Infernal Magic: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Demons of Fire and Night Book 1) (16 page)

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, Oberon looked like four hundred pounds of pure muscle. His outfit was formal—regal, even: a yellow robe tied at his waist with a golden belt and a pair of silver pauldrons to protect his shoulders. He held a halberd with a copper-plated point in the shape of stag’s antler, and he stared at them with a grim expression. A sword lay strapped across his back. It was a hall of pleasure, but he’d obviously come ready for a fight.

“What brings you to my hall with this beautiful female,
Headsman
?” His voice was melodious and soft, but he still managed to spit the last word like he’d been fed a piece of spoiled meat. When he spoke, long pointed teeth shone in the amber lights.

“We simply wanted to partake in the festivities.” Kester’s eyes scanned the room, probably looking for Abrax.

Were they getting close to that point where they’d have to fight their way out? Ursula eyed one of the guard’s swords. She could draw it from its sheath with a quick yank, and slice through two of them. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to leave the hall, especially with all the guards that would descend upon her. Also, she had no idea what F.U. had been up to in her spare time, but New Ursula didn’t quite feel like a murderer. Better to wait and see how things played out, before jumping right in with the stabbing.

“Here for pleasure?” Oberon’s gaze raked her up and down, and she had the disconcerting feeling that he could see right through her gown. “She’s a beauty. But she belongs to you?” His voice dripped with disappointment.

“She does.”

The king sniffed the air, his lip curling. “One of Emerazel’s,” he hissed. “She must be hard to tame. I like that.”

Gross.
Ursula felt the fire rising in her chest.

“I’m still working on taming her.” Kester gave a low bow, and she resisted elbowing him in the gut.

Oberon let out a snarl. “Since I can’t have her, I would like to watch you mate with her.”

Ursula’s jaw dropped open.
What?

Kester smiled nonchalantly, as if this were a completely reasonable suggestion. “Of course. But she’s a bit shy. We must go somewhere with a smaller crowd.”

Her heart raced. That wasn’t what he meant by
claiming,
was it? Obviously, Kester was hot, but she wasn’t about to put on a public show.

“Fine,” said Oberon. “I’ll take you to my exclusive suite.”

Kester nodded. “She won’t disappoint.”

Ursula bit down a thousand angry retorts.
What. The. Fuck.
She tried not to scowl, reminding herself that they were here for Zee, and that surely Kester had some plan in mind that didn’t involve shagging her in front of the king. Then again, it wasn’t like Kester was open about his plans.

One of the guards beckoned them forward, and Kester led her onto the dais, pulling her close. Oberon stamped the butt of the halberd on the wood. With a slight jerk, the whole platform began to rise slowly into the air, until they were thirty feet off the ground.

Kester leaned into her, whispering, “Don’t worry.”

The dais continued to rise, until they were a hundred feet in the air, the crowd below growing smaller. She tried not to give in to the vertigo, or the disorientation of realizing that the columns were actually enormous tree roots.
Are we in a giant tree?
Dizzy, she stepped back from the edge.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Oberon intoned from behind her. “I’ve ruled these fae since we first came from the heavens, and I never grow tired of the view.”

She turned, surveying the king. His eyes were clear and his skin unlined. If she’d been asked, Ursula would have guessed he was no older than forty, though with his strange coloring and enormous size, he looked distinctly otherworldly. She wasn’t supposed to speak, and this man was creepy enough that she was actually pleased with that particular demand. So she just widened her eyes, trying to look as innocent and stupid as possible.

He moved closer to her, bending over her neck and taking a long sniff. “Ahh. I never get tired of that, either. The scent of a female ready to mate.”

Revulsion rose in Ursula’s throat.
Get me out of here. I’ll take Emerazel’s hellfire over this guy.

The king continued on his monologue. “I was born before the sundering, before the gods were exiled from the heavens, and yet I still thrill at the sight of a young beauty like you.” He laced his fingers together. “Out of curiosity, has the Headsman told you how old
he
is?”

“Three hundred ninety-four,” said Kester from her side.

Ursula turned, gaping at him.
He’s three hundred and ninety-four years old?
That meant he’d been born in the 1620s, back when people thought diseases were caused by an imbalance of the humors, and went to public executions for fun. Did that mean
she
would have to reap souls for four hundred years to pay off her debt to Emerazel? A spark of anger ignited. Kester had been remarkably silent on that point—and what
was
his plan for this mating thing? It wasn’t like she really trusted him.

She shuddered. Honestly, she wouldn’t make it four hundred years. Not if she continued to fail at reaping souls.

