by Lexi Ostrow
A small smile spread across Eliza’s lips, but it did not reach her eyes. “Very well. I will be certain to pass along that knowledge to our leader. Now,” she gestured to the two chairs opposite her. “Sit.”
Much like well-trained pets, they both dropped into the chairs. He was eager to learn of things to do with a giant beast, and it seemed Eliza was in as much of a hurry to tell them.
Her hand waved over a schematic on the table before her, under a pile of tools and gears. “These are the basics for the creature. The body of the beast, which has will now be reformatted to stand upright, is where the pair of you will ride. It will, of course, be a far cry larger, but made of a tempered steel so that it is light enough to fly. The wings, which, unfortunately, must be reshaped to match the thrusts and flight pattern of a Dragoniari, have been tested and they do lift the being with two men inside. The larger wings will no doubt account for a heavier load if necessary . . . if it is not destroyed.”
She paused and lifted the first paper to reveal the drawing of a box that mirrored the one in her hands.
“This is the control panel solely for the fire.” She indicated to a black lever. “This will be connected by a series of pipes through the neck of the metal beast. A small fire will be lit at the back of the design’s neck, and that is where the flame will be pulled from the bigger fire. By little, I mean a rather large one, but small seems less scary.”
Without warning, she moved the box over the candle nearest her and pulled the lever down. A burst of heat shot forth from a tube, sending flames leaping onto the papers.
“Oh, bloody hell! Will I always be so clumsy?” Eliza cursed as he leaned forward patting the fire.
Clara reached for the water jug beside her and threw it over the work, dampening the fire and sending the ink dripping down the page. “In my experience, it is better to not send a room into smoke.” She gave a small smile and set the clear jug down. “It works well.” She praised the piece.
“Yes, well, occasionally I create things correctly on the first try . . . Rarely but it does happen. Now,” she pulled the wet paper back to reveal the next set utterly destroyed and frowned. “Well then, we will have to just wing it.”
Clara snorted, clearly finding humor in the accidental word choice.
“It will be on for you, but should you need to take off more than once, a simple button will engage a lever system that will power it the same way all our inventions have worked—a combination of steam and demon crystals. Flying it will be simple. A wheel in the center of the panel will control direction—left and right. Additionally, pushing the wheel all the way up or down will lay the creature horizontal, an imperative position for flight to occur. A lever on the left will control the left wing, and one on the right will control the right. It is only operable with the pair of you working together. You must work at moving your arms in tandem. I wish I could allow you to practice, but I cannot. Your first time will be when you take it up to kill the demon.”
It all seemed rather simple. Which in his experience, meant that it would work, but likely be incredibly difficult to manage. The idea of not having a trial made him sick to his stomach, but making a fuss would not change that they had no way to test it.
“How do we land it?”
He was shocked Clara had thought of something he’d so obviously overlooked.
“Right.” Eliza nodded. “How silly of me. To land it, you will depress a button. The action will slowly cause the gears to stop spinning, eventually lowering it to the ground. You must be in an upright position for it to not damage the ship.”
He blew out a breath, dragging his hand through his hair. “I am ready. I am also praying I do not kill us at first flight.” It dawned upon him then, something strange. “Jacob and McKenna had said it was up to Clara if she came . . . how would I operate it had she not?”
Eliza genuinely grinned. “I would have left that to you to figure out.”
Clara laughed, but Hugo was unamused. The action seemed like an attempt at humor, but a dry one that maybe was only accustomed to Brits.
“Hugo, I’d like to stay with Eliza. Perhaps we can make the most of our time and perfect some other projects. Idle hands right now would serve no one.”
He was once again amazed at how compassionate she was.
“Of course.” He wished to kiss her but felt it wrong to do so in front of a woman who was missing her mate essentially because of them. “I will see you both later.” He tugged nervously at his tie. “I have a group of men to convince that I’m not a total joke.”
Seventeen
“There is not much more you can tolerate, Nightmare Demon.” Dieargog hissed as he looked at the broken body of the creature at his feet.
“I will never help you, and you will never find where we hunt.” Lucius retorted with broken sounds.
“You are in such pain, pain I could ease if you would simply be agreeable.” Dragging a talon across the demon’s chest, he watched as bright red ichor dripped down Lucius’ body. “It has been nearly a week, and you have yet to feed. I’ve made certain to keep all demon and animals far from here. With each blow, you grow weaker.”
“I would,” he coughed, wincing as he did, “gladly die before telling you anything.”
Snarling, he breathed a line of fire across Lucius’ knees. The other demon’s howls rang off the cave’s interior. It was wonderful, but he was growing tired of the game. He’d used as many of his stolen powers as he could to convince the demon to help him. He’d tried to twist the man’s mind to see his wife where she was not. Lucius’ dreams had been invaded in an attempt to plant the idea of helping Dieargog. The list went on and on, but none succeeded. The last of the Nightmare kind would have been useful on his side. Yet, he had not budged. The past day had been spent on small tortures; soon he would have to break more than the man’s arms to get him to talk.
