Beloved in His Eyes (Angel's Assassin #2)(42)

“It’s not her!” Laszlo screamed. He turned back to his men to see fear in their wide eyes. Some whispered in uncertainty, some silently prayed. Their horses moved beneath them nervously, pacing. One steed reared onto its hind legs.

“But you killed her,” Kiprian, his first lieutenant, hissed.

Others around him nodded agreement.

Laszlo swung around to look again at the woman at the top of the tower. It looked like her. No one could have the same hair, so golden it rivaled the rays of the sun.

“You killed her,” someone repeated from behind him.

“We can’t win against an angel,” another said.

“No!” Laszlo shouted. “It is a trick! That is not Aurora of Acquitaine.” He drew his sword and kicked his steed, hard. His horse charged forward.

Damien answered his charge. His horse galloped forward, and his sword flashed in the morning sun as he drew it and held it high. Behind him, the Acquitaine army followed, racing into a battle where the odds did not favor their victory.

Rage snarled Laszlo’s lips. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. Half of his men followed him forward, the other half retreated toward the forest. A howl of rage issued from his throat. Even half of his men could slaughter the Acquitaine men. He pointed his sword forward. He would not back down from this fight. They had killed his brother, Hogar. The deed would not go unpunished.

Before he could reach the lord of Acquitaine, the sound of clanging swords echoed behind him. He swiveled his head. Shock washed over him. Another army appeared from the depths of the forest, descending into the clearing toward his retreating men.

They were trapped, caught between the Acquitaine men and this new army.

Laszlo threw his head back and howled. He would never surrender. He would slice through the men and enter the castle to slaughter everyone. Acquitaine would fall.

Damien came charging toward him.

And their lord would be the first one killed, Laszlo vowed.

Their swords met with a thunderous sound that echoed across the clearing. Laszlo swung again and again, but Damien matched his blows with as much hatred.

“She should be dead,” Laszlo growled.

Damien didn’t reply. He leapt at him, knocking him from his horse and both tumbled to the ground, Damien landing on top of Laszlo. He elbowed him in the face with his armored limb.

Stunned, it took Laszlo a moment to recover.

Damien put a dagger to his throat.

The metal was cold against his skin, and as surprising as the fall to the ground. Laszlo grimaced, staring into cold, black eyes. He waited for death. He waited for the end, for the cut across his throat, but the moments stretched on. A slow smile eased across his lips. “Your society is gentle. It has laws. You can’t just kill me.”

“Sentence for you has already been decided,” Damien growled. “I just wanted you to realize you and your army have been defeated. The Hungars will fall under Acquitaine rule now.”

Laszlo’s lips thinned with anger. With hatred. “Never,” he hissed. He lifted his sword arm.

With a quick swipe of his wrist, Damien ran the blade across Laszlo’s throat.

Laszlo gurgled as his lifeblood ran from the cut.

Damien leaned close to him. “I killed your brother.”

Rage turned Laszlo’s face red and he reached for Damien.

Damien sat back and watched him die.



Gawyn stood at the city gates, watching the battle unfold. A line of five soldiers stood behind him. His orders were not to let any Hungars enter the city. He clenched his sword tightly, wanting desperately to battle at Damien’s side. He also knew this was a battle of revenge for Damien. His brother needed to avenge Aurora, to take out his anger over everything these barbarians had done to her. Everything she had endured.

Gawyn clenched his sword. He felt the same need course through his body. A Hungar had taken away Justina’s brother. She was hurting because of Adam’s death. And Gawyn wanted revenge for that. But his responsibility was to protect the city. No Hungar would pass over the drawbridge.

Gawyn began to pace. The need to be part of this battle coursed through his veins. And yet, he would not abandon his post.

He watched the Acquitaine soldiers battle the savages. He had trained most of these men and he knew they were skilled fighters. And yet, he watched his men struggle against the onslaught of the barbarians. They made mistakes that Gawyn cringed at. He watched the Hungars, the way they fought with ruthless cunning, looking for any opening, any weakness. “What do you see?” Gawyn asked the five knights behind him.

For a moment, no one said a word.

“Look at the way they fight,” he said to them as well as himself.

The Hungars were just a few inches shorter than his men, but they fought relentlessly, hammering down on the Acquitaine soldiers with swords, axes, and clubs. The fighting reminded Gawyn of a bear he had once seen in the court of a noble. The bear was fighting an armored man, fighting for its life. It attacked on its hind legs, overwhelming the knight, coming down from above.

Even though the knights were just inches taller than the Hungars, the Hungars used their power to reign blows down from above. The knights were hard pressed to defend this kind of overwhelming brute force.

“They leave their middle open,” one of the guards said from behind him.

Gawyn nodded. “They attack from above. If you can go to your right and attack their side or back, you would have a chance. You cannot beat them with a head on attack.” That was it. That was the defense.