Chapter 5

The lords’ chamber fell silent as they entered, heels echoing off the marble hall. At a semicircular granite table sat Hothgar, flanked on either side by the ten other demon lords. Hothgar—Sword of Nyxobas—wore a thin chain-mail shirt, his hoary beard and eyebrows giving him a wise appearance. Which, based on what Ursula knew of him, was completely misleading. He gripped a gavel, his petty little symbol of power.

Ursula cast her gaze over the other demon lords—high demons, each one. The luminescent mushrooms lining the hall cast a faint, violet light over their bestial faces. If Ursula had any hope of breaking out of here, it was snuffed out when she noticed the phalanx of guards standing behind the lords.

For their part, the lords—including Hothgar—were glaring at both Abrax and Ursula, hatred gleaming in their dark eyes. It took her a moment to realize the God of Night himself sat in the room, towering over all of them in his dark throne, dark magic curling around him in shadowy tendrils, black eyes gaping wide. He probably had no idea what the hell was going on here. Lost in the void, as usual. Even in a trance, he was a creature of nightmares, cloaked in darkness.

Abrax grabbed Ursula’s arm, pulling her forward until Hothgar held up a hand. The old Sword of Nyxobas nodded to his guards, and five of them began marching toward Ursula and Abrax.

“What’s this about?” Abrax started forward.

“Stay where you are, incubus.” Hothgar didn’t bother to hide the anger in his voice.

Abrax let out a low growl in response.

The five guards encircled the pair of them, and one of the oneiroi pulled Abrax’s sword from his scabbard.

Abrax’s shadow magic whipped around him in sharp coils. “I am a son of Nyxobas. How dare you treat me this way?”

“Your soldiers attacked my family at the Lacus Mortis?—”

“Oh. That.” Abrax sighed. “Are you still whining about that? I told you that was an accident. I briefly lost control of my men?—”

“People died.”

“People die sometimes. In any case, I made reparations. It is time we put this behind us.”

His diplomacy skills were somewhat lacking, Ursula thought.

Hothgar continued to stare stonily at Abrax.

One of the guards by Abrax’s side grunted, then held up a lethal-looking dagger. “He was concealing this on his person.”

“It is for my personal protection,” said Abrax. “Look.” He flicked his wrist, producing another knife from his sleeve. “I have another blade here.” He held up a thin needle of steel. “One can never be too careful.”

The guard’s eyes widened, and he snatched the blade from Abrax.

Abrax shoved his hands in his pockets. “Now may I take my seat at the table?”

“No, you may not,” growled Hothgar.

“And why is that?” Abrax straightened, throwing his shoulders back slightly.

“You have brought a hound of Emerazel’s into our realm without permission.” Hothgar looked pointedly at Ursula.

Abrax shook his head. “And what of it? She already knew of the realm. She spent considerable time here.”

“I am done with your excuses. You will remain quiet while I interrogate the cur.”

Hothgar turned his dark gaze on Ursula. “Why have you returned to the Shadow Realm?”

“I just love it here so much.”

Hothgar continued to stare at her.

“Abrax abducted me,” she continued. “I’d never have come here willingly, considering the last time I was here, everyone tried to kill me.”

Hothgar’s eyes narrowed. “The bitch lies. You will tell us the truth.”

From behind, a guard shoved her hard in the back. She fell, sprawling to the stone floor. Arsehole. Her hands still manacled, she scrambled to her feet again.

Hothgar stood. “You will have one chance to name your co-conspirators. If you want a clean death, you will not lie.”

Why is he not getting this? “What are you talking about? Abrax kidnapped me. He was holding me against my will. I want nothing to do with you and the Shadow Realm.”

Hothgar nodded at another one of his guards—a demon with a massive barrel chest and a neck like a tree trunk.

“Bring out the prisoner,” said Hothgar.

Kester?

Ursula stared as the guard disappeared into a tunnel that led out of the hall. When she glanced at Abrax, he looked as perplexed as she was. So he doesn’t know what’s going on either.

