Abrax held the dagger over Oberon’s back. “Prepare yourself to join the kingdom of Nyxobas,” he solemnly intoned.
“I am ready for the power of the night god.”
Abrax’s dagger glinted in the moonlight. Then, like a silver meteor, it plunged into the center of Oberon’s back.
Chapter 41
Oberon threw back his head, screaming in agony. As the king slumped, Abrax grabbed him in his arms. Ursula felt an icy chill ripple through the air as the incubus drained Oberon’s soul.
For a moment, the fae soldiers stood transfixed, as if they weren’t sure if this was all part of the process, until Oberon’s limp body tumbled to the ground.
“Get down,” said Bael, pulling Ursula to the floor and shielding her with his arms. Above their heads, the pikes unleashed their magic like a thousand lightning bolts.
For few moments it was eerily silent, until a voice cried out, “The king is dead!”
Ursula lifted her head. Abrax stood by the throne, Bael’s “wings” clutched in a bloody hand, the body of the king at his feet. Fae soldiers circled him, their pikes ready.
“Your king was weak. It is better that his soul join Nyxobas in his kingdom of eternal night.”
“Avenge the king!” the soldiers shouted, shooting another round of magic. It didn’t seem to touch Abrax, who glided closer to the throne. He chanted in Angelic, moving fluidly in a swirl of black tendrils.
Bael rose, pulling Ursula to her feet with an iron grip. “Get your sword ready.”
Dark mist rose around them again, churning and twisting like a maelstrom. In the center of the vortex, a small figure appeared. With child-like proportions and an innocent face, it could have been a cherub—a theory that was immediately invalidated when it leapt onto a nearby soldier and began tearing the flesh off his face with sharpened teeth. The vortex whirled faster, and more and more of the horrific cherubs appeared, attacking the soldiers with inhuman speed.
Bael pulled her close, shielding her again. “First we kill the Oneiroi. You must move quickly to defeat them. Then, we get my wings.” He released her, and with a bone-trembling battle cry, he charged at Abrax.
Ursula gripped Honjo, her gaze darting around as she tried to figure out what to do. A few feet from her, a soldier writhed on the ground, one of the Oneiroi attached to his head like a leech. Honjo effortlessly sliced the creature from the fae’s scalp.
A blur of movement at the edge of her vision warned her that an Oneiroi was coming her way. She ducked, and as the demon passed over her head she cut her sword upward. Hot ichor splashed in her face. It smelled terrible, like sour milk. Gagging, she wiped it from her eyes.
Hopping to her feet, she spied Bael fighting through a group of the demons. She ran to him, cutting through the necks of two more Oneiroi. This time, she managed to avoid drenching herself in their juices.
Bael carved through them with the stunning grace of a seasoned warrior, his sword swirling effortlessly through the dark mist. Each one of his movements was precise, calculated, no energy wasted—and with each stroke he dispatched another Oneiroi, until the last of their bodies lay on the platform. He’d hardly even needed her help. He turned to Ursula, pale eyes focusing over her shoulder. “Duck.”
She crouched, glancing up just in time to watch Bael decapitate another Oneiroi above her head. The little demons were fast, but predictable. They went straight for the throat.
She straightened, and Bael lowered his sword. “That’s all of them.”
She turned to see the once-orderly platform strewn with Oneiroi corpses, and her heart clenched. She knew they were monsters, but dead, they looked like children. Among them lay the bodies of dead and injured fae warriors. Other fae scrambled around, shouting confused orders to search for the incubus. Blood soaked the woven branches, giving the platform the appearance of the nest of a bird of prey.
“Where is Abrax?” she asked.
Bael inclined his head, leading her to the throne, and he pointed to the floor. The wood before the throne opened into a stairwell that led down into the tree’s trunk. Carved from wood, it was narrow, big enough for only one man at a time. This passage must have been Oberon’s private entrance to his high court.
Bael started in and Ursula followed. He had to crouch, his broad shoulders brushing the walls. Ursula had a bit more room, but not enough to hold Honjo unsheathed. With Bael in the lead, she was probably safe, but she kept a hand on her dagger’s hilt.
