Chapter 39

The vampire’s body crumpled to the ground. Bloody hell, do I really need to cut out his heart? Maybe F.U. had been a trained killer, but New Ursula didn’t feel like a full-blown psychopath. Just a few days ago, she’d been painting wildflowers on a wall and clothes shopping like a normal person, and now she stood over a vampire’s headless body, trying to decide if she should mutilate it further.

So F.U. had been some sort of master swordsman, but organ carving took her into serial-killer territory. How exactly would a vampire’s head return to his body, anyway? Surely it would take some effort. Maybe a vampire doctor. Perhaps she didn’t really need to kill him; maybe it was enough just to keep him out of her way. She ran to grab one of his katanas from the clearing, before running back to stab it hard through his shoulder blade, pinning him to the ground like she’d done with the fae.

She turned to Bael, kneeling by his side. The demon’s enormous chest rose and fell slowly, his head resting against the root of a fir. His dark eyelashes lay closed, just as when she’d first seen him in the Plaza Hotel. Around the base of the bolt, his blood bloomed in a crimson circle.

She knelt next to him. “Bael,” she whispered. He didn’t move. Dammit, you need to wake up. If she was going to return to Oberon’s, she’d need his help. And more than that, she didn’t want to be responsible for sending his soul to Emerazel. Shit. Why had she forced him to give up his soul?

“Bael.” She said it louder this time, pushing his shoulder. His pale eyes opened, locking on her.

“Get it out of me,” he whispered, eyes closing again.

She looked at the bolt. The wood’s grain was twisted and coiled. Was it enchanted? Hesitantly, she touched it, but no flash of pain shot up her arm.

Setting down Honjo, she drew the dagger from her boot. Carefully, she cut away Bael’s shirt, revealing his muscled chest. Every inch was inscribed with tattoos, astrological and alchemical symbols intermixed with Angelic script. Her eyes flicked to the wound. Blood bubbled from where the bolt had impaled him, just under his collar bone. A few inches to the left, and it would have punctured his heart.

What was her plan? It wasn’t like she could call an ambulance. She’d need to heal him with Starkey’s Conjuration spell. She just needed to rip this thing out first.

Ursula gripped the blood-soaked bolt. This wasn’t going to come out easily. She slid her leg over him, straddling his chest, and closed her eyes. I’m only pulling a piece of wood from a man’s chest. It’s not as bad as cutting out someone’s heart. With a jerk, she yanked it free, then tossed it into the woods.

Bael howled, thrashing. Smoke rose from his wound. He arched his back, and she pressed her palms against his shoulders, trying to calm him. “Bael, you need to lie still, so I can heal you.”

The demon’s eyes had gone black, glinting with primal violence, but his body went still.

She leaned over him, touching his skin lightly with her fingertips. “Relax. I pulled out the bolt.” Like you asked me to.

At the touch of her fingers, he sat up with a start. He gripped her shoulders so hard she thought they might break, pulling her to him. “You tried to kill me.” He spoke quietly, but quiet rage laced his voice.

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Abrax, you bastard. You tried to kill me.”

Bollocks. He’s lost it. “I’m Ursula. Abrax isn’t here.”

His eyes remained as dark as night, and he growled. “You will never possess the house of Albelda. As the Sword of Nyxobas, I will slay you.”

“Bael, relax. I’m going to heal you.”

He rose, throwing Ursula off him. “The god of night granted me immortality. I was chosen by him—” He swayed, then fell forward, the ground trembling at the impact. His body twitched, and she looked closer at his back.

She gaped in horror. Through his ripped shirt, she could see that fresh blood covered his back. Between sodden bandages, blood poured from the two huge wounds where his wings had been. The fight with Fiore must have re-injured them. Nauseated, Ursula looked away.

What had Bael told her about the wings? He couldn’t be healed, or he’d lose his chance to reattach them. That meant Starkey’s Conjuration was out. Still, she needed to do something to staunch the bleeding. It wasn’t like she’d ever taken a first aid course, but maybe she could just jam up the wound somehow, stop them from leaking blood everywhere. Whatever he’d done back at the Plaza wasn’t working anymore. She took off her jacket. The high-tech fabric didn’t look very absorbent, but her shirt was all cotton. She pulled it over her head, as an icy wind whipped at her bare skin.

Drawing the kaiken dagger from her boot, she began cutting the fabric into strips.

As she stuffed the strips of fabric into his wounds, Bael groaned. Ideally, she would have boiled these first to prevent infection, but she didn’t exactly have that option right now. The strips were staunching the blood flow, but they wouldn’t stay in place on their own. With a bit of effort, she pulled off his belt, and threaded it under him. Then she buckled it into place across his chest.

She sat back, surveying her work. The blood wasn’t pouring from the wounds any more. He could still die, but she’d bought them some time. How exactly could she get his soul back to him? She still wasn’t clear on that point, but she didn’t want him bleeding out before she got the chance.

She glanced up. The rising sun was beginning to stain the sky a dusky rose, chinks of pale light dappling the snow. Morning already. She shivered in the brittle air, tugging her jacket tighter around her bare skin. This would be a good time to use Emerazel’s fire to heat herself, but she was far too exhausted for any sort of anger. An icy wind rustled the oak leaves above her. They needed to get out of here before they either froze to death or fell victim to a vampire slaughter.

