Primeval Magic (Demons of Fire and Night Book 3)

by C. N. Crawford

  “Follow me,” said Zee. Ursula followed her to the kitchen, her mouth watering. When she’d left New York, the pantry and fridge had been completely bare. Now, food covered every surface—cans of soup, bags of potatoes and rice, even a bowl of fresh fruit.

  Ursula’s jaw dropped, and she rested her sword on the wooden table. “Where did all this come from?”

  “London,” said Zee matter-of-factly, grabbing a can of soup.

  “London?”

  “Kester used the sigil. Brought back loads of groceries.”

  “Kester?” Ursula had so many questions to ask him. Namely, what the hell was the Darkling? “Is he here?”

  “No, you just missed him.” Zee began rummaging in the fridge. Over Zee’s shoulder Ursula saw containers of eggs, orange juice, and butter. Zee handed Ursula a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.

  Ursula smiled wanly at the packaging: Paxton & Whitfield. Pulling open the package, she found a blue-and-white marbled wedge of cheese, and she inhaled the sharp scent of Stilton, her heart still heavy.

  Zee crossed her arms, studying Ursula’s expression. “I thought you’d be a little more excited. You seem like you’ve just come back from a funeral”

  Ursula loosed a sigh, sorrow weighing hard on her chest. “A dragon attacked Avalon. It was a blood bath.”

  “Shit, Ursula.”

  “I need to stop the dragons.”

  Ursula nodded at the sword on the table. “First, eat.” She thrust a chunk of baguette at Ursula.

  Ursula spread some of the cheese on the bread and bit into it hungrily.

  Across from her, Bael was eating chili straight from a can, but only managed a bite or two before Cera snatched it from him and dumped it in a pot. Bael sighed, but didn’t say anything.

  Zee worked on uncorking a bottle of wine. “So what’s the plan?”

  “We’re going to fight the dragons,” said Ursula through a mouthful of cheese.

  Cera turned on the flame on the stovetop. “How, exactly?”

  Ursula nodded at the sword on the counter. “With Excalibur.”

  “Oh.” Zee’s eyes widened. “That’s Excalibur.”

  Cera’s brow furrowed as she stirred the chili. “So… how does it work? Now that you have the sword you can just magically kill all the dragons?”

  “No,” said Bael with finality. “She’ll need to train to use the sword first. Have you ever fought a dragon? It requires certain skills.”

  Ursula arched an eyebrow. “You’ve fought a dragon?”

  Bael shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I was victorious.”

  Ursula’s stomach tightened. “I now know that I need to avoid eye contact with the beasts. That last glimpse into the dragon’s eyes in Avalon nearly had me pissing myself. But how long do you think it will take to train me with the sword?”

  Bael stared into the distance. “Dragons are ancient creatures. Like the Fae, they existed before the gods were banished to their separate hells. Their skin is virtually impervious to conventional weapons. Apart from Excalibur.”

  Zee spoke up. “The legend is that blade was forged by Oberon, the first king of the Fae. With it he struck down the Great Wyrm of Avalon. The sword passed down from king to king, until it was stolen by Queen Viviane and given to Dagon, god of the sea.”

  “Viviane,” Ursula breathed. “I saw a vision from her memory. She’s the Lady of the Lake.”

  Bael nodded. “Dagon kept the blade for himself.”

  Ursula pointed to the Angelic lettering along the edge of the sword. “Cast me away,” she said out loud. “What does it mean?”

  “Show me the other side,” said Zee.

  Ursula turned the blade over. There was more Angelic script: Take me up.

  Zee let out low whistle. “So the stories are true.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When King Oberon forged the blade, it is said that he cursed it.”

  The sword seemed to call to Ursula, that strange magnetic pull, but she forced herself to step away from it.

  Zee traced her fingertips over the hilt. “The ancient fae king was worried that he’d made it too lethal… too powerful. So he as protection, he cursed it to discourage people from using it unless it was absolutely necessary.”

  Ursula sucked in a deep breath. “What does the curse do?”

