Coldest Fire (Dominion series)

by Juliette Cross

  “So, you know about his little dungeon then?” asked Uriel, voice more glacial than I’d heard it.

  “Yeah. I know.”

  I winced. “You do?”

  Skaal softened when he looked down at me, confessing with a tinge of guilt, “I always knew. But there’s no putting an end to it.” Then he spoke to Uriel with more bite. “Unless you plan to put an end to Vladek, who has now elevated himself to a king rather than a prince. He may be a self-appointed monarch, but no one is questioning his dominance over central and eastern Europe.”

  When Uriel said nothing in response, Skaal laughed. A deep throaty laugh. “Oh, archangel. If that’s your game, then more power to you.” He angled forward, placing his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands between them. “What makes you think you have the ability to beat him this time after what he did to you last time you tried?”

  Oh, hell. Why did Skaal have to bring up that giant elephant in the room? I didn’t know the whole story. All I knew was that Lisabette kept bragging about a new present Vladek had captured for her. Then Uriel showed up a day later, bound in chains and demon magic.

  To Uriel’s credit, his expression didn’t shift at all. Not a twitch of any kind. When he spoke, however, there was definite rage simmering behind his stone-like demeanor.

  “Don’t worry about me, demon. Get me in the circuit leading to his arena. That’s all you need to do.”

  “It would be my pleasure to put you in harm’s way.” He glanced back at me. “Don’t even consider it a favor. But it’ll take some maneuvering and convincing on my part.”

  I placed a hand on Skaal’s shoulder. He tightened beneath my touch, watching me with hard intent.

  “But will you, Skaal? I know this is asking a lot. I know I’ve already asked so much. You can say we paid you a finder’s fee of some kind to get into the ring. Then step away from us.”

  His gaze had caught on my hand before he looked back at me.

  “It’s not a problem, Nadya. Like I said,” he whispered, though it was obvious Uriel could hear every word, “I’ll do anything for you.”

  Guilt lanced through me. I removed my hand and wished I could return his feelings. I loved and cared for him, but not in the way he wanted. I never could.

  With a shake of his head, he stood. “I’ll need a few days to make some contacts and see what I can do. It’s not uncommon to have angels in the circuit, but we’ve never had an archangel. It’s more than unusual. It’s unheard of. But that may be the very reason they take the bait and let you in.”

  Uriel and I both stood. “Thank you, Skaal,” I said with sincerity.

  He walked us toward the exit, placing a hand on my elbow to stop me, allowing Uriel to go ahead. The archangel walked on but didn’t go through the door into the outer foyer.

  “Are you sure you want to get involved in this, Nadya?”

  “I’m not getting too involved. When we get him in the circuit, I’ll step back.”

  His green eyes flared brighter. “Good.” His hands came up to cup my shoulders and draw me closer. “I don’t want to see you get hurt…again.”

  “I know,” I whispered, not wanting to have any part of this conversation with Uriel within hearing range.

  “I couldn’t bear—”

  “I know, Skaal.” I placed a comforting hand on his sternum and patted once. “I know. I’ll be all right.”

  After another moment of his angst-filled gaze, I stepped back. “I’ll wait at the cottage for word from you.”

  He nodded and watched me go. Uriel followed me out the door where we were quickly escorted down the elevator, across the marble lobby, and out the revolving glass doors. Oska gave me my cloak before we left. We walked several steps away from the demon wards before I held out my hands, palms up, forearms parallel to the ground.

  Uriel stopped in front of me. “He’s in love with you,” he stated indifferently. Still, his blue-fire gaze raised the hairs on my arms. My skin prickled in response.

  “Yes.”

  “You know this, and you use him anyway.”

  “I’m not using him.”

  He shrugged, the nonchalant gesture seeming off by such an imposing figure. “It all depends how you look at it, I guess.”

  “It’s none of your business, archangel,” I said with more venom than I intended. “You don’t know me or Skaal or what we’ve been through together.”