They passed a few corridors that led off into darkness, Bael sniffing at each before continuing downward. Her thighs burning, Ursula lost track of how many flights they descended. As the adrenaline from the fight wore off, the tension returned to her shoulders. They were going straight to Abrax. She’d seen what the incubus could do. Hopefully, Bael had some sort of plan, though she wasn’t getting the impression he was particularly cautious.
“This way,” he said suddenly, turning into a dark passage. She could just barely make out the shapes of doorways in the dark wood hall. Bael stopped, and Ursula bumped into his back.
“Don’t make any noise,” he whispered.
“I wasn’t—”
Bael’s hand covered her mouth, another strong arm wrapped around her stomach. Somehow, he’d slipped behind her in the darkness. That shadowy movement thing he did was extremely unnerving.
“He’s in there,” he whispered into her ear, giving absolutely no indication which door he’d meant. He released her.
Before she could ask him which room he meant, he was in front of her again ripping open the door with a splintering crack. Apparently, his whole plan was to charge in. She followed, drawing Honjo from her sheath.
Chapter 42
Abrax stood in a tall stone hall, resting against an oak table, arms folded. Starlight glittered through arched windows. Wisteria and honeysuckle climbed the stones, their sweet scents filling the air, and grass carpeted the ground. It was a beautiful, idyllic scene—a stark contrast to the slaughter that was probably about to unfold.
Abrax looked at his nails, seemingly bored. “I don’t have time for this.”
Bael pointed his sword at Abrax, his rage almost palpable. “Where are my wings?”
“Someplace safe.”
“Return them to me.”
“Mortal,” Abrax spat, “you and Nyxobas have no dominion over me. Not anymore.”
Bael lunged, his sword on a lethal trajectory. But the incubus slipped away, and the blade cut through the air. Like a toreador dodging a charging bull, Abrax directed Bael’s momentum into the table. Bael was an astounding fighter, but weakened without his wings. Ursula’s mouth went dry. We might not make it out of this.
Bael spun, his sword slashing ferociously, but the incubus slipped away again in a blur of black smoke. He emerged in solid form, hands clamped around Bael’s throat. Ursula’s heart skipped a beat. This is it.
Black smoke swirled off Abrax. “I never understood your allegiance to Nyxobas. The things he’s done to you. To me. He’s not a god—he’s a tyrant.” Something crunched as he squeezed Bael’s neck. “A tyrant that understands only strength and power, and depends on you to enforce it. This is why I will bring him your wings.” Bones crunched in Bael’s neck, and Ursula’s stomach swooped. “And your head.” Shadows gathered around him, midnight tendrils reaching hungrily around Bael.
Time to get involved. Ursula readied Honjo, but as she stepped forward, Abrax casually flicked a finger at her. Dark filaments raced across the room, tightening around her chest. They squeezed the breath from her lungs. Agony gripped her chest, her body shaking. Air. I need air.
Abrax’s grey eyes flashed. “I will create a new realm of the night without you.”
Air. Please, let me breathe.
Bael clutched Abrax’s arm, straining to break the grip, but his eyes were locked on Ursula, almost pleading as the light in them faded. His eyelids closed.
Air before I die… Ursula thrashed against the magical bonds, desperate for release
. I can’t die yet, not before I’ve done something. Something simmered within her, and the fire began to simmer, her veins blazing. The air around her crackled with infernal magic.
Abrax dropped Bael, spinning to face her. “Don’t even think—”
Her scream cut him short, as the fire poured from her like an exploding star, burning through the filaments.
Right now, only one thought screamed in her mind: kill Abrax. He’d torn her legs to shreds, stolen Zee’s soul. He’d thrown Kester to his death—and right now, it looked like he’d killed Bael.
Ursula lifted her sword, the blade glowing. She pointed it at Abrax. Flames licked along the steel, and she pressed forward. “I don’t believe you’ve met Honjo,” she said. She slashed—a short, controlled swing, carving an eight-inch gash across Abrax’s chest. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.
The demon bared his teeth. “You honestly think you can defeat me?”
