I’d turned into somewhat of a feral cat at one point, which is when he took to chaining me to his throne during the day. Much like Lisabette did to Uriel. The similarities made me nauseous. That’s also when I met Skaal, who came to the castle often. He pitied me. I saw it in his eyes. And when at one rather debauched masquerade where Vladek let me wander the room, Skaal approached me and made me an offer to get me out. I was forced to become the most talented actress of all time. I had to convince Vladek that not only did I forgive him, but that I loved him, longed for him.
I almost laughed at the look of shock on his face the first time I crawled into his bed, our bed, and told him that I loved him. Holding his square jaw in my hands, I’d kissed him like a woman possessed by love and desire, trying the whole time not to lose the contents of my stomach. And he’d believed me. Of course he had. There was no one more deluded with his own magnificence than Vladek. After a time, he finally allowed me more freedom, even to visit Lisabette in her nearby palace. With every freedom he gave me, I stepped closer to my escape.
That I’d listened to Lisabette and had followed her there in the first place was no surprise. She’d always been the strong one. She’d always taken care of me, even when she’d laughed at my love of animals and innocents. I’d still trailed behind her, hoping perhaps I could help her see the good in nature. That it didn’t need to be twisted for selfish gain. It was a hopeless wish, a naive dream that I could change her.
When I was only ten, I’d found a baby mockingbird that had fallen from its nest. Grandmother told me how to nurse it as best I could, how to feed it using a syringe. Lisabette had warned me it would die anyway. It was too helpless. I’d ignored her and cared for the big-eyed, screechy little thing. When I’d woken up on the fifth day and found it stiff and cold in the nest of newspapers and scraps of cloth I’d made for it, I sat there and cried, holding it in my lap. Lisabette found me like that and laughed, reminding me she’d told me so.
Eventually, we went our separate ways, and it was for the best. Until the night of the Blood Moon. The night the Great War between the angels and demons had begun. The gates of hell opened up, dumping spawn all over the earth. Angels descended to battle them, and humans were caught in the crossfire. That’s when she’d found me, in our old home in Erlangan. Grandmother had died of natural causes a week after the war had begun. Or maybe she just let her ghost go free since this world was on the cusp of destruction. So I’d buried her in the field behind our childhood home. Lisabette had found me there and told me of a protector farther to the northeast in Russia. A place where she was held in high favor. She did indeed look healthy and beautiful, dressed in silks and jewels, like a veritable queen. I was sad. And lonely. And afraid. So I’d made the worst mistake of my life, and I’d willingly gone with her to Ivangorod, sealing my fate.
Once Axel and Skaal had gotten me out, I realized that I was okay being alone. That in my quiet corner of the world, I felt far safer and happier than I could anywhere else. I was perfectly content living my days out here in Erzgebirge where the battles of the otherworlders seemed so far away.
But I’d woken up on more than one night with the imprint of a haunting pair of ice-blue eyes accusing me. I’d left him there. I’d fled and left that beautiful archangel in the hands of my own sister. Knowing full well how far she’d fallen and what depravity she enjoyed inflicting upon him. It was a sin sitting on my conscience since the day Skaal had delivered me here to breathe the free, fresh air.
And then fate had dropped him back into my life. Were the heavens playing games? Or was he meant for me all along? I touched my fingers to my lips, remembering his warm, wide mouth taking hold of me.
God, how he’d rendered me to a willing, whimpering woman with one sweep of his warm mouth. His desire was obvious in that moment. But then he kept his distance once the exchange of power was over. The look of regret told me well enough. He didn’t want to want me. The surge of disappointment after his swift departure told me where we stood. Partners in crime. That was all.
So here I was, standing on the edge of the road in the middle of the cold night, waiting for my partner.
“Nadya.”
His deep voice resonated with a different inflection tonight. It was so dark, I couldn’t make out any of him, except for the silhouette of his wings against the full moon behind wispy clouds.
“Uriel.”
