Coldest Fire (Dominion series)

by Juliette Cross

Uriel’s large hand—surprisingly warm—wrapped entirely around my wrist. “There’s nothing to fear.” There was no gentleness in his voice, but no malice either. “It’s Circe.”

  “But it’s a dragon.” I’d seen several in my days at Vladek’s castle. I could tell from here the only otherworld creature who could make that large of a shadow was one of those demonic beasts created by high demons.

  “She is,” he said, tugging softly at my grip on his forearm. “And she’s mine now.”

  Realizing I was still clinging to him, I snatched my hand back as if I’d been stung. “Oh,” was all I could reply. Because no archangel had ever spawned a dragon. Had he? If so, how?

  He stared a moment longer, lingering on where I tucked Deimos against my breast before flickering back to my eyes.

  “Dawn.”

  Unable to speak, I simply dipped my chin again. Then he was gone, melding back into the shadows, walking into the frosty night toward his awaiting dragon.

  His dragon.

  And he’d be coming back for me in the morning. My stomach revolted, flipping over. Before their silhouettes disappeared altogether, I closed and bolted the door, pressing a kiss to Deimos’s sleepy head.

  “I’m in a lot of trouble, little man.”

  But Deimos didn’t hear me. And it seemed danger was coming back for me, whether I wanted him to or not.

  I strolled to my bedroom, trying to ignore that part of me buried far and deep that whispered, you want him to.

  Chapter Two

  Uriel

  “She lives alone out here.” So strange, this witch who’d lived and played in the house of Lisabette, to find herself a quiet haven in the wild.

  Dommiel glanced over his shoulder as we moved out of her magic wards. Not the same as ours. Not as powerful, but effective enough in casting illusion, in pushing a wayward traveler in the other direction.

  “Yeah.” His tone told me he was irritated with me. Nothing new these days. Most everyone was. But it didn’t bother me in the least.

  “Her wards won’t keep out her enemies,” I added.

  “No,” agreed Anya, turning around at the edge of the forest, her gaze flicking quickly to Circe before returning to me. “She doesn’t need them. Only a handful of people know her whereabouts. And they’re keeping her secrets.”

  I wondered what secrets she needed kept. “Why is she in hiding? She’s a witch.”

  Dommiel sighed with his robotic arm propped low on his hip. “Like I told you before. She left that place…where we found you.”

  Pushing the black fury that was my time in Estonia, I swallowed against the painful memory rippling along my skin like a lick of razors.

  None of this made sense. She was a creature of the dark, one of them. Yet, her living here far away from the hedonistic lairs witches loved so well confused me.

  “Look,” said Dommiel, his aggravation raising the electric sizzle in the air. “I get that you hate all witches and anyone from that shithole we took you out of. I get it, I do.” Both hands were propped on his hips now, irritation lining his expressive face. “But not all creatures of the dark stay that way. Get me?”

  Anya took his flesh hand in both of hers, cradling it against her chest. “Dommiel.” She whispered his name quieter than the wind, and that was all it seemed to take to wrench him out of his rage. So curious. His temper didn’t bother me, even when it was aimed in my direction. Only one thing got my fury flowing.

  “I know who you are, Dommiel.” He was a demon no more. Not in his heart, anyway. Not since Anya. “But witches who’ve lived in the house of a demon prince or the house of his consort are not one of us. Irredeemable.”

  Even if she was choosing to live apart from them now, she’d still have traces of her demon prince’s essence pouring through her veins. The thought of trusting someone like her made my bones ache, made my spirit recoil with revulsion. But I trusted Anya…and Dommiel. If this was my only way to seek vengeance, then so be it. I’d use her, pay her back in whatever favor she needed, or owe her one, and then finally get my bloody revenge.

  Dommiel shook his head in disgust. Still, I felt nothing. Anya pulled him closer, turning into his body, but her gaze was on me.