She dug out the flask of scotch, pushing back the tears. This had been the worst night of her life. Or at least, I think it was. It’s not like I know for sure. She took a swig, the whiskey burning her throat. Then she stood and began to pour it in the shape of Emerazel’s sigil.

Ursula stoodin the shower’s hot water, letting it thaw the tips of her toes and pound against the tired muscles in her shoulders. She squeezed some shampoo into her hand and began to lather her hair. The scent of eucalyptus mixed with the hot steam.

Bael still slept on the floor of the sigil room. She hadn’t been able to move his enormous frame.

She rinsed her hair. Her entire body ached like it had been pummeled with tiny fists. After she got out of the shower, she wanted to sleep, just for a few hours, so she didn’t completely lose her mind.

She turned off the water, stepping into the bathroom. Her black clothes made a sorry-looking pile on the floor. Of course, she was never putting them on again—they were soaked in Bael’s blood. She wrapped herself in a towel and padded back to her room, where she slipped into a cotton t-shirt and knickers.

Too tired to dress further, she crawled under the covers, her entire body burning with fatigue. Pink morning light filtered in through the blinds, warming the room.

When was the last time she’d eaten? She had no idea at this point. She stared at the wildflowers she’d painted on the wall, but they didn’t feel like home anymore. How could anything feel like home when you had no idea who you were in the first place? She let her eyes drift closed, feeling a wave of sleep wash over her, soothing her body. Her mind filled with images of fields of aster, bathed in moonlight?—

A pair of strong hands gripped her shoulders, and her eyes snapped open.

Bael kneeled over her, the strap of his belt tight across his chest. His cold gaze bored right through her. “Where’s Fiore?”

Ursula’s heart raced, and she blinked away the sleep. “Fiore?”

His enormous hands tightened on her shoulders. “Why are we here? Why aren’t we at the lair?”

She pushed his hands away and sat up, having forgotten what she was wearing—or rather, not wearing. For a moment, Bael’s eyes flicked down her body before he averted his gaze. She pulled the sheets up around her. “I used Emerazel’s fire to bring us here. You were bleeding to death.”

Bael looked at the window, unwilling to make eye contact. “Fiore cannot hide from me. I will rip his sinews from his bones until he talks.”

“I’m not sure he’ll be talking any time soon. I pinned his body to the ground with his own sword before I cut off his head.”

Bael head swiveled back to look at her, and his eyes darkened. “You did what? I needed information from him.”

“I only cut off his head after he told me me where to find Abrax.”

A hint of surprise flickered in Bael’s eyes. “Where is the usurper hiding?”

“I’m not sure I entirely trust you yet. You did offer up my soul to Fiore, if I recall.”

“That was a tactical decision. Fiore wouldn’t have agreed to a duel if there weren’t something in it for him.”

“What if you’d lost?” She looked him straight in the eyes. “Oh, wait you did lose.” Bael let out a low growl, but Ursula held his gaze. “If I tell you where Abrax is, you must promise never to sell me out again. One of those promises on the honor of Nyxobas or whatever you said before.”

The demon’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. Ursula suspected that the nod might have been a tactical decision as well—not nearly as binding as a verbal pledge.

“Fiore said Abrax went back to Oberon’s,” said Ursula. “Probably should have gone back there to begin with, since that was the last place I saw him.”

“What’s he doing with the fae?”

“No one seems to know, except that they’ve formed some sort of alliance.”

“The fae don’t form alliances with earthly gods.”

“Things have changed, I guess. You have no clue what they’d be doing together?”

Bael looked at the window again, considering the question. “If Abrax and the fae were united, they could make a play for Nyxobas’s shadow kingdom.” He coughed, wincing in pain.

“Are you ok?”

“I’ll manage.”

She eyed the belt binding his enormous chest. “I’m not sure if it helped, but I bound your wounds.”

“Of course you did.” His pale eyes threatened to pierce her soul. “You won’t stand a chance against Abrax without me.”

“I did pretty well against your vampire friend.”

Bael’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. “Fiore was a dead man as soon as his second became involved,” he said through clenched teeth.

Obviously, this was a tender subject. She glanced at his shoulder, which seemed to be clotting. “I got out the bolt that they shot you with, but I couldn’t do anything for the wound.”

“You mean the quarrel?” Bael’s fists unclenched a little. “It was carved from a hawthorn tree. Hawthorn wood is an anathema to creatures of the night, especially if it’s forged with iron.”

Ursula winced inwardly, thinking of how the wound had smoked when she’d pulled the bolt from his chest. “You’re better now?”

“Good as new.”

She crossed her arms in front of the sheet. “There’s one little problem. We can’t get into Oberon’s without the invitation of a fae.”

“Ursula. I am the Sword of Nyxobas. I go where I choose.”

“You take that name quite seriously, don’t you?”

His eyes lingered over her bare legs for a moment before his jaw tightened. He turned, walking out of the room. “Seven hells, woman. Put on some clothes.”