I wondered if he heard the plea in my own voice as I said his name. He stood there in silence. I could see nothing but the outline of his long hair, but I could feel his penetrating gaze. A supernatural spark of blue flared in his eyes. I lifted my hands.
“Are you ready?”
Rather than take my hands, he eased his own around my waist, a wall of heat enveloping me. I sucked in a gasp.
“Did you practice sifting?” he asked, seemingly unaffected by our close proximity.
He flexed when I placed my hands on his biceps for balance. “I did. But just here locally. To town and back.”
“Do you want to try to take us to Prague? To the Charles Bridge?”
“No,” I answered quickly. “I’ve never been to Prague.”
“I’ll lead the sift there tonight. You’ll lead us home.”
“You’re so sure we’re making it home tonight?” I said lightly, half joking. Half not. Because there was no guarantee he’d make it out alive. And if he didn’t, there was a high chance I might not either. Demons played dirty, and the only thing they respected was someone more powerful and stronger than them.
He pulled me flush to his body, his head dropping lower, his ice-blue eyes sparking with archangel magic. “Oh, we’ll be home tonight all right. Before the clock strikes one.”
“So sure of yourself?”
“Yes.”
Then he gripped me hard and we were sifting through the Void.
We arrived on a street on the edge of the famous Charles Bridge, steam rising from the Vltava River. What caught me off guard was the streetlamps spanning the bridge lit up with electricity, reflecting in the slow-moving water. Glancing behind us, there were no lights in the buildings along the street. Only on the long bridge.
“Strange,” I mumbled, staring back into the shadows, hoping no one would leap out at us.
“What?”
“To light up only the bridge?”
“Not really. This is obviously one of Yorick’s frequent meeting places for his dealings. The humans left Prague. That’s not surprising at all with a high demon like him ruling the area.” I heard him step toward the bridge. “Come on.”
Finally pulling my gaze from the darkness of the city, I turned to Uriel and hitched in my breath.
He froze under a streetlamp and looked back, frowning. “What is it?”
But then his eyes strayed to my body, lingering on what was visible beneath the brown leather duster coat I was wearing. I made sure the sheath-like white top and black leather pants covered down to my wrists and up to my throat, but the clingy fabric showed every curve of my body. I heated under his gaze when they landed on my spike-heeled boots.
To add a little edge, I’d re-pierced my nose with a small diamond stud. It had long since closed up from my younger days. I’d plaited two thin braids on the side of my hair like I always did, but with the royal blue color and the row of silver stud piercings up the shell of my left ear, it gave me a more suitable facade. Adding several silver and gem-studded rings to my fingers and a chain-link choker around my throat, I actually fit the part I was playing tonight. I’d blend in well enough.
While he was taking inventory of my new attire, I was certainly doing the same to him. My poor heart started her erratic palpitations and there was nothing I could do to rein it in. He wore what I’d noted was traditional garb for warriors when I saw an army of black-winged angels descend in my home city the morning after the Blood Moon. A sleeveless blue tunic hung to just above h
is knees. His chest was plated with silver armor emblazoned with an archangel spearing a fork-tailed demon with horns. But that’s where the traditional look stopped. His wings were fitted with steel armor, the feathers at the bottom shielded by sharp blades. Strapped to one muscular thigh, to his black mid-calf boots and both biceps were scabbards bearing multiple blades. He did indeed fit the mold of the avenging angel.
“No sword?” I managed to get out without squeaking.
Tilting his head in that way he did when he seemed to be riddling something out, he said, “No need. I fight better with blades in one-on-one combat. A sword is best for a battlefield. Not the ring.”
“You’ve fought in a ring before?”
“Of course.” His voice hardened. “In Estonia.”
I wished I could pull back those words, not wanting to remind him of that place. But of course my sister would’ve had him fight for her own entertainment. The violence would’ve turned her on even more. I swallowed at what Uriel might think of me if he knew she was my sister.