“No,” she snarled. “But I can hurt you before I die.”
Abrax backed away as she advanced, her blade sparking with heat. She knew it was futile; she’d seen his power. At any moment he’d transform and rip her limb from limb. Still—this time, at least, she’d make him work for it.
Flames twisted and writhed along her blade, and its heat warmed her face. She slashed at him again, but he dodged, and Honjo only cut through wisps of smoke where he’d been standing. He tended to dodge to the right; she could use that.
“Come and get me then,” he said, a lascivious grin on his lips. “A little pain just whets my appetite.”
She feinted and stabbed to the right, where she knew he’d dodge. Honjo sizzled, the sword’s burning tip plunging through his gut.
The smile disappeared from his lips. He started to speak, but she twisted the blade, wrenching it up towards his heart.
Abrax unleashed a chilling scream.
“Got you,” she said.
But before she could finish the job, he dissipated again, leaving Honjo stabbing only vapor.
She heard a voice behind her—speaking Angelic—and she whirled. Horror wrapped its cold fingers around her heart as she stared at Abrax in his true form. Black wings beat the air, and the temperature dropped ten degrees. His talons clattered on the floor; the wounds on his chest and stomach were gone, replaced by rippling muscle.
Abrax roared, and the sound sent a chill racing up her spine. He slashed at her with a talon, but she dove under the table. When she rolled to her feet, he was gone. Heart thrumming, she searched the starlit room. Where was he?
Agony seared her shoulder as a claw pierced clean through her. With a jerk she was lifted off her feet, skewered like a piece of meat at a slaughterhouse. One of Abrax’s arms slipped around her waist, and he breathed into her ear. “Now, I’ve got you.”
The pain stole her breath. She needed to call on her fire—to burn him off her, but she couldn’t think straight. My sword… where is my sword? She glanced down at Honjo on the floor. In the shock of the pain, she’d dropped him.
Abrax tore at her shoulder again, and she let out an agonized scream.
“I have someone you need to meet,” he said in his honeyed voice. The talon had punched out under her collar bone, and agony burned through her mind, her vision blurring.
“You’ve disrupted my plans,” he said.
She closed her eyes, trying to manage the pain. She heard Abrax open a door, and then he ripped his talon from her shoulder. When her body hit the floor, her vision went dark for a few moments. When it cleared again, she found herself staring at bare stone walls.
Gasping, she tried to take a deep breath, but her chest ached. Blood bubbled from under her shirt. Abrax must have punctured a lung. At least she knew Starkey’s Conjuration spell now.
As she whispered the spell, a soothing magic washed over her, healing her injured shoulder. She gasped with relief, all the pain ebbing from her body. I will never again take the absence of pain for granted.
Standing shakily, she surveyed the gloomy cell. Iron bars blocked the windows, and iron plates lined the walls. The door behind her was solid metal. There was even an iron cot in the corner. She looked closer, her blood chilling. A body lay on it.
“Hello?”
No response. Ursula dug out the dagger from her boot. It’s probably a corpse, but better safe than sorry.
A dirty blanket covered the figure—a man by the shape of him, his head turned to the wall.
“Hello?” She said it louder this time.
Holding the dagger ready, she rolled him onto his back and stifled a scream.
Kester.
Chapter 43
The hellhound gaped at her vacantly—the same glazed look she’d seen on Zee’s face. Abrax had drunk his soul.
A lump rose in her throat, and her hands trembled. “I thought you were dead.” Even if he couldn’t feel it, she slipped her arms around his neck, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. She’d grieved for him. And, now there was a chance—a very small chance, but one all the same—that she could save them both.
Apart from the fact that I don’t stand a chance against the incubus.
She pinched Kester’s arm, but his eyes remained shut. He wasn’t waking up. The silence of the room was oppressive, broken only by an uneven drip of water.
Sitting on the end of the cot, she ran through her options. She still had the dagger, the reaping pen in her pocket, and a half-consumed flask of scotch. A lesser woman would finish off the rest of the scotch right now. She could get them out of here with Emerazel’s sigil, but that would leave Bael behind, and she still wouldn’t have anyone’s soul. Her friend would die, and Emerazel would send her to the inferno. Not a great outcome.