  “Uriel. Follow this path with Nadya. She’ll help you.” Her smile was kind, but also frightening, as if she could see some part of me or my future that I couldn’t. “I know she will.”

  The two sifted away in a whirl of snow, their electric current vanishing with a blue snap of spark, leaving me in an empty silence.

  It felt good. Swiveling my gaze back to the cottage in the near distance, the windows lit with a yellow glow, I wondered why she’d left her life in Estonia. Had she tired of the debauchery? The torture?

  Yes, I remembered what she’d done for me that one night. A small grace I’d been thankful for. But I also remembered what she’d not done the last time I’d seen her. All witches were selfish creatures, and she’d proven herself the same as any other. So why would she help me now? I didn’t like to owe anyone anything. Least of all a goddamn witch.

  Drifting toward Circe, I crunched across the new-fallen snow, relishing the biting chill on my skin. With one hand on her jaw and one on her red-scaled neck, I let her internal fire radiate through me, then I whispered the old words and pushed my essence back into her. She rested her giant head on the ground, gold eyes slipping closed. She wore the color of my essence in her serpentine gaze now, having shed the black of her former master. With a short snuff, her nostrils flared, and a blaze of heat melted a line in the snow between her clawed feet.

  Interesting that the beast truly was made of a demon prince, conjured up with his foul essence of making. But I’d taken over full control, and her former master Rook was now rotting in some foul pit in the darkest corner of Erebus. With any luck, he wouldn’t find a way to escape for at least a few thousand years.

  Yes, Circe was mine now. A feat no other angel or archangel had ever done. Some snubbed me for it, but I didn’t give a shit. I’d proven to myself that my will was my own and that my power was stronger than ever. After being kept in chains, my powers caged, for too long, I yearned to stretch those muscles in every way possible. Above all, I longed to make Vladek pay for his filthy fucking presence on this earth. His time was over, and I intended to make sure of it.

  Leaning back against a tree, wings wide, I crossed my arms and legs, settling into a silence where I could meditate the night away. Angels needed sleep, it’s true, though not like humans did. Archangels needed little to no sleep at all, but we needed to recharge in other ways. I’d let the night slip by in a trance of power. I’d need lots of it in the days to come.

  Whispering an ancient incantation, I summoned the elements of earth and air, forces spinning in this dimension and the next, channeling and whirling around me like a hurricane. I was the eye of the storm, sucking the energy storm closer, pulling it to me with my forceful will.

  I didn’t need to open my eyes to know my skin radiated a faint golden glow as power pooled inside of me, saturating through skin and feathers and flesh and bone, reminding me that, yes, I was a potent being. I needed the reminder often after Lisabette. This is what she had taken from me with her black magic and blood rites. She and her maker, Vladek.

  Unlike most victims of some horrific trauma, I didn’t want to forget. I wanted to remember everything. Every single second. Every lash of the whip, every lick of her tongue, every foul violation and wicked word. I kept them all close to my heart, encasing it in an impenetrable block of ice. It was a necessary evil. I’d always been Uriel, the merciful one. The benevolent. The healer. But no longer. Those parts of me had been cut out with a black blade called Lisabette. Since she was dead, the one who captured me and gave me as a gift to her would suffer what was coming. What I was building and bringing to him.

  Flames of magic rippled through my veins, singing a m
elody of mayhem and destruction. It felt so damn good. It’s all that kept me going day after day. The hours slipped by as I sucked in energy from the ether, dreaming behind closed lids of fighting pits and the wonderful sting of flesh meeting flesh, of blades sinking deep.

  A lark twittered in the branch above me. Sliding my eyes open, I scanned the blue-gray pall covering the landscape, wispy clouds easing across the pre-dawn sky. Circe stirred. With a look and a flick of my wrist, she stretched upright, staring upward before switching her snake-eyed gaze back at me.

  “Yes, girl. You can go. I’ll call when I need.”

