Heart thudding, she tried to turn away, tried to tear her gaze from the warrior.
Walls closed in instead.
The horse’s hooves shook the ground as he landed. And the male’s attention snared her, chilling her to the bone.
She sprinted then, fleeing his pursuit.
Hoofbeats tore up the earth behind her, while that same earth shredded the soles of her feet. Air dragged backward over her skin, and not from her frantic flight. Silver bars crashed from above—left, right, front—forcing her to duck and dodge.
All it did was slow her pace. All it did was lead her to the inevitable.
Something hard collided with her back, and she stumbled, collapsing against the ground. Rough hands spun her over. Strong legs pinned her hips.
And above her was the most brutally beautiful male she’d ever seen. Hair in a shade darker than any other Angel—an iron gray to match his grip on her wrists—fell over his shoulders. A strong jaw clenched tight like he was restraining himself from speaking his magic into existence. Pure lethality threaded his every movement.
Terror thundered beneath her ribs, ice shattering through her veins.
Because his irises—the same rare shade as her own—drank her in like she was his salvation. But she knew he was her damnation.
Possession coiled around her ribs like thick, thorny vines.
“You are mine, mate.” His voice, velvet and steel, scraped against her raw nerves. “I’ll never let you go.”
Around her, more bars of silver descended. Trapping her. Caging her. A chilling cacophony accompanied them.
And all her mate did was offer a calm smile.
But then, the vision shifted, bleeding darker and more twisted.
The sky stormed. Lightning flashed, blinding the female.
When it cleared…
A battlefield, broken bodies littering the ground like they were discarded waste. Red eyes. Blue eyes. Black hair. White hair. Their race did not matter; all were glazed in death. The youngling stood among them, hands dripping in crimson, and nose filled with the scent of rot and old blood.
She looked down, screaming at the stain. Had she done this? Was this all her fault?
Nausea churned in her gut, mixing with putrid guilt.
“Help me,” a voice called out, weak and broken.
She whirled, finding a Demon with her hand outstretched. The only living creature amid so much death. The youngling didn’t know what had happened, only that she needed to do something, anything, to atone for the violence.
Without hesitation, she reached down to aid the wounded warrior.
But a hand on her shoulder yanked her backward. The female collapsed to the ground again with a pained moan.
That same male with the iron hair and scarred brow towered over her, a dark glint in his eye. In his free hand, he held a sword that dripped in the same gore that pooled beneath their feet.
“Did you do this?” she demanded, breath catching in her throat. Because if her mate had caused such chaos, it would absolve her of her sins.
“Of course. Now return to your cage before you get hurt,” he commanded, shoving her behind him and raising his weapon.
“No!” she protested, snatching for his arm.
But it was too late.
In one effortless swing, he cut down the last living soul in front of her.
