The sigil. If only she could find something flammable.
Her eyes darted to the bar in the back, and she rushed across the blood-slicked floor, stepping over the guard’s corpse. Bottles lined the back shelves, and with a shaking hand she snatched a bottle of a dark-looking spirit. She popped the cork and gave the bottle a sniff, then grimaced. It had to be at least a hundred proof.
The bass deepened. Thump. Thump. Thump. Distantly, the crowd cheered, the party still raging. Maybe incubi and hellhounds falling to their deaths from the king’s balcony was an everyday occurrence here. She wanted out of this awful place.
In the center of the room, she poured the whiskey in the shape of Emerazel’s sigil.
Thump. Thump. The bass was so loud it rattled the floor. How could they continue to dance, with the two pulverized bodies in their midst?
The beat was almost deafening. Something was happening in the hall, but just as she started toward the edge, a gust of icy wind rushed over her skin. She stared in horror as enormous wings rose above the balcony. Thump. Thump. Thump. She stared into Abrax’s cold, beautiful face.
He looked glorious and terrifying at the same time, like a medieval painting of the Angel of Darkness. His body had transformed, and claws and talons had grown from his hands and feet. All around him, black mist twisted and swirled like ink in water. His frigid gaze fixed on hers.
“Did you think I forgot about you?” Gracefully, he landed on the edge of the balcony and stalked closer.
Ice ran up her spine, and she stumbled back. Where the fuck is that sword? Her gaze landed on the king’s halberd, discarded on the floor. She dove for it just as the incubus swooped in, his talons raking the wood. She slid across the floor, grasping for the weapon, but the incubus caught her leg with one of his talons, yanking her toward him, ripping through her flesh. As the pain pierced her, she unleashed an agonized scream.
Abrax flipped her over, yanking her under him and pinning her to the floor, claws piercing her wrists. He was going to tear all the flesh from her bones, and the agony blinded her. She arched her back, screaming.
“Really, Ursula. That blade wouldn’t have stopped me,” he growled, his leathery wings spread out above her, and pressed his claws further into her flesh. Pain screamed through her forearms.
Her pulse raced, the pain so intense she couldn’t think straight. She wouldn’t be able to fight him anymore, not with her muscles torn apart. “What do you want from me?” she managed.
He leaned closer, whispering, “I want to know who you are.” His voice was soft, seductive.
She gritted her teeth, trying to think through the agony. “You and me both,” she choked out. Fury flooded her, and she let Emerazel’s fire blaze, burning like the sun’s core, until it seared the incubus’s hands, igniting his clothes. He leapt up, his wings beating the air. Embers sparked from his wings, and he swooped over the main hall, circling like a beast of prey. He wasn’t finished with her.
Blood poured from her wrists, and flames licked at her body. Emerazel’s fire had ignited the whiskey, and the sigil blazed brightly around her.
Her eyes flicked to Abrax, who was diving right for her, his face etched with cold wrath. She closed her eyes and chanted the sigil spell, just before the incubus’s powerful body had the chance to slam into her.
Chapter 32
Ursula reconstituted on the floor of the sigil room. For once, she’d remembered to hold her breath, but the pain that tore through her arms and legs was far worse than the soot in her lungs. She glanced down at her ravaged forearms, and the gashes in her leg from Abrax’s talons. They had ripped right into the muscle, and blood pumped from the wounds. Dizzy, she tried to stand, pain splintering her limbs, and only made it to her knees. Her body shook violently, and nausea overwhelmed her. An image flashed in her mind of the slumped fae corpse—the man she’d so casually killed.
She couldn’t give in yet. What if Kester was still in the fae realm, still alive somehow and being tortured to death? Nauseated, she stayed on all fours, watching the blood pour from her wounds.
Kester could have saved his own skin at least once by giving her up to Emerazel after her failure. Was that why he’d been so reckless tonight—because he knew he’d probably die anyway? Her stomach heaved, and she vomited.