Fire roiled in her blood, and she tried to push her panicked thoughts out of her mind. She needed to focus on getting Zee and Hugo’s souls back, and then getting the fuck out.

The dais slowed, pulling up at a wooden balcony that jutted from a tree root.

“Welcome to my private apartment,” said Oberon. “Some of my closest friends are here.”

A lick of hope sparked.
Does that include Abrax?

The platform slid neatly against the balcony, and the king’s guards ushered them forward into another, smaller hall, its ceiling a network of flowering vines. In the center, vibrantly dressed guests stood around a banquet table, and others lingered around a bar carved from oak, sipping jewel-colored cocktails.

As Oberon led them into the hall, every one of the guests turned to stare at Ursula and Kester. Kester gave a cursory bow, but his eyes never stopped scanning, searching for Abrax.

The crowd parted for Oberon as he walked to the banquet table, laden with a suckling pig and fruit. With a low growl, the king pushed the food off the table. Rage burned in Ursula’s chest.
Is he clearing space for us to mate? Am I supposed to replace the suckling pig?
She glanced around the room, searching desperately for Abrax, but she couldn’t find the bastard.

Oberon turned, his lips curled back from his sharp teeth. His footsteps echoed through the room as he approached Ursula, and her stomach tightened. He stopped just inches from her, and warm light glinted off his rings as he reached up to touch her cheek.

Okay, this has gone on for long enough.

“Don’t touch my mate,” said Kester, his voice booming.

“I can see the fire in her eyes,” the king snarled, touching her neck. “I want to tame—”

Dropping her wyrm-skin purse, Ursula snatched his hand, molten hellfire inflaming her veins. She was an ancient fury, come to bathe the world in fire. “I’m not fucking around anymore,” she shouted. “Give me Abrax or I will burn this place to the ground.”

The king’s face contorted in agony; smoke curled from his hand. The guards drew their weapons, but Kester was already chanting in Angelic. As he spoke, his words froze the king and his guards. They grimaced with agony, the sound of crunching bones and sinews filled the room as fae bodies twisted, breaking. The king gagged, his eyes bulging.

So that’s why he got the creepy nickname.

While Kester crippled Oberon with his magic, she let go of the king’s arms, stealing a sword from one of the guards. It felt glorious in her hands, light and swift. “Where is Abrax?” she demanded—louder, so the whole crowd could hear.

Frantically, her eyes scanned the room for any signs of him by the back of the room, but it wasn’t until she turned to look back at Kester that she saw the incubus.

Abrax stood right behind Kester, tendrils of inky midnight magic curling off him like smoke.

“Kester!” she shouted.

But it was too late. In a blur of shadowy motion, Abrax snapped Kester’s neck. The crack of his spine echoed off the ceiling, and horror blared through Ursula’s skull.

A
s Kester’s
limp body crashed to the floor, Ursula lifted her sword. His spell no longer held the fae in thrall, and they snarled, eyes flashing at her. She gripped the sword, raw panic tearing her mind apart.
Kester. Kester is dead.
She tried to shove the horror deep into her mental vault. She couldn’t let fear overcome her now, not when a pack of furious fae surrounded her, baying for her blood.

But as she stared into the vengeful face of the fae king, something else began to surge, coursing through each of her muscles: a sharp sense of sureness, as if she knew exactly how each of her joints needed to move. Primal wrath hit her like a wave, imbuing her body with a dark power.
I will avenge him.

Oberon reached behind him and drew a wicked looking sword from the sheath on his back. His eyes locked on hers, his grin a thing of terror.

But hot battle fury overtook Ursula, and she grinned back, cutting her sword through the air in a display of her skill. She was no longer Ursula. She was Vengeance, ancient and primal. When Oberon lunged, she was ready for him. His blade struck hers, and the sound of clanging swords rang out. The king was fast—almost too fast for her—and his sword slashed above her head with a
whoosh
.

I will avenge him.

Wrath flooded her nerve endings
.
She began to circle Oberon, her movements fast and precise, and she saw a glint of fear in the king’s eyes. In a lethal dance, they whirled and ducked, fast as the wind. The air rushed over her body, until the king began to falter. She scented his fear, wanted his blood.

As the king tired, his guards moved in, swords drawn, and she was no longer fighting one fae, but three. She spun, her sword clashing in a blur of steel, slicing into muscle and flesh. Arcs of red blood sprayed through the air, and she no longer knew who she was fighting; she only knew that she wanted to kill.

Another guard swung for her and she ducked, her sword slashing for his legs. But the fae leapt into the air, bringing the pommel of his sword down on the back of her head.