Could she kill Abrax? Maybe stab him with the pen when he returned? Unlikely.
Bollocks. What other options did she have? Abrax wouldn’t leave her in the cell forever. He’d be back to suck her soul or slowly torture her to death.
She’d need to stab him with the reaping pen. That was the best bet. If she stood by the door with her back flat against the wall, she might have a chance. She’d slash with the dagger and jam the pen into his chest.
Before she could move to the door, she heard a shuffling on the other side of it, then the iron ripped open with a bang. There goes my element of surprise.
The dark silhouette of a man stood in the doorway. Not Abrax. Not Bael. Yet she knew instantly he was one of them. Another powerful shadow demon. Darkness emanated from him, and fear slid through her bones. The lights dimmed, and around her, the room seemed to fall away. She now stood on the edge of a precipice, black and bottomless—a void. Her entire body went cold, and for a moment the chasm called to her, beckoning her into its bottomless depths.
The room refocused as the demon studied her, his eyes shining like starlight. Ursula lifted her dagger.
The demon stepped closer. His skin was pale as milk, a stark contrast to his raven-black hair. He wore a black cloak that swirled around him like smoke on the wind. His stunning features looked a lot like Abrax’s. “Put the dagger away,” he cautioned, his cold voice sliding over her skin.
Ursula clutched the dagger in front of her. As she recognized his face, terror ripped her mind apart. He had the icy eyes of the man in her dreams. “Who are you?” she stammered.
“Most know me as Nyxobas.”
A sharp tendril of dread pierced her.
Looking past her at Kester’s limp form, the god continued, “Kester and I have met previously. You, however, are new to me.” Yet, the way he said it, she could tell he wasn’t convinced. “Who are you?”
“Ursula,” she stammered.
“Ursula.” He closed his eyes, savoring the word like it was a delicious morsel. “Like the constellation?”
“I guess.” Why had Abrax wanted her to meet the god of night? “Why are you here?
“Abrax summoned me. It seems that Bael has gotten into some trouble.”
“He’s alive?”
“Wha
t do you care if a demon lives or dies?” Nyxobas’s eyes narrowed.
“He helped me.”
Nyxobas studied her with a keen intelligence. “Interesting.” turned, beckoning her to follow. She didn’t know where he was taking her, but questioning a god seemed like a bad idea. Ursula stuffed the dagger into her belt and followed Nyxobas into the starlit stone hall.
Bael and Abrax stood a few feet from each other, and Abrax glared.
Nyxobas stalked in front of the incubus, his cloak swirling around him. “Abrax, my oldest son. Why have you carved The Sword’s wings from his shoulders?”
Abrax’s eyes burned with cold rage. “Bael is weak. The edge of Nyxobas’s Sword has grown dull—so dull that he allowed one of Emerazel’s hounds to imprison him and torture him. It was that cur who carved the wings from his back. I merely tried to retrieve them for you.”
Nyxobas turned to Bael. “Is this true?” The rage in his voice was unmistakable.
“It is.” A line of blood dripped from the corner of Bael’s mouth, but he didn’t wipe it away.
Bloody hell, this isn’t going well. She needed to intervene. “Did your son mention that he murdered the fae king?” said Ursula.
The god’s eyes bored into her and the edge of his lip twitched. “The fae are worthless, godless creatures.”
At his words, she thought she saw a flicker of fury cross Abrax’s face.
Nyxobas turned to Bael, his voice steely. “You know the punishment for losing your wings?”
“Yes.” His eyes flicked to Ursula’s again, but she couldn’t read his meaning. He dropped to his knees. The blood roared in Ursula’s ears as Nyxobas gripped his sword.
An execution. That was the unspoken punishment. Bael would be sent to the inferno. I need to do something.
But what the hell was she supposed to do? Nyxobas was a god. She didn’t stand a chance against him.
Nyxobas raised the sword. In moments Bael’s head would be rolling to her feet, and his soul—
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