  Zee shook her head. “I don’t know. The blade was forged eons ago. The stories mentioned that King Oberon left a warning on the blade, but no one remembers what he was warning anyone about. That’s generally how fae legends go. You get a little bit of the story but nothing particularly helpful. ”

  Ursula nodded. “So it can cut dragon hide, but it might be cursed. Anything else I need to know?”

  Zee shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

  Cera turned from the steaming chili and squinted at Bael as if scrutinizing him. “What happened to your magic? I cannot sense it.”

  “As I said, the maidens of Avalon took it from me.”

  Ursula stared at him. “But we got it back. I have my fire magic back. I thought you had yours, too.”

  He shook his head. “Mine could not be restored.”

  She dropped her bread on the counter, no longer hungry. “You didn’t get your apple?”

  “No.”

  Her stomach sank. “I’d sort of been hoping you could help me fight the dragons.”

  Bael crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m strong even without my magic. It’s why the gods were fighting over me in the first place.”

  Ursula cocked her head. He certainly doesn’t lack confidence. “Right, but if we’re going to fight the dragons, we need all the extra help we can get.”

  Swift as a night wind, Bael deftly grabbed her around the waist and lifted her into the air as if she weighed little more than a piece of lint. “Do you doubt my strength? I was chosen to be Sword of Nyxobas because of my battle prowess.” Gently, he lowered her until her face was mere inches from his.

  She stared into his fathomless gray eyes, so stark and cold against his inviting golden skin. Her pulse began to race, and she had the strongest urge to lean in and kiss him on his perfect lips, that surprisingly sensual mouth. “I believe you.”

  Bael lowered her to her to the ground.

  Zee coughed. “Are you two quite done, or do you need us to leave?”

  Bael snatched the soup simmering on the stove. “Tomorrow I will train you to fight a dragon.” He stalked out of the room.

  Zee arched an eyebrow. “A little tetchy?”

  “My lord was hungry,” said Cera defensively.

  Ursula rubbed her eyes. “Any idea where exactly Kester went?”

  “Yes.” Zee popped a grape into her mouth. “He went to speak to the dragons.”

  CHAPTER 22

  A s they walked through New York’s deserted streets, Ursula kept her head down under her wide-brimmed cowboy hat. By Bael’s side, she slunk through the shadows into a desolate subway station, the lights flickering on and off. She’d worn a black tank top with a swingy skirt—perfect for mobility. And also, if she was honest, she liked the way Bael looked at her legs. Her sword hung at her hip, her fingers desperate to grasp its hilt again, to feel the perfect surety that imbued her limbs when she gripped it.

  Bael’s gaze slid to her. “Your posture has changed. With the sword by your side, you’re walking straighter.”

  The air felt humid and sticky, and sweat beaded on the back of Ursula’s neck. “It feels right with me. Like it’s always belonged with me.” Did that make her the Darkling? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. From the little glimpses she had into her own past—her mother’s bloodied shirt, the revelation that she’d tried to kill her own father—she was increasingly certain that she’d erased her own memory on purpose. That it had been an escape from her tormented thoughts.

  She swallowed hard. “Maybe it doesn’t matter who I once was. Maybe the present and the future are the only things that matter.”

  Bael
shot her a dark look. “You can’t escape your past, Ursula. Believe me.”

  His words sent a chill over her skin, and the image from his past flickered through her mind—the ruddy field, the smoke rising from the nearby city. Someday she would ask him again what had happened with his wife, but right now, she was still terrified to hear his answer.

  Bael led her down a flight of tiled steps and onto the platform of the Fifth Avenue subway station. A few flickering fluorescent lights lit the platform. Not that there was much to see—trash was strewn everywhere, and there were scorch marks in the middle of the floor like someone had once lit a small fire. Grim.

  Months ago, this place would have been packed. Now, only dirty sleeping bags littered the ground, and empty bottles of water. Since the dragons had attacked, it appeared that people had taken up shelter here, though none lingered right now. Ursula had suggested training in the armory, but apparently they needed a large amount of room to maneuver. So a dank, trash-strewn subway station it was.

  Bael pushed a pile of rubbish to the side, clearing a place for them to fight, then he unsheathed his sword—another one of the massive Zhanmadao blades from the apartment’s armory.