Pain exploded through her skull; she stumbled back, dropping her blade. Her vision darkened and rough hands grabbed her, pulling her to the floor.

When her vision cleared, the king and Abrax stood above her while six fae guards pinned her to the ground.

“You stupid bitch,” Oberon spat. “Once I’m done using you for pleasure, I will flay you alive.”

Rage stole her breath.
Kester is dead. And they’re going to kill me. Bastards.

Wild with fury, she struggled to free herself, but the grip of the fae’s hands were too strong. Abrax bent low, narrowing his eyes. He touched her cheek, purring. “What kind of thing are you?” He ran his fingers over her skin, and bile rose in her throat.

“Strip her,” said Oberon.

Fire.
In her panic she’d forgotten to use Emerazel’s fire. She let the volcanic rage blaze white-hot, and the fae released her.

Just as she was scrambling to her feet, a growl rumbled through the hall. A dark beast crashed into the crowd of fae, green eyes blazing. The female fae screamed, running for the movable dais. As soon as they crowded on, it began to lower.

Kester?
The hound circled her, snarling at the fae who surrounded her with swords drawn. He was protecting her.

Relief flooded her. How the hell was he alive?

It struck her like a bolt of lightning.
The spell.
Whatever spell they’d chanted before leaving had actually worked. Not only that, but it must have changed his hound form. He was ten feet tall at least.

She rose, snatching the fallen sword from the ground.

Kester’s eyes blazed; blood dripped from his jaw. A guard swung for him, and he roared, picking up the fae in his teeth and flinging him across the room.

The king drew his sword again, his eyes locked on Ursula. “Filthy animals.”

Kester snarled at the king, who now stood surrounded by a troop of fae guards.

“Get him to safety,” one of them shouted. As they closed in around the king, their bodies shimmered away, leaving behind only a pale, iridescent glimmer. The temperature in the room chilled by ten degrees.

Ursula whirled, gripping her sword and scanning the room for Abrax. The incubus stood near the balcony, gripping the king’s halberd. Blood dripped from his fingers—Kester must have bitten him before lunging into the crowd.

Kester’s lip curled back from his teeth, and his deep growl resonated through her bones. Abrax swung the halberd in a tight figure eight, his eyes locked on the hound. The incubus’s blade began to glow, charging with some kind of magic. When he slashed it, a bolt of blue light shot straight at the hound. But Kester had already leapt away. Snarling, he charged the incubus. Abrax dodged, moving like a cloud of curling black smoke and reappearing a few feet away. Kester skidded to a stop, just missing him.

Just as Abrax swung the halberd’s blade, Ursula heard footfalls behind her. Sword ready, she whirled to find one of the king’s guards remaining, his platinum hair swirling around his head like a living thing. “The king will enjoy playing with you once I subdue you.” His pale eyes flashed, and he slashed his blade, but the battle fury already burned through Ursula, and she parried.

That sense of precision filled her muscles, warming her like a desert wind.
They think I’m an animal.
He was fast, but she was faster.
They want to slaughter me like a pig.
Their swords clanged as she attacked and he parried. She backed him against the bar until he faltered.
Kill.
She drove her sword through his chest.

As she watched blood bubble from his mouth, horror hit her. She’d just
killed
someone. But there wasn’t time to think about what she’d done—not with Kester’s growl filling the hall. She spun to find his jaws locked on Abrax’s arm, snapping the incubus’s bones.

Her hands shaking, Ursula stared down at her crimson blade.
What kind of killer was F.U.?

The incubus’s roar called her attention back to the fight, and she watched as his halberd skittered across the floor. Her heart sped up—they were too close to the edge.

Kester leapt for the incubus’s throat, but he curled away in a cloud of black smoke, appearing again at the platform’s edge. Kester pounced, and Ursula’s world tilted as she watched them both plummet over the edge.

“Kester!” she screamed, running to the ledge. Her blood roaring in her ears, she peered into the abyss. Desperately, she hoped to see Kester clinging by his fingertips to one of the tree roots, but there was no sign of him. Far below she could see the orbs swirling, and the music thumped in the distance. Panic stole her breath, and for just a moment, the steep drop into oblivion called to her, like a magnetic pull.

But oblivion did not await her at the other end of death. Eternal hellfire awaited her.

All the blood rushed from her head, and she fell to her knees. He’d survived the neck snapping, but surely even magic couldn’t save a body from a fall like that. Her chest welled with an aching sadness, before pure terror overcame her.
There’s no way out.
She was stuck in a fae’s subterranean lair with an army of soldiers who wanted to rape and murder her. Even death wasn’t an escape.

