Still, she couldn’t exactly forget about it. The rider had left a gaping hole in the bottom of the window, and anyone could return to finish her off. She slipped into her shoes, then slipped behind the sofa. Blood dripped from her cuts, staining the floor. Injured or not, she had to protect herself. Now.
Using the couch as a shield, she pushed it closer to the window, grunting as she shifted it. Not only can they enter into my quarters, she thought, but they can see me here, too. Suddenly, she felt very exposed.
When she’d finished pushing the couch, it blocked the bottom of the hole, but she still had more work to do. A thin sheen of sweat rose on her forehead. A moth hunted by the creatures of Nyxobas.
With one eye on the window in case the rider returned, she crossed to an armchair on the other side of the room. She pushed it across the floor, straining her muscles. Sweat dripped down her skin, mingling with the blood. A combination of adrenaline and brute strength allowed her to lever it on top of the sofa with a pained groan.
The sofa and chair together covered most of the window, and a second armchair added extra support to the structure. Not ideal, but better than nothing.
She stepped back and took a shaky breath. With the adrenaline draining from her system, the cuts in her skin began to burn. She ran a hand over her bare abdomen, smearing blood across her fingers.
What the hell had just happened? The rider had practically been at point-blank range, but still missed. Could this be only the first volley before a second attack?
Or maybe, someone wanted to frighten her, to flush her out of the quarters. Nothing protected the bridge to the lion atrium—an ideal spot for an assassin to hide.
Ursula turned in a slow circle, searching for the bolt. She’d heard it fly from the crossbow. Maybe it would hold some sort of clue.
As she turned toward the portrait of that dark-eyed woman, she froze. There, in the center of the painting, a bolt jutted into the air.
She crept cautiously closer, examining the weapon. It was carved from black wood. Ebony maybe. As she stepped closer, she could see that something had been wrapped around it—parchment.
This hadn’t been an attempt on her life. Someone had wanted to deliver a message.
Ignoring the pain that seared her skin, she pulled the bolt from the wall and peeled off the parchment. When she unfurled it, she found a message scrawled in black ink:
YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE, HOUND. THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING. NEXT TIME, WE WILL NOT MISS.
Chapter 14
The door to her quarters flung open with a bang.
Instinctively Ursula dove behind the bar, her knees and palms scraping over glass shards. She groaned in pain.
“What in the seven hells is going on in here?” Bael’s voice boomed through the room. Ursula exhaled, rising unsteadily. Maybe Bael hated her for being the enemy, but he viewed it as his job to protect her. She rose unsteadily and crossed in front of the bar.
He stood in the living room, dark magic swirling around him, wearing nothing but a pair of black shorts. He held an enormous broadsword, and the cold battle fury blazing in his eyes made her stomach clench. “Are they gone?”
“Yes. I think so.”
His chest was bound in bandages, but it didn’t hide his perfect, chiseled body. And peeking out from the bandages, she could see glimpses of his tattoos—a crescent moon, a pointed star, a lightning bolt, sharp as a blade. Terrifying—but magnificent to behold nonetheless.
He gazed at her, some of the fury fading from his eyes. Concern flickered across his features. “You’re hurt.”
She nodded. As the adrenaline left her body, her teeth began to chatter. “There was a lot of broken glass.”
He crossed the room in a blur of shadow, dropping his sword on a chair. In the next second, Bael’s strong hands were around her waist.
Surprise flickered through her. Gently, he lifted her onto the top of the bar, careful not to touch her wounds. He examined her skin, pulling out a shard of glass from just below her ribs. She clenched her teeth, trying not to cry out at the pain. A warrior like Bael wouldn’t be impressed by a load of whining. For a man with such large hands, she had to marvel at the nimbleness of his fingers as he plucked one tiny shard of glass after another from her skin. A deep concentration furrowed his brow, and he worked silently, like an expert craftsman.
