Chapter 43

The hellhound gaped at her vacantly—the same glazed look she’d seen on Zee’s face. Abrax had drunk his soul.

A lump rose in her throat, and her hands trembled. “I thought you were dead.” Even if he couldn’t feel it, she slipped her arms around his neck, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. She’d grieved for him. And, now there was a chance—a very small chance, but one all the same—that she could save them both.

Apart from the fact that I don’t stand a chance against the incubus.

She pinched Kester’s arm, but his eyes remained shut. He wasn’t waking up. The silence of the room was oppressive, broken only by an uneven drip of water.

Sitting on the end of the cot, she ran through her options. She still had the dagger, the reaping pen in her pocket, and a half-consumed flask of scotch. A lesser woman would finish off the rest of the scotch right now. She could get them out of here with Emerazel’s sigil, but that would leave Bael behind, and she still wouldn’t have anyone’s soul. Her friend would die, and Emerazel would send her to the inferno. Not a great outcome.

Could she kill Abrax? Maybe stab him with the pen when he returned? Unlikely.

Bollocks. What other options did she have? Abrax wouldn’t leave her in the cell forever. He’d be back to suck her soul or slowly torture her to death.

She’d need to stab him with the reaping pen. That was the best bet. If she stood by the door with her back flat against the wall, she might have a chance. She’d slash with the dagger and jam the pen into his chest.

Before she could move to the door, she heard a shuffling on the other side of it, then the iron ripped open with a bang. There goes my element of surprise.

The dark silhouette of a man stood in the doorway. Not Abrax. Not Bael. Yet she knew instantly he was one of them. Another powerful shadow demon. Darkness emanated from him, and fear slid through her bones. The lights dimmed, and around her, the room seemed to fall away. She now stood on the edge of a precipice, black and bottomless—a void. Her entire body went cold, and for a moment the chasm called to her, beckoning her into its bottomless depths.

The room refocused as the demon studied her, his eyes shining like starlight. Ursula lifted her dagger.

The demon stepped closer. His skin was pale as milk, a stark contrast to his raven-black hair. He wore a black cloak that swirled around him like smoke on the wind. His stunning features looked a lot like Abrax’s. “Put the dagger away,” he cautioned, his cold voice sliding over her skin.

Ursula clutched the dagger in front of her. As she recognized his face, terror ripped her mind apart. He had the icy eyes of the man in her dreams. “Who are you?” she stammered.

“Most know me as Nyxobas.”

A sharp tendril of dread pierced her.

Looking past her at Kester’s limp form, the god continued, “Kester and I have met previously. You, however, are new to me.” Yet, the way he said it, she could tell he wasn’t convinced. “Who are you?”

“Ursula,” she stammered.

“Ursula.” He closed his eyes, savoring the word like it was a delicious morsel. “Like the constellation?”

“I guess.” Why had Abrax wanted her to meet the god of night? “Why are you here?

“Abrax summoned me. It seems that Bael has gotten into some trouble.”

“He’s alive?”

“What do you care if a demon lives or dies?” Nyxobas’s eyes narrowed.

“He helped me.”

Nyxobas studied her with a keen intelligence. “Interesting.” turned, beckoning her to follow. She didn’t know where he was taking her, but questioning a god seemed like a bad idea. Ursula stuffed the dagger into her belt and followed Nyxobas into the starlit stone hall.

Bael and Abrax stood a few feet from each other, and Abrax glared.

Nyxobas stalked in front of the incubus, his cloak swirling around him. “Abrax, my oldest son. Why have you carved The Sword’s wings from his shoulders?”

Abrax’s eyes burned with cold rage. “Bael is weak. The edge of Nyxobas’s Sword has grown dull—so dull that he allowed one of Emerazel’s hounds to imprison him and torture him. It was that cur who carved the wings from his back. I merely tried to retrieve them for you.”

Nyxobas turned to Bael. “Is this true?” The rage in his voice was unmistakable.

“It is.” A line of blood dripped from the corner of Bael’s mouth, but he didn’t wipe it away.

Bloody hell, this isn’t going well. She needed to intervene. “Did your son mention that he murdered the fae king?” said Ursula.

The god’s eyes bored into her and the edge of his lip twitched. “The fae are worthless, godless creatures.”

At his words, she thought she saw a flicker of fury cross Abrax’s face.

Nyxobas turned to Bael, his voice steely. “You know the punishment for losing your wings?”

“Yes.” His eyes flicked to Ursula’s again, but she couldn’t read his meaning. He dropped to his knees. The blood roared in Ursula’s ears as Nyxobas gripped his sword.

An execution.That was the unspoken punishment. Bael would be sent to the inferno. I need to do something.

But what the hell was she supposed to do? Nyxobas was a god. She didn’t stand a chance against him.

Nyxobas raised the sword. In moments Bael’s head would be rolling to her feet, and his soul?—

“Stop!” Ursula shouted. “If you kill him his soul goes to Emerazel.”

Nyxobas’s eyes flashed to hers. Pure malevolence bored into her, but he stayed his sword. “What?”

“I took his soul for the fire goddess. When he lay asleep, I forced him to sign.”

“Is that true?” Nyxobas’s voice was pure wrath.

“I felt the change in my soul. It has been tainted,” said Bael, and the agonized tone of his voice suggested he’d have preferred death to this admission.

Nyxobas threw the sword to the ground, unleashing a primal roar.