There was no air.
I can’t breathe.

Please let this be a terrible nightmare—there was no fight, no fae, no incubus.
Kester didn’t fall to his death.
In a few moments she’d wake up in her East London flat, ready to drink tea on the couch while Katie regaled her with details of all the guys she’d kissed the night before.

Ursula closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. The floor of the hall was still a thousand feet below her, the abyss oddly inviting in her desperation.

She turned back to the balcony. Apart from the crumpled body of the guard she’d slaughtered, it was empty. Blood stained the wood, and the sweet, metallic smell was overwhelming. She scanned the floor for her wyrm-skin purse, but she couldn’t see it anywhere. It must have gotten knocked off the ledge in the fight. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
My white stone.
She had nothing now.

She glanced down again at her bloodied hands. She’d killed someone tonight, with a great degree of skill. What the hell kind of monster had F.U. been? A trained killer? An assassin? And what had happened to Kester?

A hollow opened in the pit of her stomach. Kester’s fall would have landed him right in a crowd of fae who wanted him dead. And what did that mean for
his
soul? He hadn’t paid off his debt yet, even after four hundred years. Tears stung her eyes, but she clenched her jaw, marshaling her resolve. This was not the time to cry.

Distantly she could hear the beat of the music.
Thump. Thump
. She couldn’t tell where her pounding heart ended and the music began.

The fae king wanted her dead, and at any moment he and his guards could return to finish the job. Even if she was some sort of master swordsman, she couldn’t fend them off forever. But with the dais gone, there was no way out.
Thump. Thump.

The sigil.
If only she could find something flammable.

Her eyes darted to the bar in the back, and she rushed across the blood-slicked floor, stepping over the guard’s corpse. Bottles lined the back shelves, and with a shaking hand she snatched a bottle of a dark-looking spirit. She popped the cork and gave the bottle a sniff, then grimaced. It had to be at least a hundred proof.

The bass deepened.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Distantly, the crowd cheered, the party still raging. Maybe incubi and hellhounds falling to their deaths from the king’s balcony was an everyday occurrence here. She wanted out of this awful place.

In the center of the room, she poured the whiskey in the shape of Emerazel’s sigil.

Thump. Thump.
The bass was so loud it rattled the floor. How could they continue to dance, with the two pulverized bodies in their midst?

The beat was almost deafening. Something was happening in the hall, but just as she started toward the edge, a gust of icy wind rushed over her skin. She stared in horror as enormous wings rose above the balcony.
Thump. Thump. Thump
. She stared into Abrax’s cold, beautiful face.

He looked glorious and terrifying at the same time, like a medieval painting of the Angel of Darkness. His body had transformed, and claws and talons had grown from his hands and feet. All around him, black mist twisted and swirled like ink in water. His frigid gaze fixed on hers.

“Did you think I forgot about you?” Gracefully, he landed on the edge of the balcony and stalked closer.

Ice ran up her spine, and she stumbled back.
Where the fuck is that sword
? Her gaze landed on the king’s halberd, discarded on the floor. She dove for it just as the incubus swooped in, his talons raking the wood. She slid across the floor, grasping for the weapon, but the incubus caught her leg with one of his talons, yanking her toward him, ripping through her flesh. As the pain pierced her, she unleashed an agonized scream.

Abrax flipped her over, yanking her under him and pinning her to the floor, claws piercing her wrists. He was going to tear all the flesh from her bones, and the agony blinded her. She arched her back, screaming.

“Really, Ursula. That blade wouldn’t have stopped me,” he growled, his leathery wings spread out above her, and pressed his claws further into her flesh. Pain screamed through her forearms.

Her pulse raced, the pain so intense she couldn’t think straight. She wouldn’t be able to fight him anymore, not with her muscles torn apart. “What do you want from me?” she managed.

He leaned closer, whispering, “I want to know who you are.” His voice was soft, seductive.

She gritted her teeth, trying to think through the agony. “You and me both,” she choked out. Fury flooded her, and she let Emerazel’s fire blaze, burning like the sun’s core, until it seared the incubus’s hands, igniting his clothes. He leapt up, his wings beating the air. Embers sparked from his wings, and he swooped over the main hall, circling like a beast of prey. He wasn’t finished with her.

Blood poured from her wrists, and flames licked at her body. Emerazel’s fire had ignited the whiskey, and the sigil blazed brightly around her.

Her eyes flicked to Abrax, who was diving right for her, his face etched with cold wrath. She closed her eyes and chanted the sigil spell, just before the incubus’s powerful body had the chance to slam into her.