When he’d finished, he gazed into her eyes, resting his hands on the counter on either side of her legs. For the first time, she saw a hint of softness in his glacial eyes. “You’re withstanding the pain remarkably well.”
She swallowed hard. His otherworldly beauty was distracting, and she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. If she hadn’t been covered in blood and cuts, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to stop herself from pressing herself against him.
Flustered, she blurted the first thing that came to her mind. “I’m quite badass, actually.”
She cringed. Idiot.
His brow knitted with confusion. “Right. Well, I’m going to heal you with my magic. When I’m done, I want you to tell me exactly what happened.”
She nodded, watching as he traced his fingertips just below some of the cuts in her skin. His magic caressed her skin, soothing her pain. As she closed her eyes, the shadow magic licked at her skin, then seeped deeper into her body. Her heart sped up, and the waves of pleasure dizzied her. An image rose in her mind of a sandstone temple, gleaming in the sun.
Her eyes fluttered open, and before she could think better of it, she touched the palm of her hand to his cheek.
Nearly imperceptibly, he leaned into her. His gray eyes roamed over her bare skin. With a hoarse voice, he asked, “What happened? What did they do to you?”
She dropped her hand. “A bat flew up to the window and threw some sort of bomb against it.”
His brow furrowed. “A bat threw a bomb on your window?”
“No... No, I mean.” Bael’s bare skin and his closeness was distracting. Her pulse raced, and her cheeks flushed. Could a demon tell when you were turned on? Probably. “Someone rode it.”
“The rider didn’t come in to attack you?”
“No. He just sent a bolt through the window with a warning about how I don’t belong.”
Bael backed away from her, glancing at the punctured portrait. “What happened to your clothes?”
She shrugged. “I was asleep. I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”
“Are you okay now?”
“Completely knackered, but unharmed. Now that you’ve healed me.”
He turned, studying the broken window. “You made a barricade from the sofa and chairs.”
“I was worried they might try to come in, and I didn’t want them to see me.”
“That was smart.” Suddenly shy, he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Without the cuts, her nudity seemed to bother him. “Where’s the note?”
She slid off the bar, then pointed at the floor where she’d dropped it. “It’s right there.”
He reached down, snatching it off the floor, along with the bolt. “I hope you didn’t touch it. It could be cursed.”
“But it’s okay for you to hold it?”
Ignoring her, he inspected the wood. “So he blew out the glass and then shot at you with the crossbow.”
“Exactly.” Why do I get the feeling that Bael knows more about this particular method of assassination than he’s letting on?
“And he didn’t hit you?” Bael scanned the room.
“No.”
He shook his head, still searching the floor for something. “That rider is a dead man.”
“You’re going to kill him for trying to murder me?”
“I don’t need to. His lord will.” He glanced again at the painting of the dark-eyed beauty.
“For not assassinating me?” Ursula asked. Blood still covered her body, and a chill washed over her skin. Shivering, she crossed her arms.
“It is the law here. Failure to complete a mission is punishable by death.” For a second, his g
aze flicked to her, then he sucked in a sharp breath, glancing at the painting of the beautiful woman. His pale eyes shined in the dim light of the candle.
“Have you executed any oneiroi because they didn’t complete a mission?”
“I follow the law.” Slowly, he crossed to the painting. He reached out to touch the canvas, running his fingertips over the tear.
Ursula frowned. “Why are the laws so draconian?”
“Nyxobas provides order in the chaos. Before he arrived here, the oneiroi were lawless. Vengeance and blood feuds ruled the darkness. The god of night has civilized them.”
“Yeah, it seems really civilized here, with all the murder and assassinations.”
“We have our own code.” His fingers traced over the hole in the painting.
“Why can’t the oneiroi speak your name? I don’t see what that has to do with security.”
His gaze slid to Ursula, his eyes so black they might have been direct conduits to Nyxobas’s void. “My name was given to me by the god himself. Only the brethren may utter it.” Bael crossed his arms over his mammoth chest. “The bolt tore the painting.”
