Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

ASH

As expected, the three daemons followed Ash away from the apprentice.

He headed for the open space he could sense at the end of the corridor, which turned out to be a waiting room. Metal chairs were scattered in messy lines, and a dozen ill or injured humans were slumped in them, waiting for care.

Ignoring the witnesses, Ash strode into the largest open gap in the room and turned to face his adversaries.

Cottus the Striker shoved his dirty blond hair out of his face as he grinned at Ash. Flanking him, the two minotaurs—Ash didn’t know them, but they reeked of bovine—peeled their lips back from their teeth in matching leers, one a few inches taller and a decade older than the other.

The observing humans stared at the four daemons. The smart ones got out of their seats and hastened toward the exit.

Cottus looked around the waiting room with mock exaggeration. “What do you plan to do now, dragon boy?”

“Simple,” Ash replied. “Kill you.”

“Oh, really.” Cottus smirked. “I have a very important question for you first. Do you have it?”

Ash canted his head. “Why would I tell you?”

“Because Samael wants to know.”

“Then he can ask me himself when I return.”

Vicious delight sharpened Cottus’s grin as his eyes darkened. “That’s the problem, Ash. Samael doesn’t want you to come back. In fact, he no longer wants you alive.”

Ash kept his expression stony, but a chill ran along his nerves.

“You were supposed to make the Stone disappear without your name—and therefore his—ever coming up. A few too many daemons know who you take orders from, so now I’m here to tie up all the loose ends you created.”

Ash let a ripple of black fire race up his arms, power shimmering in the air around him. Cottus didn’t flinch, but the minotaurs shifted slightly backward, their leers replaced with frowns. The last of the humans in the room raced for the hallway.

“I don’t have it,” Ash told Cottus. “But I know who does. So trot on back to Samael and tell him to wait until I return.”

“Who has it?” Cottus demanded.

“Take my message to Samael.” Ash let his voice sink into a low, rumbling growl. “If you refuse, I have no reason to let you live.”

The assassin laughed.

“You, on the other hand, can’t kill me,” Ash added. “Samael will lock you in the bastille for a year if you kill me before you find the Stone.”

Cottus’s amusement faded, and a mean glint sharpened his darkening eyes. The two minotaurs exchanged looks.

“Fine,” the older daemon said. “I’ll deliver your message to Samael.” He glanced at Cottus. “If the draconian knows where?—”

Cottus’s hand flashed out. Ash sprang back, though he knew the attack wasn’t aimed at him.

The assassin’s blade, pulled from beneath his sleeve, slashed across the minotaur’s unprotected throat. The daemon staggered backward, blood spraying and shock heaving across his features. The light in his eyes dulled, and he toppled to the floor.

Cottus half turned toward the younger minotaur, beads of blood dripping from his dagger. The minotaur’s black eyes bulged. He said nothing.

Cottus pivoted back to Ash. “Now you?—”

Ash rammed a swift kick into Cottus’s knee, destabilizing him, then grabbed the assassin’s hand. Digging his fingers in with bruising force, Ash wrenched the dagger from his enemy’s grip. A quick flip of the blade to catch the hilt, and Ash slashed it at Cottus’s chest.

The assassin evaded the blade, simultaneously producing another in his other hand. He lunged, and Ash shifted back.

Power scented the air. Reality distorted around the minotaur in a shimmering cascade. His body blurred—and stretched taller. The distortion faded as rapidly as it had appeared, revealing the minotaur’s true body: seven feet tall, black fur, curling horns, and the head of a bull.

Lifting his beastly head, he let out a bellowing roar and charged at Ash.

Ash flung out his hand. Power surged through his body and up his arm before exploding from his palm in a whirlwind of black flames. The impact of magic shoved Cottus back, maroon magic flickering across the assassin as he shielded.

The minotaur didn’t shield. Trusting his near impenetrable hide to protect him, he burst through the ebony inferno, massive fists that could crush bone swinging at Ash.

Ash was already ducking beneath the attack. Black flames licked across his stolen dagger as he plunged it through the minotaur’s hide and into his belly.

The minotaur recoiled in shock, and the blade stuck in place. Releasing it, Ash pivoted toward Cottus.

The assassin grinned eagerly as he closed in, his dagger gleaming. Terrified screams had filled the nearby halls, voices shrieking about monsters.

Cottus lunged, dagger whipping toward Ash.

With a twist of magic, Ash coated his hand in a protective weave and caught Cottus’s blade on his palm. Surprise flickered over the assassin’s features that Ash could weave magic in the middle of a fight—then Ash slammed his foot into Cottus’s lower gut.

As the assassin stumbled back, Ash continued his turn, spinning to catch the hilt of the dagger he’d embedded in the unprepared minotaur’s stomach. He wrenched the dagger sideways through the daemon’s belly, tearing it free.

Blood showered the floor. The minotaur staggered backward, his bovine face slack and disbelieving.

Gripping the stolen dagger, Ash faced Cottus. The assassin stood dangerously close, studying his opponent. Recalculating.

Letting Cottus live was pointless. He wasn’t likely to deliver Ash’s message to Samael, so better to just kill him.

Maroon power swirled over Cottus’s free hand. He flung the spell point-blank at Ash.

Dark fire erupted over Ash, and the incoming attack met his protective barrier with an electric boom that shook the floor. Metal chairs were blasted away from them, twisted and broken. More shouts and screams erupted, but the voices were growing muffled and distant as the humans fled farther from danger.

Cottus’s fingers curled as he conjured a different spell. Ash didn’t bother to form his power into a counterattack.

He hurled it, raw and uncontrolled.

Cottus snarled as he abandoned his cast to shield. Ash channeled more power down his arm, unleashing another blast. It exploded against Cottus’s hasty shield, black flames raining down on the furniture. Orange light flickered to life as flammable books and papers caught fire.

The majority of Underworlders knew that draconians were the most powerful caste in their realm—but they didn’t always understand how big the power gap was. No one could defeat Ash in brute magical force, and Cottus had just realized that.

As the assassin’s eyes narrowed, a bestial roar shook the walls. Ash snapped a glance toward the minotaur.

The beast had retreated toward the exit, and in the threshold, half hidden behind his giant form, a girl stood. An auburn-haired girl.

What the hell was the apprentice doing?

Ash closed his hand into a fist, channeling power, shaping it, then snapped his fingers open. His cast shot across the room in the form of a razor-edged blade.

It struck the minotaur’s back in a spray of gore, tearing through hide, thick muscle, and heavy bone. The daemon faltered, his grasping hands barely missing the apprentice as she raced down the hall.

But he couldn’t worry about her safety. He’d already looked away from Cottus for too long.

Ash whipped back around, summoning another raw blast of power. Fire whooshed across his body—and Cottus burst through the flames.

The assassin was no longer in glamour. His skin had paled to scaly white, his torso was bare, and four arms protruded from his bulging shoulders, three of them wielding curved daggers.

The assassin slammed into Ash, and the blades sank into his flesh. Grabbing Ash by the throat with one of his four hands, he pulled Ash’s face close to his, grinning nastily.

“Ready to die, dragon boy?”

Ash wrapped his hand around Cottus’s wrist. His arm shimmered—and his talons sank into the assassin’s flesh.

Ash’s glamour fell away, and ebony flames engulfed everything in a roaring inferno.