The Angel of Death chuckled. He actually chuckled. “Your previous leader was weak and died to demons along Alastia’s border before I had a chance get there. To accuse me of murdering not only the leader of the Paladins Order but, in doing so, also destroying the precarious truce between our people, is perhaps not the smartest move while you and your people are within my grasp.”
My blood boiled. Screw playing nice. I wished Jessa weren’t in the room. But I also knew that my pain right now—emotional though it was—would feed her power enough to help me fight if one broke out.
I glanced up to meet the Angel of Death’s stare. “Merek was not weak—”
I froze as our eyes met. It was like someone or something had punched me right in the gut. My breath hitched. My heart stopped. For a moment, it even felt as though time had, too.
The Angel of Death was breathtaking. Gorgeous. And it wasn’t just his fathomless onyx eyes and tussled ebony hair, although those had drawn me in first. It wasn’t the hard cut of his jaw or his statuesque features. Not even the faint scar along his chin that brought questions to my mind. No. None of those things were anything in comparison to the aura around him—power, position. Nor even his scent—earthy and smoky—that slammed into me a moment later. It also wasn’t the way his eyes widened a fraction the longer this moment drew on, as if he had realized it, too, now that our eyes had met.
They say that when you meet the love of your life, you just know. That that was how it also worked with your fated mate.
Now looking the Angel of Death in the eyes, not only seeing him for the first time, but feeling the weight of his presence and power, I knew what I’d always assumed to be true: Fate had never been on my side, and She was not funny.
Merek had been my mate. I’d known it the first moment we’d met. We’d clicked immediately and loved fiercely until the night of his death.
And here I was, staring down the Angel of Death, the demon king of this city, begging for him to let Jessa go, and realizing that he, too, was somehow my mate.
My fated mate. A stronger pull. An impossibly powerful connection.
The recognition was instantaneous. The bond as powerful as the sun.
I’d heard you could have more than one mate. I’d even known a few paladins in the Order whom it had happened to.
But this—now, after Merek’s death—was too much to process. This aura flitting between us was stronger than anything I’d ever felt in my entire life.
The Angel of Death growled, his lips curling. I stood straight and met his anger with my own, my fists curled and ready to attack, clunky as it might be with my wrists bound as they were. It wouldn’t be graceful, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one pissed about this,” I said as I drew up my bound fists. I refused to believe fate had given me another mate—especially one responsible for killing my first.
Before the Angel of Death or any of his soldiers could react, I swung wide at his face.