After a few minutes, the doors slammed open, and the guard returned, leading a demon with a chain attached to an iron collar on his throat.

Not Kester—the muscular form draped in tattered, dark clothes was far too large. Enormous golden manacles clasped his hands, thicker than any Ursula had seen before. A black hood covered the man’s head. She took in the beautiful, golden color of his skin?—

But she didn’t have long to admire it. The prisoner pulled on his chain, fighting and snarling like a wild animal, and she almost wondered if he’d rip through it. As the guard dragged him past the granite table of lords, the prisoner lunged for them. A sharp pull on his chain from the prison guard stopped him in his tracks.

Abrax spoke, his voice disdainful. “I cannot believe this creature is your source. How can you believe a man who has betrayed his god?”

The guard yanked the hood from the prisoner’s head, and Ursula gasped. It was Bael, dark and powerful shadows whirling off his body. The former Sword of Nyxobas—and her betrothed. Except, he wasn’t exactly looking at her with love in his eyes. In fact, he was staring at her with a feral hunger, his eyes blood-red. Bael had been corrupted by the old way, the feral state that overtook shadow demons when they drank blood. And right now, he kind of looked like he wanted to rip his fiancée’s throat out.

Ursula hardly noticed the burning pain of Emerazel’s fire as it filled her veins.

“Where did you get him?” Abrax’s voice boomed across the room.

Hothgar gripped his gavel. “A guard found him wandering around his manor. He said you’re plotting against the realm. That you’d kidnapped the bitch.”

“He’s insane. Obviously, he drank the bitch’s blood and is corrupted by the old way.”

Hothgar raised an eyebrow. “But he was right about the bitch?—”

Ursula raised a manacled hand. “You do realize that I’m standing right here? My name is Ursula.”

Hothgar glared at her. “And you’re also a female hound. Which makes you one of the goddess’s bitches. I am merely addressing you using our technical term.”

Ursula smiled pleasantly. “Sure. That’s the technical term. Having spoken to your wife, I believe the technical term for you is something like ‘conjugal disappointment,’but you don’t hear me banging on about it.”

“Let’s stick to the point.” Abrax pointed to Bael. “He’s gone feral. He’s lost his wings and his seat at the lords’ table. We should be discussing the best way to put him down. And yet, you’re telling me that you believe his word over mine?”

Hothgar’s eyes narrowed. “He didn’t lie about the hound.”

Bael growled, a low, inhuman sound that sent an icy shiver dancing up Ursula’s neck. Was the real Bael under there somewhere, buried beneath the feral rage?

Hothgar laid his hands flat on the granite table. “Is there anything else you’ve been keeping from us, Abrax?”

Abrax cocked his head. “No, there is nothing else.”

Liar! Ursula wanted to scream. Should she tell them what she knew now?

Hothgar’s eyes narrowed, and his lips flattened into a line. “Are you sure there is nothing else you’d like to confess?”

Abrax stood with his hands in his pockets, perfectly relaxed. “I may have indulged in a few too many gin and tonics last night. Is that the sort of thing you’re looking for? In my defense, they were made with Harris gin and a hint of coriander. Nearly impossible to resist overindulging, as I’m sure you’d agree.”

Hothgar’s lip curled. “Bring out the other prisoner!”

The guards around Abrax drew their swords, pointing them at his throat, but he never shifted from his relaxed posture. The doors slammed open again, and the guards dragged in another prisoner. Just as with Bael, this prisoner wore ragged clothes and a black hood. Not as large as Bael, but struggling just as hard against his bonds. The guards shoved him until he stood a few feet from Bael.

Kester.

When the guard pulled the hood off his head, Ursula stared back at her green-eyed friend, a rag stuffed into his mouth and tied behind his head.

Every powerful ally she had was now in this room, chained up as prisoners. And one of them was raging with bloodlust.

Well, this is a pretty little mess we’ve got ourselves into.