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“As my…” He bites his lip. “My vergis.”
Nur’s head jerks sharply. “No. I don’t think so.”
The rejection steals his breath away. Arsene swallows. Yet he’s not naive—he knows he doesn’t deserve Nur as his own. Yet. And he doesn’t regret asking.
He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out—begging, more like.No?What does it mean? No to being his mate? No to traveling home with him?
“Angel.”
He looks up. They’ve come around full circle to the side of the camp that faces Hell.
“They’re here,” Nur says.
Arsene strains his eyes at the horizon. His arms prickle. Slowly, shadowy shapes blot out the low-lying stars. Their number are scattered across the road and the sand next to it.They stagger like they’re half-dead already, gaining speed when they see him and Nur.
“Behind me,” he orders Nur.
“Not a chance,” Nur growls.
The first one lurches at Arsene, a tall, yellow-eyed demon with blackened teeth and cracked horns, weaponless outside of his claws. Arsene draws his knife and steps out of reach, and the demon grunts in confusion. His gaze is unseeing as he tries to locate his enemy again. He looks sick. It almost feels wrong to kill him. Arsene attacks anyway.
The demon swipes at him loosely, missing by an arms’ length. Arsene lunges under his guard and aims at his midsection. Slow and clumsy, the enemy walks straight onto his knife. Arsene guts him before the fight has even begun. The demon falls to his knees without even a cry, the life draining from his eyes. Ichor spills. The huge body falls backward to the sand with a thud.
The air above the demon shimmers, and a thread of light rises like bright smoke and diffuses into the night.
Arsene gapes. “What…?”
Around them, others fall to their knees without a single touch, their faces tilted to the sky. The wind rises with a gasp, kicking dust into the air. A haunting sound lifts from the camp behind them, voices raised in song. Chills run up Arsene’s spine.
Jaws fall open to expose ichor-stained tongues. One by one, bright threads erupt from each demon. They’re briefly illuminated: blank faces, horns like beetle carapaces, tattered soldier’s uniforms. As their essence escapes their bodies, they crumple like their strings have been cut.
“Their souls are leaving,” Arsene breathes.
“They’re going into the aether.” Nur’s rasp is barely audible over the wind that suddenly whistles past his ears.
“Why?”
Nur’s jaw tightens. “The ceremony—the song—it calls to their souls. They’re being freed.”
The demons no longer seem to notice them, but they’re slowly surrounding the camp.
“We should deal with them,” Arsene says, gesturing to the ones still staggering across the sand.
Nur shakes his head sharply. “They’re not going to attack.”
He’s right. They drop to the sand before even reaching the camp. Unsettled, he watches as the last gasp of life leaves them all in a flare of soul light.
A cut-off noise comes from behind him, and his heart stumbles at the sound of his sword hitting the sand. He spins to see Nur gripping his scarred throat, his mouth twisting into a grimace. The bond shivers.
“What’s wrong?” He grabs Nur’s arm.
“It’s the call,” Nur gasps, bending double. His muscles are taut under Arsene’s hand. The bond is pulling, weakening like a rope being unwound. It feels utterly wrong.
No, he wants to yell, but it doesn’t feel like he has the right.
“My soul wants to join them.” Nur grabs his hand. His claws dig in painfully. “Don’t let me go. I’m not ready.”
Arsene drags him upright. “Nur!”
