone as I crashed to the ground, more pain flaring in my shoulder. Tears pricked my eyes, but I gritted my teeth, muscles tense, and prepared to fight again.

A roar ripped through the night. Our bond flared with fury as I sensed Rokath mere steps from me. The sharp edge of a blade sliced the air. A cry echoed. Firelight returned, casting a harsh glow on the blood-soaked stones.

The male fell to his knees, hands clutching a deep wound in his side.

And my mate stood over him.

My breath caught—this time not from fear, but from awe. Clad in nothing but a pair of pants, his blade dripping the crimson blood of my attacker, tattoos on full display, Rokath was vengeance incarnate. Carved by the Fates themselves to rain divine justice.

“You touched my mate.”

A low, primal growl rumbled from him, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I scooted toward Kiira, ensuring their brawl wouldn’t bring harm to her.

“No one gets to do that but me. Because of your transgression, I will gut you so thoroughly the Fates will weep for what they wove.”

The male drew a dagger hidden at his side and swiped at Rokath. My mate sidestepped it, dipping and catching the assassin by the throat. He threw him against the wall, rattling the keep. Bones crunched as the male crumpled to the ground. Blood flew from his mouth as he spit onto the pavers.

“Symbols rise. Symbols fall, Halálhívó,” he taunted, hurling himself forward for another attack.

Ice shattered through my veins. Those words…

A blade scraped over Rokath’s chest, but my mate drove him into the stones again. Then, he wrapped the back of the male’s head and slammed it against his knee. More ruby spilled from him as he ducked out of Rokath’s grip.

But his movements were slow, sloppy. Rokath caught his fist on the next strike and twisted. Another crack sounded. The male howled in pain.

“Not as quickly as inept assassins,” Rokath ground out. Yanking the silver blade from the male’s hand, he flipped it and plunged it into his throat. His chest. His stomach and dragged.

A cascade of garnet slicked his clothes. With a sickening gurgle, the would-be killer fell to the ground. The hood of his cloak dropped too, revealing glassy maroon eyes.

Rokath raced to my side, noting Kiira lay there too. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Kiira is out,” I said, salt stinging my eyes. Rokath brushed his knuckles over the cut on my cheek, and I hissed. “Except for that. And my shoulder. It’s injured again.”

A string of curses fled his lips. “I’m taking you both to the healing wing.” In one powerful motion, he scooped up his cousin. Then, he helped me to my feet. I swayed for a moment, my entire body trembling as I came down from the fright of the attack.

Once I was certain I wouldn’t collapse, I found Rokath’s sword and grabbed it. What if more were waiting to rise if their comrade failed?

He took two steps before halting. “Where the fuck are the sentries?”

“They weren’t here when we came down,” I told him, my voice weak.

Rage, hotter than a volcano, burned down our bond. “Heads will roll.”

Of that, I had no doubt.

On sore, tired limbs, I followed my mate to the healing wing. Kiira groaned, her head lolling. “Rokath?”

“Sh, rest for now. I’m taking you to the healer.” Rokath adored Kiira, and like me, he’d do anything to protect her. She’d told me as much during our conversation on the terrace at Gyor Palace.

To see it now made me love my mate all the more.

Rokath roused the lead healer in residence to care for Kiira and me. Laid out on an examination table, he tended to a deep gash on the back of Kiira’s head. I sat on the end, cradling my arm.

“Where is she?” Rapp burst into the room, his face contorted.

“For fuck’s sake, we can’t have you ripping stiches again,” Rokath growled, catching his Hadvezér. “Assyria is fine.”

Yet as I studied the wide-eyed terror in Rapp’s expression, I got the sense that the emotion wasn’t entirely for me. He found us a moment later, his frame sagging with relief. “I heard your voices. Had to check that you were alright.”

“We’re fine. Just a bit shaken up.” Kiira offered Rapp a reassuring smile, but it didn’t seem to calm his panic.

“Who attacked them?” he whirled on Rokath.

Anger vibrated through my mate’s muscled frame. “He’s dead now. But he didn’t act alone.”

Rokath quickly relayed what had happened while the lead healer finished his work on Kiira. Approaching me, he gave me a quick once-over. “I can put a salve on your cheek so it doesn’t scar. Your shoulder, I’ll have to set. Do you want something to bite?”

“Please,” I said, bracing myself for the pain to come. He fetched a piece of wood and I opened my mouth so he could place it between my teeth.

Kiira sat upright and held my good hand. “Squeeze as hard as you need to.”

I nodded and dragged in a breath through my nostrils.

“Three, two…” The pop echoed through the chamber. A grunt ripped from my throat, and my hand shook from how hard it gripped Kiira’s. Rokath whirled, having felt the harsh adjustment down our bond.

I spit out the wood. “I’m fine,” I told him in a hurry. He was already on edge from the attempted assassination, and I really needed this healer to fix me. He couldn’t do that if he was dead.

“Drink this,” the healer said, proffering me a milky green vial.

“What is it?” I asked. The smell was atrocious, and I attempted to hold back a gag.

“A mixture of pium, poppy, and willow bark. You’ve already hurt this shoulder before, which is why injuring it again was so easy. The combination will settle the tissues around it and help it heal faster. You should be alright the day after tomorrow.”

Rapp made a sound of disbelief. “Why haven’t you been giving me that?”

“Because it won’t work in your case,” the lead healer stated, using a fresh cloth to dab a salve over my cheek. Once he finished, he took a step back and looked at the males. “Ensure they both sleep tonight and rest tomorrow. Especially the High Priestess. Her wound should close by morning, but the interior bruising will take more time.”

Rokath blew out a long breath, his chest deflating. “Thank you.”

The healer merely nodded and packed up his tools. Then, with a sigh, he handed another vial to Rapp. “Since you’re awake, an extra dose wouldn’t hurt.”