  That was enough for her. She stomped out of the cover of trees—a giant snow-free imprint as big as her body left behind—and lifted up into the air with a great beat of wings. As large as she was, she made little sound, banking toward the northeast.

  Ready to wait a few more hours before Nadya would wake and we could go to see her demon friend in Moscow, I wasn’t ready for the front door to open and close. Covered in a white cloak, the hood up, she carried a basket and trekked along the path in the opposite direction of where I stood at the edge of the dense woods.

  Interesting. Where was she going so early? Eager to find out what morning errands a witch might have, I eased off the tree, took two steps, and beat my wings, lifting silently into the air. Sifting through the Void, I zipped through that dimension between time and space—gray shapes blurring by—before sifting out a split second later far above her. Her soft footfalls made hardly any sound. She must’ve sensed something, because she glanced behind her a few times before walking with longer strides. Her heart rate picked up. Realizing her witchy senses told her some otherworlder was nearby, I thought it best to make my presence known. If I was going to get her on my side, I couldn’t lurk about and make her feel hunted. Even if some deeper part of me perked up at the idea.

  Landing with a flourish behind her, I tucked my wings tight against my back. She whirled around with a squeak, one small, pale hand going to her chest. Striding forward slowly, I found her outward innocence…disturbing.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “You did anyway,” she snapped back.

  She had a little bite after all. I’m sure there was much more under all that pale perfection and glossy hair. Her veneer of alabaster beauty was a nice camouflage for the darkness lurking beneath.

  “Where are you off to so early?”

  She glanced down at the basket on her arm. “I have goods to sell. Well, I barter with a friend for what I need to last the month.”

  “Barter? You don’t use drakuls?”

  She winced, a crinkle forming between her eyebrows. “No,” she said with some force. “I’ve never used them. Humans have no need for such things, and I…I’ve never liked the feel of them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her clear, pale blue—almost lavender—eyes flitted away from mine, landing on my chest, before she darted away to the road ahead. Obviously, I made her uncomfortable. That wasn’t anything new, and it certainly didn’t bother me that I did. I found some bizarre pleasure in it, actually. When she answered, she didn’t look at me.

  “I’ve always thought there was something wrong with them. But I couldn’t tell what. Or why.”

  Drakuls had been around for nearly a year since the apocalypse had begun, and I’d not paid much attention to their origins. Not until recently when the name of Vladek was being tossed around. I’d held the metal coins many times and had never sensed anything sinister. Yet, she had? Puzzling.

  “Apparently, your gut was right. For now we know there is definitely something wrong with them. When do we leave for Moscow?”

  She glanced back at me, then to her basket, and back toward the direction of the village again. Lifting one of those delicate hands, she pointed over her shoulder.

  “I have to go to Emilia’s tavern first. To exchange my goods.”

  I didn’t answer, clenching my jaw. This would delay our leaving. The sooner she got this done, the better. With a stiff nod toward the village, I said, “Lead the way.”

  She hesitated stepping back along the path. She was afraid of me. Good. She should be. She wasn’t my friend. Or even my ally. She was a means to an end. If I didn’t trust Anya so much, I would’ve found another way. But apparently, according to both her and Dommiel, Nadya was my best chance. So, I’d watch out for her through this ordeal in order to get what I wanted.

  I’d become so callous it was a little alarming. Sometimes I didn’t recognize myself from who I was before. All I knew was that ending Vladek would be the catalyst to bury my hatred. Once and for all.

  Her heartbeat was thrumming faster again. Like a skittish rabbit, she kept her steps quick and light, ready to dart into a hole should one appear. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t delight in frightening innocent people, though she wasn’t so innocent. I didn’t delight in frightening anyone, truth be told. I set goals based on my own order of law—punishing the damned and saving those worth redemption. That had always been my way. Long before the Great War between heaven and hell had begun. Invoking fear had never been one of my goals because there was no use for it.

  Yet, still, her thrumming pulse skated along my skin like a siren song. Why? Why should I delight in such a foul thing? Obviously, a remnant of Lisabette’s stamp upon me. A conditioning that haunted me still.

