Chapter 22

As 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 if 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. 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, 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, just inside the top 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 to 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 superior 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 pommel 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 her surface. A crack echoed off the walls, and a stream of fire shot from the tip 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 sword.

“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.”

Ursula lowered the burning blade, letting the hellfire cool in her blood. As the fire left her veins, the armor around her slowly faded, the flames waning from her blade.

Bael inhaled a deep breath, staring at her, before he finally spoke. “How did you do that?”

“I just summoned my fire magic, and Excalibur seemed to draw it in from my body. I don’t know how the rest of it worked.”

Bael studied her sword. “May I see it?”

Ursula handed it to him—already, it was cool to the touch.

He turned it over, as if entranced. “I’ve never seen magic like this. It looks like King Oberon forged the spell directly into the steel, and it amplifies your magic.” He handed the sword back to Ursula, a faint smile curling his lips. “I think you’re ready.”

The elevator door rolled open,and she and Bael stepped into the brightly lit foyer. A rich smell of roasting meat hung in the air. Before leaving the subway station, she’d pulled her tattered tank top back on.

Ursula crossed the kitchen, finding Zee standing over a large bowl of steaming mashed potatoes, smelling of garlic and butter. She was eating directly from the bowl.

“That was fast. You’re done training already?”

Bael slipped into the kitchen, ducking his head under the doorframe. “The sword is more powerful than I thought. The dragons won’t be able to hurt her. It’s as if the sword was meant for her.”

With a spoonful of mashed potatoes hovering in the air, a range of emotions flickered across Zee’s face: skepticism mixed with hope that the siege of the city might be over. “Are you sure?”

“I will be there to help.”

Cera’s voice cut in as she appeared behind Bael. “The roast will be ready in twenty minutes. Don’t touch the potatoes!”

Zee scooped out another spoonful. “What do you mean, exactly—that the sword was meant for Ursula?”

Ursula quirked a smile. “Well, for one thing, I was able to finally disarm Bael.”

Bael grunted almost imperceptibly.

Zee’s eyes widened. “How?”

“It’s hard to explain. It amplifies my magic, making it more powerful. It also seems to create a sort of magical armor around me.”

Zee whistled softly, lowering her spoon. “Angelic Armor.”

“What is that, exactly?”

“You know how the fae are unaligned, right? Unlike your shadowy boyfriend here, we are not allied with the gods of light or dark. We’re just, like, angels who came to earth to enjoy all the good food and cocktails. Anyway, in the very early days after the fall, we needed protection from all the demons. So the First Fae created a magical ward that made them nearly indestructible. It was called Angelic Armor. I had no clue it would work on a hound of Emerazel. It’s supposed to be for godlike creatures. No offense.”

“None taken.” Ursula sniffed the air, scenting something smoky. “Is the roast burning?”

Cera shoved past Bael and raced across the kitchen, her pale hair flying behind her. “The roast!”

Zee frowned, scooping another spoonful of potatoes into her mouth. “We’re trying to have a conversation here.” She pointed her spoon at Ursula’s ripped tank top. “You look like shit, you know that? Good way to get the dragons to leave you alone.”

Ursula crossed her arms. “Right. Perhaps a shower is in order before dinner, then.” As she crossed out of the room, a smile curled her lips. Angelic Armor. Surely, a creature like the Darkling wouldn’t be able to wear the armor of angels, right?

Ursula’s hairwas still wet from the shower as she made her way to the dining room, dressed in a yellow sundress. Cera had announced dinner was ready while she was still wrapped in a towel, so there hadn’t been any time to dry it.

When she entered, everyone was already seated. Someone, probably Cera, had put a fresh tablecloth down and set the table with expensive-looking china. In the center was a steaming hunk of meat. Despite the smoke and Cera’s consternation, it looked perfectly cooked.

There were bowls of mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus, and a large white porcelain vessel full of gravy. The room smelled amazing.

Bael sat by the meat with a large knife in hand. “You want some of the roast?” he asked her. Ursula saw that his hair was wet too—apparently she wasn’t the only one who’d opted for a quick shower.

“Thank you, I’d love some.”

While Bael carved the meat, she found a seat across from him, next to Zee. Zee was carefully carving her chunk of meat into bite-size pieces.

Across from her, Cera looked on nervously.

“Is it all right? she asked, her voice quavering.

Zee nodded. “It’s perfect.”

Ursula saw that instead of a piece of meat, Cera had laden her plate with mash, asparagus, and a large roasted portobello mushroom cap. Of course—she couldn’t eat meat, unless she wanted to become corrupted and lose her mind.

Bael passed over a plate with a slice of roast, and a large helping of each of the sides. It smelled amazing. Ursula took a bite of the meat. It tasted amazing too.

“The roast is delicious,” she said, directing her gaze at Cera. The little oneiroi beamed back at her.

Zee sipped her champagne. “Explain to me specifically how we’re going to defeat the dragons. Am I part of this?”

Bael poured himself a glass of wine. “No. Ursula can lead us, of course, but clearly we need an army to fight an entire legion of dragons. I plan to raise one from the fae realm. They owe me some favors, though it will take some time. Months, perhaps.”

Ursula’s jaw dropped. “We don’t have time. You saw what they did to Avalon.” She tightened her grip on her fork. “You know, you have this habit of withholding crucial information until the last minute.”

Bael arched an eyebrow. “You can’t seriously expect the two of us to defeat them all, can you?”

How could she tell him she felt it was her destiny? She didn’t know why, didn’t have a rational explanation for it. She just felt it. Niniane’s blood-stained face flashed in her mind. Months of delays, and how many more innocents would die? “It’s what the sword is for. And the sword has chosen me. I think I’m supposed to do this on my own.”

Shadows darkened Bael’s eyes. “Don’t be absurd. I’m not letting my betrothed into a dragon’s lair without an army.”

Her cheeks reddened. “I’m not actually your betrothed.”

His jaw tightened. “I know that. But I still have a duty to protect you.”

“I don’t know what I did in my past, or who I am. All I know is that it’s my fault that the dragons attacked New York. I alone should be the one to fix it. This is my chance to actually do something meaningful for a change. Don’t you understand? I’ve been a nobody ever since I can remember. A fuck-up—no purpose, no identity, the screwed-up mystery girl with no past. And this is my chance to change that. I could be a hero, but I have to accept my fate. The sword has chosen me, and I go alone.”

Bael stared at her, the air seeming to frost in the room, but she didn’t wait for him to respond. She stood, hurrying from the dining room, desperate to get her fingers on Excalibur again. She needed to sink its metal into a dragon hide like a vampire needed blood. She hurried up the stairs to her room, where Excalibur lay on her bed. Before allowing herself to snatch the sword, she pulled off her dress, then slipped into her fighting gear: leather trousers, an armored corset, and a steel-reinforced leather jacket. Though, given what she’d discovered about the sword, perhaps she wouldn’t need all this reinforced leather. A cowboy hat completed the ensemble, just enough brim to keep her face covered from an aerial view.

She zipped up her boots, then finally snatched Excalibur from her bed. The sword glinted in the soft light, and its ancient song of war seemed to sing in her veins.

Reunited with her sword, she moved swiftly through the hall, rushing down the stairs, the blade igniting her body with its power.

As she stood by the lift, waiting for the elevator to arrive, she wondered if someone would try to stop her, but she only heard the faint sound of Zee and Bael arguing in the dining room. Gently, she stroked Excalibur’s hilt, and the elevator dinged. At last. This was her destiny.