  For just a moment, Bael’s gaze slid slowly up and down her body like a caress. “Are you ready?”

  “To fight you? Aren’t we going to use some sort of protection on the blades? When I did it with Kester we applied Zornhau’s oil.”

  “Perhaps Kester isn’t as skilled as I am. I won’t hurt you.” As I to prove his point, he lunged, the tip of his sword swiping the front of her tank top.

  There was no time to parry. Instinctively, she dove to the right, landing hard on the ground, then kicked at his legs. Bael deftly leapt over her kick.

  Ursula crawled to her knees. “You know you do the same thing every time.”

  Bael shook his head. “That may be, but at least I’m not spilling my entrails all over the floor.” He pointed at her shirt. Where the fabric stretched over her stomach there was a narrow slice that exposed her midriff. “You always dodge to the right. And you should have used your sword, not your foot.”

  Ursula gripped Excalibur tightly, her knuckles whitening. “Fine. Let’s do it again.”

  This time Bael didn’t immediately charge. Instead he circled her, the fluorescent lights flickering over the muscled planes of his arms. A half-smile played on his lips—he was enjoying this. Somehow, he managed to look both predatory and playful at the same time. Ursula kept her blade trained on him, following his every movement—the graceful flex of his muscles, the sensual curve of his mouth as he stared at her, like a beast ready to strike at his prey.

  “You’re a warrior,” said Bael. “Be more aggressive. Don’t always counter. Attack me.”

  Ursula lunged, slashing for him. A normal man would have been gutted on the spot, but Bael’s blade flashed up effortlessly. The sound of clashing steel rang through the station as their swords came together. Ursula’s fingers tingled from the strike.

  Excalibur moved in a silver blur, a perfect extension of her own body. This, at last, was her destiny. Did that mean that she was the Darkling? She didn’t quite care anymore. She only knew she needed to sink her blade into dragon flesh, to slice through one corrupted wyrm after another until the entire legion lay dead. After a life of being a nobody, a mystery girl, this was her chance to matter—to make her own identity. She moved around Bael like a phantom wind, her sword slicing through the air in a dazzling display, and a strange euphoria licked at her ribs.

  “Better,” said Bael.

  Ursula struck again, and despite her thrill at using Excalibur, once again it was like parrying an iron bar. Bael’s grip on his sword was rock solid, his power immense. Ursula stepped out of range, lowering her blade and rolling her shoulders to release the tension. Bael was toying with her, and he knew he was completely in control.

  With her gaze locked on him, she raised Excalibur again, circling him while he remained still. Apparently he was now imitating her earlier strategy of defensively parrying her blows. She studied him. The solid jaw, sweep of dark hair, sun-kissed skin. He looked perfect. Her fingers tightened again. His beauty was distracting—another obviously unfair advantage.

  But just as she was staring at him, he was letting his eyes roam over her body, taking in her bare legs, her cleavage. Her eyes narrowed. Maybe I can use that.

  Lowering her guard she stepped back again. She placed a hand on her stomach where his blade had sliced the fabric.

  “Are you all right?” asked Bael.

  “I’m fine.” She reached down to the hem of her shirt and pulled it off. “Just worried the loose fabric could get caught on Excalibur’s hilt.”

  Bael’s eyes widened at the sight of her lacy black bra—a perfect chance to strike. Excalibur connected with soft flesh just above his hip. Blood wet the tip of her blade.

  “Gotcha,” she said grinning.

  Shadows slid through Bael’s eyes, and she had the feeling that the drawing of blood had ignited his primal instincts. Whatever else, Bael was an ancient demon, inexorably driven by urges to kill and dominate. The air seemed to ice around him. Raising his blade, he slowly he began to circle her. The playful predator was gone now; only a feral beast stared back at her.

  “That distraction was clever,” Bael snarled. “Without my shadow magic, my human flaws are more easily engaged.” His blade swished through the air in a complex pattern, in a breathtaking fighting style she had never seen.

  She made a tentative strike, but he instantly glided out of reach.

  “The trick,” Bael continued, “Is to learn your opponent’s weakness and use it against them. Have you fought in the style of the Sfet?”