“Come on.” He gestured toward the Gothic towering arch leading onto the bridge. “It’s almost midnight.”
He waited for me to reach his side before he walked, opening his wing to shield my back.
“Bone worked miracles in just a few short days,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at his steel-plated wing.
“She did. She’s very talented.”
“And did she make that chest armor?”
He shook his head, his golden hair blowing in the wind gusting off the river. He didn’t just look like a warrior angel. He owned it, wearing magnificence and beauty like a second skin. It stole the breath right out of my lungs.
“This is my own armor.”
Swallowing hard, I gazed out on the water as we drew closer to the archway of the tower. The glassy surface seemed black under the starless night.
“What is it?” he asked.
Clearing my throat, I said, “Aren’t you afraid that might anger them?”
He laughed lightly like we were discussing whether it would snow again. “Oh, I hope it angers them.” The lightness was gone, as were all signs of humor. “They fight even worse when addled. And it doesn’t take much.”
A glint of something sparkling drew my attention upward. The figure of someone holding a golden sword on a tall pillar staring down at us made me gasp. I launched myself into Uriel’s arms, clinging to his shoulders, while staring up at the frozen man.
He chuckled again, his hands sliding beneath my coat and around my waist. “It’s all right,” he urged softly. “It’s only the statue of the Bohemian knight Bruncvik.”
Still clinging to him, I looked at the statue for another thirty seconds, the lamplight showing an armored knight raising his golden sword.
“Who…who is he?”
“Was. Legend says he was a young knight who set sail to find treasures on the far side of the sea. Before he left, he exchanged rings with his wife Neomenia and told her that if he didn’t return home in seven years’ time with her ring, then she should remarry. In his many years of adventures, he found a golden sword, a magical one that would decapitate his enemy simply by saying, ‘Blade, heads off!’”
“Well, that’s convenient.”
“Yes.” He smiled as we made our way across the mist-shrouded and brick-paved bridge.
“But did he return before seven years’ time?”
“No. It was well past seven years when he returned.”
My heart sank. “His wife remarried another?”
“They say that when he returned, the town was celebrating the wedding of Neomenia to another man. He joined the feast and decided to put her ring, which he still wore on his pinky finger, in her goblet to see if she still loved him. Then he left the castle. When Neomenia drank the goblet of wine and found the ring, she called the wedding off. This, of course, upset her bridegroom who set off with fifty men to kill Bruncvik.”
“But he had the magic sword,” I added with a smile.
“He had the magic sword.” He returned my smile. “So, when they surrounded him, he gave the command, fifty-one heads rolled off, and he married Neomenia, living happily ever after. He guards this bridge with his magic sword to this day.”
I couldn’t help but exhale a contented sigh. “That’s lovely.”
“Which part? The magical sword or the fifty-one heads?”
“The happily ever after.” Even I noticed the sadness in my voice. “I’m not sure it exists anymore.”
He gripped my forearm, pulling me to a sudden stop. His other hand slipped under my fall of hair around the nape of my neck, the intensity of his expression warning me to listen well.
“It could.”
There was a plea in his eyes, in his voice, and my heart heard it, galloping to his vague but definite promise.
Grasping for a response, because I couldn’t find one, a surge of energy crackled in the mist not far from the center of the bridge about ten yards away. He released me immediately and stepped protectively behind me.
The creature, definitely demonic if the menacing aura that suddenly blackened the air was any sign at all, stepped closer. Long stride, thudding footsteps in what sounded like expensive men’s shoes, then the figure emerged from the fog, looking every part the high demon he was. Except for his attire—a full tuxedo. His red eyes gleamed in the deep set of his brow. Dressed from his bald tattooed head to his feet in a formal tux, he looked more like an orchestra conductor who’d had a love affair with a tattoo needle. Only the framing of his face was left untouched; his neck and head were covered in ink as were the fingers and hands at the end of his fine jacket.
