First, she needed to get out of her tattered, stained gown. She raced upstairs to the bathroom, stripping off her dress and turning on the shower. She stepped in, letting the hot stream of water wash the blood into the drain. She was already feeling better. After just a minute, she turned it off and toweled dry before crossing to her bedroom.
She rifled through her drawers for some of the black clothes Kester had bought her. If I’m going to be an assassin, might as well own it. Kester had been right—she wasn’t a “spring colors” girl anymore. She was a demonic killer, and it was time to get used to it. If nothing else, she wanted to hunt down Abrax and rip out his claws, one by one.
She slipped into a pair of black leather pants, her black boots, and a dark top before pulling on a jacket.
She needed to hunt down the incubus. She’d get Zee’s soul back, and then she’d slaughter him for what he’d done to Kester. Or, at least, she’d die trying.
Except—hadn’t Kester said he’d been searching for Abrax for years with no success, and that tonight had been their only chance? So where the hell was she supposed to start? She didn’t know the first thing about demonic lairs.
She crossed through the hall, thundering down the stairs. Whatever the case, she needed to start by reclaiming Zee’s unconscious body.
She hurried to the armory, grabbing Honjo from the rack. A sense of strength flooded her as soon as she picked him up.
In a drawer under the rack of weapons, she found the Kevlar sheath that allowed her to attach the sword to her back. As she armored up, she stole a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked like an angel of death. Good. That was what she was tonight.
On her way to the sigil room, she grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen, taking a long slug and grimacing as it burned her throat. This would do to light the sigil.
As she poured the whiskey into the furrows of Emerazel’s sigil, she chanted the words she’d learned the first night she’d met Kester. At the last word, flames engulfed her, burning her body to cinders.
Moments later, she was hunched over on her hands and knees in Kester’s boat, coughing. Dammit, why can’t I remember to hold my breath?
Only moonlight lit the inside of the boat. The cold stove stood in the center of the room, its fire now dead. As the sigil flames cooled around her, she caught Kester’s scent—his warm, cedar smell, and her heart ached.
Her jaw tightened. There was no time for sentiment now. She had a mission to accomplish. But before she could rise, she saw the blade of a sword coming right for her head.
Chapter 34
She leapt away, hitting the floor hard and rolling behind the bookshelf they’d moved earlier. Somewhere on the other side of the cabin, her attacker chanted in Angelic—a spell for light—and a luminescent orb appeared in the center of the room. So much for hiding in shadows.
Kester had told her not to enter a fight unless she had a good chance of winning, so she wanted to get an idea of exactly who she’d be fighting. From her position, peeking around the bookshelf’s edge, she could see his outline glinting in the orb light. Armor—fae armor. She’d killed one fae tonight. She’d kill another if she had to.
The fae soldier’s heels clacked over the boards, and she reached over her shoulder to unsheathe Honjo, stepping out from behind the bookshelf.
The man had long, honeyed hair, and his handsome face split into a wide grin. His suit of armor was ornate complete with silver vambraces to protect his forearms. “Looking for a fight, little girl?”
“Yes, unless you want to take this opportunity to piss off, which I strongly suggest. For your own benefit,” she added, for emphasis. She was going to have to work on her sword fighting smack-talk.
Laughter danced in his eyes, but in the next moment, his face hardened, telegraphing an imminent strike.
Ursula parried gracefully, knocking his sword into one of the wooden bookcases. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I already killed one of your brothers tonight. What’s one more?”
The guard ignored her, yanking his sword free with a growl.
His movement left an opening, and with a flick of her wrist, she slid her blade between his hand and the vambrace, slicing his skin. He grimaced, and she pulled away her bloodstained sword. “I did warn you.”
“My orders are to bring you to Oberon. Dead or alive.”
This time, he didn’t telegraph his strike, and she had to dodge behind the stove. He stalked after her, armor creaking, backing her into a corner. She sliced Honjo, but the fae parried, sparks showering from their swords. He rounded the edge of the stove, swinging for her face. She ducked, and his blade whistled through the air only inches above her head. She had to do something offensive, but she didn’t know how to penetrate that fae armor without room to wind up in the cramped corner.
The image of Kester’s falling body blazed through her mind again, and fury flooded her. She lowered her shoulder and charged.