  He slashed at her chest, but with an unexpected twisting motion directed the blade to the right at the last possible moment—directly at the spot she would normally have dodged to. Fortunately, she had chosen to dive left.

  “Very good.” His gray eyes bored into her. “You’re learning, I see.”

  Ursula shook her head without answering. It required her full attention to track the movement of his sword.

  Bael’s blade hammered against hers. “The trick with fighting a dragon is the same as fighting a man. You must learn their weakness. Every dragon has an Achilles heel that can be exploited. Excalibur is merely the tool you’ll use to finish the job. Your primary weapon will be your wits.”

  “So you brought me all the way down here to tell me to be clever? How do you think I’ve survived this long?”

  Bael raised his sword again, attacking with a flurry of slashes and thrusts. Ursula parried them, but he drove her back. He hammered at her with his blade, like a blacksmith trying to forge Excalibur anew. Sparks flew in the air.

  “Your weakness is that I’m stronger and faster than you,” he said, slashing at her so hard she almost lost her balance. “Do you yield?”

  “No,” she gasped, trying to counter, but his sword was a blur of steel slamming into Excalibur again and again.

  He moved around her like a whirlwind, so fast she couldn’t keep up. In the next moment, he’d spun her around, pinning her arms to her body with his sword arm.

  He leaned down, his breath warming the shell of her ear. “Do you yield?”

  From here, with both her arms pinned down, she couldn’t strike at him. And in any case, the heat radiating from his powerful body muddied her thoughts. With his free hand, he stroked the waistband of her skirt, just above her hipbone, and molten heat surged through her veins. Without thinking about it, she moved her hips against him, and a soft growl rose from his throat. His fingertips traced lower, inside the hem of her skirt, sending her pulse racing. Her back arched, her head tilting back against him. She wanted to feel that beautiful mouth of his on her neck.

  Another stroke of his fingertips, lower this time, and her breath hitched in her throat.

  “Do you yield?” he asked softly.

  A little of her fire cooled. So he’s still playing to win.
“I thought we were supposed be training.”

  His muscles tensed, fingers curling. “Right.”

  She forced her mind to clear, desperate to prove to Bael that she was capable of fighting just as he could. Granted, maybe Bael had superiour strength and speed—and seduction, apparently—but she still had something he didn’t.

  She summoned her magic, gritting her teeth as Emerazel’s fire raced down her arm. Hellfire ran into the blade and flames licked the surface of the steel, and she felt Bael’s muscles tense. Let’s see how you like my fire magic.

  She’d only intended to light the blade on fire, but Excalibur’s steel was like a sponge drawing in her magic. The sword began to glow, growing hotter and hotter. Bael dropped his grip on her, stepping away.

  Bael circled around her, staring at the blazing blade. Fire flowed out of the sword surrounding her, burning hotter, brighter, blazing like a dying star. Flames surged around her, so powerful she couldn’t control it. “Bael, I can’t stop it—”

  “Ursula,” he said.

  She stepped away from him, feeling the fire lick up and down her body. But something was happening to it—it seemed to be solidifying, condensing around her, molding itself to her limbs. Plates and joints of platinum flame began to form along its surface. A crack echoed off the walls, and a stream of fire shot from the end of her sword. It sprayed across the room, but instead of hitting the wall it stopped at some invisible barrier.

  When she flicked her blade, the fire moved with it, as if she were holding a blade of pure fire ten feet long and two feet wide. Slowly she turned the blade so that it aligned with Bael’s heart. “I may be physically weaker than you, but you don’t have a sword that does this.”

  She stalked toward him, the glowing armor following each movement of her limbs.

  Bael slashed at her with his blade, but a single parry sliced it in two, leaving him with only a melted stump of a blade.

  “Do you yield?” Ursula asked.

  With his eyes locked on hers—fierce, vicious—Bael took a step back. She slashed the flaming blade from side to side. Each swipe left an incandescent stream of sparks in the air. Bael backed up to the tiled subway wall. Slowly, his eyes blazing, he lowered the remains of his sword. He lifted an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I yield.”