  He held my burning stare, raising both brows in casual agreement. “You’re right.” And yet, there was something behind the flinty tenor of his voice that wasn’t casual at all.

  “Take me home,” I demanded, more softly, eyes back on the ground.

  He wrapped his long fingers entirely around my forearms, his thumbs pressing into the inner crease of the joints at my elbows, and then pulled my body into the shelter of his. I wished I had some control over my damn heart, which automatically tripled in pace whenever he was this close to me. I hated that my body reacted to him this way. It wasn’t fear or repulsion that made my heart hum with want. He edged even closer, towering above me, leaning his head lower over my left shoulder.

  “As you wish, Nadya.”

  Chapter Four

  Uriel

  When I sifted us out next to her cottage, we were pelted by heavy snow. Instinct had me pulling her closer and opening my wings high above us to shelter her. Startled, she stared up over my head, then pulled free of me to the shallow overhang of her doorstep, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve.

  “Wait.” I stepped forward just as she stumbled over the stack of firewood behind her, then I grabbed her forearm and righted her before she could fall back.

  “Oh,” she said absently, glancing back at the door, then stared down where I held on to her. I let her go, flexing my fingers at my side. “Hans must’ve dropped it off before this storm set in.”

  The sky pressed low and heavy with the promise of a long snowfall well into the night.

  “How will I contact you when you hear back from Skaal?” I asked, feeling the need to back away. She blinked up at me, downy flakes landing on her face and eyelashes. It would drench the wood soon enough and leave her without anything to keep the cottage warm. Without waiting for a response, I stepped around her and stacked four logs in my arms.

  “Open the door and let’s get this inside. It’ll be of no use before long with the snow.”

  She glanced up at the sky. “You’re right.” She opened the door and held it wide for me. “You can stack it to the left of the fireplace. Thank you.”

  I did just that, then retrieved the remaining bundles. After two more trips—the firewood in the dry corner where she kept it—I faced her. She had that little demon of a kitten in her arms, cuddling it close to her breast as it batted at strands of her platinum blonde hair, now damp from the snow. Something squeezed inside my chest.

  “Thank you again.”

  “It’s not a problem.” We stood and stared. “I’ll return in—”

  “Would you care to stay and eat dinner? I…I don’t have company often, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to…sometimes.”

  I didn’t need food for sustenance. Angels and archangels fed off natural energy of the elements and from the Light of Elysium. But I enjoyed a good human meal well enough. Part of me wanted to leave, to reject her kindness. But another part wanted to know her more. Dommiel had been right. She may have been a witch in the house of Lisabette, but she wasn’t like her. Not at all. I wanted to know why. How.

  “Thank you.” I nodded.

  She set the kitten down, unclasped and hung up her cloak next to the door, then lifted an apron off a kitchen hanger and tied it around her waist. I crouched near the grate and set to work to start a fire. While she rattled around in the kitchen, unloading her crate of goods, I stoked the fire to life.

  “I keep a refrigerator out back in
the storage room,” she said. “We have no electricity, but with the temperatures so cold here, I don’t need it. The weather does it for me.” She laughed nervously.

  I nodded, watching her move about the room, stepping through a back door where she carried milk, a basket of eggs, and other items to keep cold.

  “How does the stove still work?” I asked when she returned, wanting to put her at ease for some damn reason.

  She lit a pilot light beneath a grated burner. “We’ve somehow managed to keep the gas running. There’s a town council in Erzgebirge that was organized when the war began. They can’t keep electricity running because the plant is too far away. But they’ve managed to keep the gas on. My cottage included.” She pointed to an old black stove set on the ground of the kitchen. “I manage heating and cooking in the stove with coal.” She opened the stove and removed a heavy black cast iron pot from inside, something she’d left on the coals.

  “That’s lucky.”

  “Sure is.”

  I watched her move about the kitchen, the kitten pouncing on her boots or playing with the hem of her skirt no matter where she moved.