“Suit yourself. You will speak, no matter how long it takes.”
“It will take forever.” Lucius quipped, blood trickling over his lips as he forced out a raspy laugh.
Anger boiled, heating the fire deep in his belly and it took all the will he had not to char the man below him.
“My wife will not allow any to come for me. Don’t you believe they would have already? Surely you cannot think we only have one flying tool in our wake.” He coughed, clutching his chest.
At breakneck speed, he reached down, grasping an arm in between his claws and snapping it. Lucius made no sound, as he had been rather good at doing throughout the day. He enjoyed his victims to let him know they were experiencing pain. Lucius’ time in the Alliance must have made him more accustomed to pain than his kind typically was.
Turning, his wings scraping along the cavern wall. They’d traversed deep caves, practically into Hell itself, to find a space he could safely hide away and do his work.
There had been no luck finding where the Alliance had fled too. Those they called hunters had stopped roaming the streets, policing demons. None had returned to the place he’d destroyed in his release. He’d sent a small army of lesser demons that joined his side to check. The site had been cleared, and the humans had already dared to build over it. He couldn’t fathom what had been done to cover over the hole he’d been condemned too, but he’d seen it for himself with a psychic link to an Incubus. The ground had been filled in, no trace of his prison could be found.
Humans were much smarter than they had been when he was locked away. They worked together better, focused less on war as far as he could gather. Yet, the three he’d had brought to him had absolutely no inkling of demons, let alone Seraphina. Which had let him believe they worked in secret.
Lucius’ whimpers interrupted his thoughts on how to proceed and with the flap of his wing, he put the fire out. It did not cease the sounds coming from the other demon, but it was all he would do. Lucius was his only chip, and he would not kill what could help him until it had outlived his usefulness.
“Sire,” a pair of black
wings folded as a Fallen Angel flashed to his side.
“I warn you; my temper is low.”
Fear crossed the demon’s face, and it was delightful. Angels always thought themselves to of the flock. This one knew it was not. The creature flashed out without a word, leaving Dieargog to fully understand the man had failed.
The roar he let out shook the cave, dropping stones from the cavern’s ceiling. Shattering when the hit, he opened his wings and took the brunt of the destruction to save it from killing his asset.
The Fallen had failed to locate anyone willing to turn over Seraphina. She had far too many loyal servants, slaves even. He’d listened over the years as demons had worshiped her, fucked her, and then rallied against her when she’d turned to the humans. Even in the most recent past, he’d heard the demon’s ire at the new laws. Finding traitors should have been simple, yet those traitors seemed to be useless, coming with no knowledge of their queen’s whereabouts.
Using yet another stolen skill from another Dragoniari, he moved himself in a blink from the cavern to a small town in Italy. He had not fed on humans in many centuries, and he had a feeling if he destroyed his way through Europe, someone from the Alliance of Silver and Steam would come to greet him.
In the week that had passed, Hugo had learned much about the way the Alliance handled tragedy. Unlike what had occurred when their building had been mostly blown to bits, they did not appear to dwell. The hunters had not been allowed out, though Clara had assured him there were other sects of the Alliance that were still working. The London faction was for all intents and purposes, shut down.
However, that did not stop them from being busy. The hunters trained with the guards and knights of the court. The inventors worked diligently in the banquet hall. Not a soul had retreated into despair, not even Eliza. The woman appeared to thrive on the issue at hand, pushing forward on countless inventions, including a smaller flying machine, no larger than a dog which also looked like a dragon. She believed that she could operate it from the ground to distract Dieargog. It would be covered in leather and appropriately painted to appear as if there was a survivor of the Dragoniari race.
Clara had been absent oft, training with the hunters more than working with scientists. It made sense since she was essentially a creature of war, but he missed spending as much time as he had with her. Each day had brought up new bits of information. He now knew that she loved vanilla cakes, but detested anything chocolate and that her favorite meal was the cattle and bean stew they had on many occasions before the guild had been destroyed.
Just yesterday Nathaniel had taken him to see the metal dragon that they would fly. It too was in the process of being covered in leather. Initially, they had not sought to confuse the demon, but upon further thinking, Seraphina had thought the idea of his race still living would enrage Dieargog into foolish actions. It was a spectacular site to behold. Nearly as big as the airship, he was shocked they had found farmland in Ireland they could safely store and work on it. It belonged to Kellan, now that his family had passed on, and it was then that he realized how much the Irishman belonged married to a queen of some country.
“Clara?” he called, stopping before her door. They spent most nights entangled together, but she kept later hours than he from training and he oft spent days in the room with the inventors, so he always knocked.
“Come in, Hugo.”
Before opening the door, he took a deep breath. He wasn’t certain if running off to a blasted opera was a fine thing to do at a time such as this, but he wanted to court her. He wanted to show her the finer parts of life and lavish her with gifts and splendor. As the door open he was breathless. She certainly looked the part of a woman with fine things, staring into a looking glass and painting her lips a pale shade of pink. Her curls were tied up in a simple knot and draped down her back. The same stunning gown of green he’d seen her in before was perfectly fitted to her body.