“Right. I hope it wasn’t valuable.”
He fell silent for a moment, his jaw working. “Perhaps you should get dressed.”
“You’re not dressed, either,” she pointed out. She glanced down at herself, at the sticky blood still covering her skin. “I need to bathe before I put anything on. But I still have questions for you. Come with me.”
“You want me to bathe with you?”
Her cheeks flushed. “That’s not what I meant. I’ll leave the door open. You can stand outside.”
He nodded curtly. “I’ll be staying here tonight. To stand guard.”
A wave of relief washed over her. “Perfect. Thank you.” She crossed to the bathroom, leaving the door partially open. Bael’s presence both unnerved and calmed her at the same time, but she still had a million things to ask him. She leaned over the bath, turning on the water. Steam filled the room, and she unhooked her bra, sticky with blood, then stepped out of her knickers.
As the bath filled with warm water, she stepped in. “I saw your bandages,” she said, calling to him. “Are you hurt?”
He paused a moment before answering. “Without my wings, I can’t use magic to heal myself.”
She grabbed the bar of lavender soap, lathering her arms. Bael’s healing magic had left not a single scar on her skin. “I don’t understand how you plan to fight the champions with two bloody holes in your back. You know you’re not invincible. You could die trying to keep your manor.”
“It’s not like I have any other choice. If I lose, Hothgar and Abrax will hunt me down. My existence will always be a threat to them.”
She splashed the water over her soapy skin, and her blood stained the water pink. Suds dripped off her shoulders and breasts. “Why would your existence be a threat to them?”
“Because Nyxobas chose me to be his Sword. He didn’t chose them. And I am the strongest warrior the Shadow Realm has ever known.”
“Not really big on humility, are you?” He was silent for a moment. “I’m starting to learn. I’m no longer as strong as I was.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll return in a moment.”
Outside the bathroom, the faint sounds of tinkling glass filtered through the air.
Ursula’s mind churned. Bael was obviously trying to fulfill his role as protector—whether he liked her or not, it was his duty. But how much could he really do—especially with this tournament hanging over his head? He might have been the best fighter the shadow world had ever known at one point. But now, he wasn’t a match for immortals.
She pushed the thoughts to the back of her skull, and rose from the bath. Water trickled from her skin. She leaned over, unplugging the bath.
As goosebumps rose on her skin, it occurred to her that she’d failed to bring any clothes inside the bathroom. Idiot.
She grabbed a towel, drying off. “I don’t suppose you could grab me some clothes?”
He cleared his throat. “Right. Clothes.”
Clearly, a lord of Nyxobas was unused to fetching women’s dresses.
She shivered. If the lords were going to keep coming after her, maybe she’d have to find a new place to live. The manor was huge—surely there were some hidden depths where she could remain unnoticed.
The door creaked open another inch, and Bael thrust a dress through.
She grabbed it from him. “Thank you.”
She unfurled the dress—black lace with embroidered swirls that climbed up the sheer bodice. Way too fancy for hanging around in a half-demolished house, but she couldn’t expect Bael to be an expert on women’s clothes. Nor could she have expected him to include knickers and a bra—which he didn’t.
She stepped into the living room, eying the floor. He’d cleared up all the glass. Starlight washed his deep golden skin in silver.
For just a moment, Bael’s eyes roamed over her body, then he nodded at the remaining sofa. “Get some rest. I’ll keep watch to make sure no one returns for you.”
“This place is huge. Why don’t we go to another part of the building?”
“You’re safe as long as I’m here.”
“You need to sleep, too.”
He cut her a sharp look. “I have lived over twenty-two thousand years. I can survive a night without sleep.”
As she crossed to the sofa, he sat in an armchair facing the window, arms folded.
She dropped into the sofa, pulling a soft blanket over her body. “Twenty-two thousand years?” The number made her dizzy. “Where do you come from, anyway?” “Canaan.”