  Her choice of clothing was odd. Witches and demonesses tended to wear skin-tight clothes that accentuated everything and hid nothing. She wore modest dresses that did the opposite. Even so, it was obvious she had a lovely female figure. But she didn’t use it to her advantage. She was delicate, very feminine, soft and sweet. And yet she’d lived in the House of Vladek and of Lisabette. She was a puzzle, this witch.

  “I hope you like lamb stew. We don’t have many fresh vegetables with this constant snow, but—”

  “That’s fine.”

  The kitten bounded across the woven rug and launched himself at my boot, pulling the laces loose. I scratched his belly with a finger. He clawed and bit with a tiny growl. She moved closer until her skirt brushed my arm, stopping in front of me. Glancing up, I flinched at the gentle smile she wore. It sizzled up my spine, the tenderness there.

  Straightening, I let the little beast have his way with my laces and took the bowl and spoon she offered.

  “Is Deimos bothering you?”

  She knew he wasn’t. “No.”

  I settled back with the bowl and started to eat, while she got her own and took a seat on the sofa. The stew was good. And warm. Strange that I didn’t feel uncomfortable, threatened, in this place. Ever since I’d returned from Estonia, I could find little peace except when I was alone in my home within my impenetrable wards. This place had none. I expected to sense that itching under my skin, warning me of danger. None came. But she was a witch. Perhaps it was part of her magic. To lull me into quiet comfort…

  “Does it taste okay?” she asked, staring down into her bowl.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Finishing, I set it on the small round table beside the chair. The kitten batted a ball of yellow yarn across the rug. Where he got it, I had no idea.

  “He’s your little god of terror, is he?”

  That got her attention. And a smile. “You know Greek mythology?” Her face paled a little, then she mumbled, “Stupid of me, of course you do.” Setting her own bowl aside, she twisted her hands in her lap. “I mean, you’ve been around a long time.”

  “I have.”

  “So you like the Greeks? Their mythology? Philosophy?”

  “All of it, really.”

  I shouldn’t find her discomfort amusing. Nothing had amused me in ages. Perhaps it was part of my now twisted nature, but I was enjoying myself immensely. Watching her small hands smooth out her unwrinkled skirt, the wet strands of her white-blonde hair sweeping forward as she fidgeted in her seat, the reflection of the firelight on her clear, sky-blue eyes.

  “What’s your favorite myth, if I might ask?”

  “You can. If there is one I find that has the most truth in it, especially for humanity, it’s the story of Icarus.”

  “I see.” She tucked her legs beside her and beneath her skirt. “Is that because Icarus wanted something he shouldn’t have?”

  It wasn’t an accusation. She truly seemed to want to know. Considering she was human—one born with a touch of magic but still human nonetheless—I might as well share my own insight.

  “Humans always yearn for more.”

  She scoffed. “I might disagree with you. Some might like less.” She paused with a pained pinch to her forehead. “But what is it you like so much about poor Icarus?”

  “Poor Icarus?” I arched a brow. “He disobeyed his older and wiser father. And died because of it.” I waved a hand to let that go. “Never mind that. The truth is that most humans are impetuous and refuse to obey authority like Icarus, which leads to trouble.”

  “I see.” She nodded, biting her bottom lip, which I noticed was a pale shade of pink. “So, you believe that all humans are idiots, then.”

  “No. I believe they make rash decisions. They follow their vanity, their greed, their lust, and not their logic and reason.”

  She rolled her eyes—yes, rolled her eyes at me—then sat up higher on her heels. “But what if Icarus was chasing his dreams and passions?”

  “Then he should’ve given them up.”

  She flinched. “Are you serious? Given them up?”

  I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, hands casually clasped. Her gaze flicked to my fingers as I laced them together. “Obviously, you disagree. You believe he should’ve flown so high it led to his death?”

  “Yes,” she said with certainty and a stiff nod.

  “Yes?”

  “You heard me. Some things are worth the risk.”

  Interesting. And peculiar. I was baffled. Not just at her response, but at her obvious irritation with me.

  She tilted her pretty head. “You’re not human,” she enunciated slowly as if to a half-wit.