  “What is it that you trade?” I asked, trying for anything to make her more at ease.

  I didn’t care much that she feared me, but I needed her focused, not distracted. Fear was the worst distraction.

  “I make soaps and salves and stuff like that. Things they can’t buy in a grocery store anymore,” she said, her voice steadier than I expected. “In exchange, Emilia provides me meat, bread, milk, and firewood for the month.”

  I’m not sure what I expected to hear that she traded—perhaps, blood rite spells and black magic potions—but I found her simple wares oddly comforting.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  A stiff nod. “Yes. Why?”

  “You’re frowning.”

  Was I?

  “Tell me again about your friend, Skaal. What you can, of course,” I amended.

  Witches and demons kept their secrets close to them. They were their own kind of weapon.

  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” She paused as we rounded a curve on the snow-laden path, a church steeple jutting up against the gray sky. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked again.

  “Fine.” But even I could hear the sharpness of my response. “Where is it located in Moscow? His club?”

  “In the catacombs beneath the Kremlin. His fighting pit is down in a cavern. But like I said last night, you won’t fight in his circuit. It’s only for female warriors.”

  “And you believe Skaal has enough influence to get me in the circuit that leads to Vladek’s arena?”

  She made a funny sound in her throat, half cough and half laugh. “He definitely does.” She led us along the wrought iron gate that closed in the churchyard, seemingly abandoned. “Skaal is a high demon who has the trust of many top players in Europe. Even though he was the one who got Anya and Dommiel into Estonia without a hitch, no one suspected he had anything to do with it.”

  As we stepped out onto the cobblestone street—this was an old village—she slipped on an icy patch, reaching out to brace her fall. I snatched her under her arm and pulled her upright before she made impact, hauling her back with force. The momentum swung her body against the side of mine. I cringed away and released her on her own feet, but not before taking the basket from her other arm.

  “We’ll make it there faster if I carry it,” I assured her when she stared up at me with those wide doe eyes.

  We walked on, but she withdrew into herself, crossing her arms. There was no one on the streets this early. A few chimneys p
uffed with gray smoke from fireplaces. This was the way of it since the war had begun. Only the cities where high demons had set up territories was there any electricity pumping. The world seemed quieter without the constant thrum of electronics. But also, emptier.

  “This way,” she said, leading us toward a brown-wood building with tall and wide windows. Inside, there were empty tables and booths, a bar along the back wall lined with bottles of liquor. When I walked toward the front door, she shook her head. “Around the back.”

  I followed her until we came to a delivery door near dumpsters. She knocked four times—the first two raps close together, the last two further apart.

  “You find the need for codes way out here?” I asked absently.

  She glanced over her shoulder at me, those pale eyes skating to mine for only a second. “There may be no demons wandering through our territory, but there are humans who are just as bad…who mean harm to these people.”

  I stiffened at the thought, at the truth of it. I’d spent my immortal life helping humans in need. In that time, I’d witnessed the foulest atrocities that wicked humans could inflict on their own kind. Many of them were as bad as the demons. This new, lawless world had become a playground for the wicked who typically served demon lords to gain power and indulge their sinful appetites.

  Several bolts slid open on the other side before the door swung open. A round-faced woman with pink cheeks and bright eyes smiled—no, beamed—at Nadya.

  “Good to see you. You’ve been away too long.”

  Her gaze caught on me. Her smile dropped immediately.

  “It’s all right, Emilia. He’s a…I mean, I’m helping him with something.”

  She stared at me, apparently unsure whether to trust even angelkind in this climate. Probably smart on her part.

  “I promise you,” assured Nadya. “He’s okay.”

  Finally trusting her friend, she opened the door for us to come in.

  “I take it you’ll be wanting the usual?” asked Emilia, walking through another doorway that brought us to a back-storage room, gaze shifting nervously.