Agony seared her shoulder as a claw pierced clean through her. With a jerk she was lifted off her feet, skewered like a piece of meat at a slaughterhouse. One of Abrax’s arms slipped around her waist, and he breathed into her ear. “Now, I’ve got you.”
The pain stole her breath. She needed to call on her fire—to burn him off her, but she couldn’t think straight. My sword… where is my sword? She glanced down at Honjo on the floor. In the shock of the pain, she’d dropped him.
Abrax tore at her shoulder again, and she let out an agonized scream.
“I have someone you need to meet,” he said in his honeyed voice. The talon had punched out under her collar bone, and agony burned through her mind, her vision blurring.
“You’ve disrupted my plans,” he said.
She closed her eyes, trying to manage the pain. She heard Abrax open a door, and then he ripped his talon from her shoulder. When her body hit the floor, her vision went dark for a few moments. When it cleared again, she found herself staring at bare stone walls.
Gasping, she tried to take a deep breath, but her chest ached. Blood bubbled from under her shirt. Abrax must have punctured a lung. At least she knew Starkey’s Conjuration spell now.
As she whispered the spell, a soothing magic washed over her, healing her injured shoulder. She gasped with relief, all the pain ebbing from her body. I will never again take the absence of pain for granted.
Standing shakily, she surveyed the gloomy cell. Iron bars blocked the windows, and iron plates lined the walls. The door behind her was solid metal. There was even an iron cot in the corner. She looked closer, her blood chilling. A body lay on it.
“Hello?”
No response. Ursula dug out the dagger from her boot. It’s probably a corpse, but better safe than sorry.
A dirty blanket covered the figure—a man by the shape of him, his head turned to the wall.
“Hello?” She said it louder this time.
Holding the dagger ready, she rolled him onto his back and stifled a scream.
Kester.
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.