Chapter 15

Pale light streamed through the window, washing over Ursula’s face. She rubbed her eyes. It took her a moment to remember she was in Pasqual’s apartment in Mount Acidale, her legs tangled in the bedsheets. She wore only a slip, one that came to just below her arse. She wasn’t getting dressed in the stiff Victorian garb until she actually had to.

Still rubbing her eyes, she climbed down to the main level. Bael lay asleep on the couch. He’d done his best to scrunch himself onto the cushions, but he was simply too big. Both his legs and one of his arms trailed on the floor. His enormous chest rose and fell slowly.

Ursula crossed to the cabinets, hoping to find some food. Unfortunately, vampires didn’t eat, so she was shit out of luck. Her stomach rumbled.

“You’re up?” Bael asked sleepily from the sofa. “What happened to your clothes?”

He was one to speak. He’d stripped down to a T-shirt and underwear, and Ursula’s gaze lingered over his body.

“The sun’s too bright,” she said. “I can’t sleep.”

She turned to find Bael staring at her bare thighs. Good. She wanted him staring at her legs. In fact, she wanted to wrap them around his abs. Ursula. Control yourself.

She cleared her throat. “I was hoping for something to eat, but vampires aren’t known for their cuisine.”

Bael rose, pulling open the door. “But you don’t know Pasqual like I do. He’s an incredible host.” He leaned down, then picked up two steaming, paper-wrapped packages.

The smell of ham wafted into the air, and Ursula’s mouth watered. “What did he bring us?”

“Sandwiches. Wild boar, if I had to guess,” said Bael. “Mount Acidale is famous for them.”

“Here in the city?” said Ursula, looking confused.

Bael laughed. “Mount Acidale got its name from the Akidnor Mountains. You can’t see them through all the smog, but north of here is an enormous mountain range. Wild boar are plentiful on its slopes.” Bael handed her a package. “I hope you’ll like it more than the lunar bat bacon.”

Ursula was already tearing through the paper. “I love bacon. I just didn’t want to eat bat because of Sotz. It would feel like eating a friend.”

Amusement danced in Bael’s eyes. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you. Your devotion to your friends. Kester, Zee, Cera—even Sotz. It’s a trait I admire.”

“Is that why you’re still friends with Pasqual?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Is this also why you are helping Cera and the oneiroi?”

Bael took a long time to respond. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. “At first I just wanted allies, a way to get back my wings, but over time, I saw how the oneiroi were mistreated.” His gray eyes slid to the window. “When I killed Cera’s brother in the Lacus Mortis, I felt terrible. I’d thought he was just another oneiroi—one of Abrax’s tricks. When I saw Cera’s face, it pierced me to the bone.”

“There was no way you could know. You were defending yourself,” said Ursula.

“I know.” Bael turned his face back to her, his mouth firm. “But that was the turning point. I care about what happens to Cera and the oneiroi. They weren’t just servants and soldiers to me. When I learned Xarthra had a cure, a way to cure the corrupted, I had to help.”

Ursula wanted to hug him, to wrap her arms around him, to tell him he was a good man no matter what had happened with Cera’s brother. Something stopped her, and she just nodded instead, swallowing her boar sandwich.

“Is it strange for you,” asked Ursula, “finding yourself in a room modeled after Elissa’s quarters?”

“I’m used to dwelling in the past, brooding in my old memories,” he said. “For me, love is tragic. A curse almost.”

Ursula’s stomach tightened. “You still believe that? After all these years, you still think love is a curse?”

Bael’s eyes darkened. “When I regain my wings, I will be immortal. If I fall in love, it will only be for the briefest moment of my existence. For me, love will always be tempered by the pain of knowing that I’ll lose the other person, that I’d watch them grow old and die. The pain of loss is eternal.”

Ursula opened her mouth, then closed it. Although death was a long way off for Ursula, she was ultimately mortal. Freedom from Emerazel—when she’d satisfied the demands of the fire goddess’s bargain—came with death. She hadn’t really thought about it until now, and everything seemed to be crashing around her, the light from the window suddenly blinding. Her stomach churned.

“Are you all right?” asked Bael.

“Totally fine,” she lied.

Of course, when Bael was talking about falling in love with a mortal, he meant her. Bael was an immortal demon. Technically, he was her mortal enemy, and their engagement could never be real. She would play along with the engagement until she’d helped him defeat Abrax and recover his wings. Then, she’d return to Emerazel and work like crazy collecting souls to pay her remaining debt. And when she’d finished that—she’d wither and die.

Bit of a mood killer, these revelations.

Ursula cleared her throat. “When do we leave for Leopold’s?”

“The king’s forces will be crawling the streets during the day. Sundown is our best bet.”

Ursula blinked, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue and images of her own face withering in her mind. She crossed back to the ladder.

“Where are you going?” asked Bael.

Darkness weighed on her mind. “Back to sleep until it’s time to take some action.”

As the lastof the ruddy afternoon sun slanted through the window, Ursula rifled through a garment bag—something Pasqual had dropped off. Apparently, she needed to dress the part in order to worm her way into Leopold’s—which meant dressing like a Victorian prostitute, of course. Ever the gentleman, Bael turned his back to her while Ursula stripped off her slip, the apartment’s cool air whispering over her naked skin.

When she tugged the outfit out of the bag, it confirmed her worst fears. Black, lacy, and short as hell, it could maybe be considered a dress in some cultures. Still, she slipped it on over her naked body. Technically, it fit. The lace covered just enough of her anatomy so she wouldn’t flash anyone—as long as she didn’t sit down, or bend, or move. A corset tightened her chest, lifting her breasts practically up to her chin.

“Is this it?” asked Ursula.

“Did you find the necklace? Pasqual said you’d find one.”

“A necklace? I was more focused on my tits hanging out.” Ursula investigated the bag again, finding some black beads coiled on the bottom. A choker. Ursula clipped it around her neck.

Bael coughed. He was wearing a new ensemble of his own: a perfectly fitted black tailcoat, pants, a gray silk shirt, and black leather wingtips. “Let me know when I can turn around.”

She had to admit she detected a certain eagerness in his voice.

She looked down at herself, at the skimpy black lace and the swell of her breasts. Worst of all, the delicate stiletto heels she was wearing felt like they could snap at any moment. “I’m ready.”

Bael turned to face her,and his jaw dropped. His pale gray eyes roamed over her body as if he were memorizing every curve. “You look…” He cleared his throat. “We have masks,” he said abruptly.

He held up a large mask in the shape of a lion’s head, covered in pale yellow feathers shaped to look like fur, ruby-red eyes, and a formidable set of teeth.

He handed Ursula her own mask—black lace formed into the image of a cat, including long, silver whiskers and rubies around the eyes. She slipped it over her head, finding that it fit perfectly.

Bael seemed to be making a considerable effort to meet her gaze, to tear his eyes off her cleavage. “Pasquale hasn’t left us undefended. Apparently, your choker is made of wire coated with diamond shavings. And watch this.” He picked up an umbrella from the floor, and gave the handle a few twists. A moment later, he pulled out a steel blade, grinning. “Are you ready for this?”

Ursula swallowed hard. “Dressing up as a Victorian prostitute to hunt a dragon? No problem.”