I kept my ground, steeling my spine, as he walked ominously forward. His eyes flicked to Uriel, narrowing at his chest armor—dammit—then leveling back on me. “Your name?”
“Svetlana. Skaal’s protégée.”
Skaal would’ve told him we were companions of some sort to get us in the door. He commanded respect wherever he went. No one knew that the high demon of Moscow had more heart than the lot of Russian demons altogether.
“And you are?” I asked, arching an eyebrow in a more commanding tone.
His mouth ticked up. “Ludvik.” His ruby gaze raked over my hair and down my body. “I’ll take you first, then we’ll come back for him.”
Before Uriel could erupt, for I felt his pulse of rage hot at my back faster than I could blink, I said, “No.” Stepping backward, I splayed my hand possessively across his chest armor. “We go over together.”
Ludvik frowned, even as he smiled wider, showing his long canines. Only those demons who had lost all part of their former angel selves wore the outward signs of the monster within. This one was dangerous.
“So that’s how it is, is it?” He licked his lips, narrowing his gaze at me. “You like to fuck your slave?”
I glanced over my shoulder, forcing myself not to wince at the marble statue that was currently Uriel. Only his eyes burned hot with fury. The rest of him was cold. Glacial as ever. Staring up at him, I inched closer.
“Wouldn’t you if you were me?”
Ludvik grunted then gave a dark chuckle. “Fine, then. Give me your hand, Svetlana.” I stared at his muscular hand he held out. He held out the other to Uriel. “You too, slave.”
When we took his hands, Uriel slid his other around my waist, pinning me to his side, his frosty expression turned down to me. “I don’t want to lose you in the Void, domina.”
You’d think he’d say that word with revulsion and disgust, but that’s not what I heard or what I felt when I gazed up into his eyes seconds before we sifted out. It was the same emotion I felt back in our cottage when he gave me the power to sift with a kiss. The same emotion that hadn’t dulled the days he’d kept away from me. And somehow, I knew, that if we survived this night, there’d be no severing this
fate-binding emotion weaving in and out of me and circling around him.
But before we could explore what was happening between us, he had to fight a few demon warriors to the death…and win.
Chapter Thirteen
Uriel
For a split second, I wondered what the hell I was doing. Yes, this had been my plan, months in the making. But it wasn’t until I was standing on the steps of the Rudolfinum, the Neo-Renaissance concert hall and art gallery in Prague, about to step into whatever strange, fucked-up display the high demon Yorick had orchestrated with Nadya at my side, did I doubt my plan.
She’d removed her coat as we stepped into the luxurious foyer with dangling chandeliers and the dressings of opulence from floor to ceiling. But I only had eyes for her. The fitted clothes revealed the dips and swells of her beautiful form, and if Ludvik’s gaze was unable to swivel away, then I knew there’d be a hundred more riveted to her. How could they not be? She was stunning. Even in her pseudo black witch garb, she was completely beguiling. A bright light among the shadow-cast creatures of this hellhole.
No turning back now, we followed Ludvik up a staircase. Up ahead, a demon man dressed in a tux walked with his arm around a human blonde who spilled out of her corseted sapphire gown, the two of their heads close together, whispering whatever lovers whispered on a night to watch a bloodbath in a formal concert hall. They stared at me more than Nadya as we passed, which was expected. Skaal had said no archangel had ever entered the fighting circuit. Yorick would have a full house tonight.
We passed several couples; one of which was even an angel and demoness, the angel’s black wings reminding me of the legion of Maximus’s soldiers. There were many who had defected to join the ranks of the demons, choosing the life of decadence over toil and service. And goodness. I couldn’t help but growl at the bastard as I passed. At least he had the decency to look away, tilting his head down to his demoness lover in a fully transparent sequined gown. I suppose she was temptation enough to make him want to defect.
“This way,” growled Ludvik, escorting us down a lone corridor where we came out on the balcony of the concert hall.
Coldest Fire (Dominion series) Page 11