“You look ravishing,” he remained in the doorway. “If I step inside, there are a million reasons why we would not go on this date, and only some of them are because I wish to share my discovery with you today.”
She smiled into the mirror and turned. “I’m adjusting to dressing like a lady of the court due to our time here, but I will never understand the need for so many undergarments.” Tugging at her bodice, she nearly tripped on the foot of the bed.
“Careful, I cannot have you harming yourself before our mission.” His words were playful, but he knew how gravely serious what to come was.
Sliding her arm through the crook of his, she joined him in the hall. It was eerily quiet, but with the early hour, it was not terribly shocking.
“Where are you taking me that required such fine dress? Surely not to a modest meal with the members of the Royal Court.”
“Nothing so mundane.” He winked and escorted her slowly down the stairs, unsure if her high-heeled shoes made walking more difficult. “I have procured tickets to La Buona Figliuola.”
“An opera?” Expertly, she took her skirt in her hand as they stepped onto the marble floor of the first level of the castle.
“Yes. I know my father took my mother to many, and it seemed the perfect distraction from our lives.” Nodding to the doorman that pulled open the giant doors he wished he could cover her from the rain. “I do not have a covering for you.” He said looking down in embarrassment as they stopped at the carriage stand, awaiting a coach to take them to their destination.
Clara’s laugh was purely feminine, and he didn’t think he’d heard such a sound from her before. He liked it but hoped it wasn’t a sign that she was going to put up a farce this evening.
“This is barely a downfall. I know in America the weather is different, but here it is nothing to worry on.”
A beautiful carriage pulled up, much like the one they’d ridden in previously, but without the window coverings. Hugo helped Clara climb in, ignoring the water that splashed on his trousers from her shoes as she did so.
“Where to, sire?” The coachman asked.
“To the theatre.” He couldn’t help but grin at how proper he sounded before stepping into the coach to sit with his mate.
The coachman came round and closed the carriage door gently before mounting and ushering the horse off on a gentle canter.
“You are truly taking me to the theatre?” Clara raised a dark brow and smiled at him.
“I actually am, yes. Have you ever been?”
She nodded. “Many men seek the illusion of courtship before they will bed a woman. As a Succubus, I rarely had to induce sexual relations with my skills. Men seemed to find me pretty enough to look upon.”
The thought of other men touching her nearly caused him to growl. He wasn’t a possessive male, or he hadn’t been until being mated to her. “Assure me again that you cannot lay with another man now that we are mated?”
She chuckled, patting his hand before slipping her fingers into his. “I promise you, mate, there is none other I could lie with . . . not that I have the desire too.”
Slipping his arm over her shoulder, he tugged her against her. “I’m rather glad to hear such a statement.”
Before she could respond, the carriage slowed to a stop, and the bright illumination of oil lamps flared to life. In America, the theatre was done by candlelight, but it would appear gas lamps were likely to light the interior as well.
“I had not realized how central the Palace was.” She laughed, still tucked against him. “I know I do not seem like a lady of culture, but I appreciate this gesture. No man has ever sought to know me, even when I was being courted some decades ago by a human.”
He growled low, like a dog on the attack. “Well, then for my benefit, I am glad to be the first.” Dropping a kiss on the top of her head he smiled, feeling rather smug that he was able to give her something else that no other had in the past.
The door of the coach swung open, inviting the sounds of downtown London into their small piece of quiet. Clara lift
ed her head from his chest, and he reluctantly un-looped his arm, allowing her slide away. He was not surprised to feel that he missed her being close to him. Through the short months, they had found many opportunities to find pleasure in each other’s arms and intimate conversation, but they had yet to hold one another and enjoy what they had.
No lying with her this night. Treat her like a lady and simply hold her. He nodded as the thought crossed his mind as if cementing the idea in his head.
Jumping down from the carriage with a slight spring in his step, he turned and offered her his hand. As she took it and stepped down to stand beside him, it was impossible to know what lurked behind her beauty. All he could was the stunning woman gracing him with her company, making him the luckiest man in all of London as far as he was concerned. Yet, he knew without question there lay a dagger at her waist, something all hunters took with them no matter where they went.
“Is there something troubling you?” Her head cocked to the side, and a small frown played at the corners of her mouth.
“Never. I was simply thinking how I’m the luckiest man in London . . . and that you have a dagger buried somewhere under that beautiful dress that would never be known to the world.”
She gave a soft laugh and placed her white, gloved hand into his. “Well, I am rather lucky as well. A man who barely knew me accepted me, my disastrous lifestyle and willingly chose to see if we could have a forever.”
Her eyes were moist, as if tears lingered at the surface, but dared not fall. Rubbing his thumb over the top of her hand, he smiled.
“Well then, perhaps it is past time we enjoyed a night as typical people do.” Beaming down at her, he led her towards the entrance.
The familiar buzzchime he’d grown to know meant her assistance was required somewhere caused him to falter. Just one fucking evening. You’d think the universe could give us that after throwing us together.