Okay. Bael was maybe a few millennia behind the times, but it must be hard to keep up with things when you’re twenty-two thousand years old.
Still, despite his staggering age, he wasn’t one of the original fallen. They’d arrived on Earth a hundred thousand years ago. “Was your father a high demon? Or your mother?”
“You have a lot of questions for someone who is supposed to be sleeping.”
Her muscles ached, and she pulled the blanket tighter over her shoulders. “I can’t answer the questions about myself, so I have to satisfy myself with learning about other people. And you have a lot of history to cover.”
“We’re not going to cover my history,” he said tersely.
“Fine.”
A silence fell over the room, and she closed her eyes, trying to sleep, but her tense muscles wouldn’t relax.
After another moment, Bael spoke again, more softly this time. “What do you remember of your youth?”
She shook her head. “Only brief flickers, like an old film strip. Fields with aster and blue wildflowers. I usually try to paint them in the places where I’ve lived, to remind me of... wherever I’m from. Must be some rural part of England, because there aren’t exactly many fields of wildflowers in London. But the flowers feel like home.”
“I saw them in your room. In New York, after you roused me from a very long sleep in your attic.”
What she didn’t add was that there was another side to her. The flowers were home, but sometimes she longed for the night sky, to feel the cold wind over her skin and to escape into the darkness. To hide from the world.
“Is that all you remember?” he asked softly.
“A few more things. Burning walls. Sometimes I remember a woman who could use a sword, like me. I’m guessing that was my mum.”
“A warrior woman.”
“Just like me.”
“Warrior women are a rarity in the Shadow Realm. Perhaps that’s why Nyxobas is so interested in you.”
“Maybe. Though I’m not doing much fighting here.”
“It seems you have no family now.”
“Nope. None that I know of.”
He glanced at her. “Sleep. I will watch over you.”
Her eyes began to drift closed, and as she fell asleep, she dreamt of soft grasses tickling her ankles, and air thick with humidity.
>
Chapter 15
The clinking of glasses jolted Ursula awake.
In the pale starlight, Cera stood over her. “It’s time to get up. I’ve brought you breakfast.”
Ursula rubbed her eyes, trying to bring the room into focus. A familiar, delicious scent wafted through the air.
“Is that...coffee?”
Cera flashed her a toothy smile. “I thought you might like some. The lord said you had a difficult night.”
“You’re the best.” She sat up, stretching her arms above her head. She glanced around the room. Surprise flickered through her. She no longer lay on the sofa in the living room. Someone had brought her up to the bedroom while she’d slept and tucked her under the violet duvet.
“How did I get here?”
Cera dropped a flannel robe next to her on the bed. “How should I know?”
“Did Bael carry me up here? I don’t remember it.”
“The lord is very strong and swift. I’m sure he could have carried you while you slept.” She frowned. “Are you sleeping in one of your finest gowns?”
“Bael chose it.”
Smirking, Cera arched an eyebrow. “Did he, now?”
“Just—I needed something to wear. I was in my—never mind.” Ursula pushed off her blanket and grabbed a cup of steaming, black coffee. She took a sip of the hot brew, letting it energize her. Beside the carafe of coffee lay a basket of warm bread and butter. Her mouth watered, and she bit into a fresh roll.
“Fill your belly,” said Cera. “Then come downstairs when you’re dressed in something more appropriate.”
Ursula ate her way through several rolls and another cup of coffee, taking care not to get crumbs all over the bed. When she’d had her fill, she pulled off her gown and selected a simpler dress—gray cotton with a deep V neck.
As she made her way downstairs, she combed her fingers through her hair to tidy it.
In the middle of the living room, she found two oneiroi men standing next to Cera. Just outside the window, a third rode on the back of a lunar bat.
Ursula’s muscles tensed. “What’s going on?”
“It’s only Sotz,” said Cera. “He’s helping with the window replacement.”
Shadows & Flame Complete Boxed Set: Demons of Fire and Night Novels Page 31