  On a laugh, I said, “No.” Thank the heavens. My immortal sensibilities were what made me want to help the vulnerable species wandering earth. It’s also what got me captured by Vladek and that foul demon witch in the first place.

  Squeezing her eyes shut tightly with a brisk shake of her head, she licked her lips then tried again. “What I mean to say is, you can’t understand what it is to have a finite life. A mortal life.” This was true. “You’ve had, what, thousands of years to settle on your path in this world?”

  I tilted my chin down in one definitive nod.

  “See. That’s just it. To you, Icarus is just a stupid boy trying too hard to go too high too fast. But what Icarus knows is that he’s not long in this world, and he must grab hold and live his life to the fullest before it slips away.”

  There was desperation in her eyes and passion flushing her cheeks a rosy shade of pink. My shoulders and torso stiffened at her ardent speech and the emotions marking her delicate features. I hadn’t realized it before, or maybe I ignored it, but she was beautiful. Stunningly beautiful.

  “I understand,” I said truthfully. “But he died anyway.”

  She swallowed hard, her slender throat working in a way that sent a single thread of heat along my spine. Deimos climbed up the arm of the sofa and pounced onto her lap, his tiny purr sounding like a motor in the stillness of the room. She swiveled her attention to her little minion, stroking down his back. Again, the foreign and unwelcome sensation of some invasive touch inside my chest tightened my body and constricted my lungs. Why? What sort of magic was this? What kind of witch was she?

  Clearing my throat, I stated more gently, “So you believe in grabbing life by the throat and going out in a blaze of glory to get what you want.”

  Her head snapped up, a puckered frown creasing her forehead. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Carpe diem and all that. That’s pretty much what it means.”

  “That’s your interpretation.” A touch of bitterness there.

  Confused—yet again—by
this enigmatic witch, I shook my head, then asked, “What is your interpretation then?”

  She spoke with her eyes on her hand stroking along the kitten’s back. “I only meant that finding your own happiness in this world, whatever that may be…is worth sacrifice. Is worth risking everything.”

  “Even death?”

  “Yes.” Her clear blue gaze shot up and sucked the breath out of me. I recognized that expression, a mixture of pain and willful determination. I’d seen it in the mirror often enough. “Even death.”

  Happiness to her could mean midnight spells and blood rites and black magic, like Lisabette, who certainly chased her own joy right into her grave. What a pleasurable moment that was. For me. The flickering of those wonderful flames consuming her in her own bed flashed across my mind. And though I’d certainly placed all witches in the same category, this elfin creature sitting on her couch petting her kitten told me I was a fool to continue thinking so.

  No matter. I hadn’t forgotten the last moment I spied her from the mouth of hell itself—Lisabette’s bedroom. I kept that vision of Nadya in the forefront of my mind to ward myself against her softness and beauty.

  “You know, I’ve always been a follower of Plato,” I started, preparing to leave. “He was the one who believed the soul was separated into three parts. Reason, appetite, and will.” Her eyes remained downcast, but she was listening. Intently. “He believed that if your physical urges or your emotions and passions weren’t in harmony that you’d suffer mental conflict.”

  I stood, drawing her gaze up to me, which elongated and bared that pale throat into a semblance of submission. The fleeting thought jarred my focus and sucked the breath right out of me, until those crystalline eyes narrowed in challenge. Not yet submissive then. No worries. I didn’t want it of her. Or any woman. Did I?

  “Meaning?” she asked in a quiet, even tone that belied the strain in her expression and the tension in her posture.

  “You suffer from mental conflict, Nadya.” I took a step closer until I loomed above, making her arch her lovely neck that much further. A warmth spread from my chest to lower places. “You may ascribe to the lofty and foolish flight of Icarus, but you don’t live by those ideals. I see no joy or happiness in your eyes.” She winced, those very orbs rounding in shock. Yes, I saw through her veneer. She might exude quiet contentment, but it was all a lie. “You suffer. You aren’t pursuing those dreams that might bring you happiness. So, don’t challenge me with your moralistic tales if you don’t live by them yourself.”