“Why? I’m sure she wanted to be here.” Ursula’s stomach clenched. She must be out of her mind with worry.
“What if he’d died? Do you think she’d have wanted to be there for that? Do you think she’d want it to plague her nightmares for the rest of her life?”
Ursula shook her head. “I’m sure she could decide for herself, if you hadn’t decided for her.”
“She doesn’t yet know what it’s like to watch...” He cut his own sentence short. “Don’t question me.”
Clearly, there was a story there. But she already knew if she probed further, he’d rebuff her.
Bael led her through the archway into a stone tunnel, their footsteps echoing off the ceiling. She tried to block out the pain lancing her shoulders—every step was an agony, and she could hardly keep pace with Bael.
He turned to look at her, then spoke a few words in Angelic. A glowing orb appeared in front of them, casting a dull light on the rough stone walls.
She swallowed hard. “I’m confused why you’d care about protecting Cera’s feelings. You said the oneiroi are not our friends.”
Pearly light shone at the end of the tunnel.
“No. They’re not, but that doesn’t mean we must be cruel to them.” He stole a glance at her. “You fought well today.”
“I don’t feel great about everything I saw today.”
“It’s not your first battle. You fought the oneiroi in the fae realm.”
She bit her lip. “Yes, but they seemed so vicious then. So inhuman. Now that I know Massu drew spaceships as a little boy, it will be hard to cut his head off. Plus, this battle served no purpose except to entertain people I hate. They could have just given you your manor back and saved us all the carnage. But where would the fun be in that, for people like Hothgar?”
At the end of the tunnel, they stepped out into the cold night air. On the barren, gray land, lines of carriages wound over the landscape. Bael turned, walking a few paces to his black and silver carriage.
He pulled open the door, motioning for her to enter.
She sat, laying the sword across her lap, and he climbed in next to her, closing the door.
“Take off your jacket,” he said.
She did as instructed, peeling off the black leather jacket. Blood poured from her shoulder, and she tried not to look at the deep gash that had ripped through tendons and muscle.
Bael’s jaw tightened at the sight of it. Remus’s blade had found its way past her jacket’s collar, straight into her flesh.
He touched her skin, just on the edges of her wound, and closed his eyes. Shadow magic swirled from his body, rushing over her injury in a soothing wave. She could feel the pain leaving her shoulder, replaced by a soft tingling sensation, a powerful caress.
Warmth radiated from his fingertips. Were these gentle hands the same ones that had just slaughtered four demons?
She gazed into his eyes, and her pulse raced. Maybe it was the trauma of the fight, but with him so close to her, with his powerful hands on her body, she couldn’t think straight.
“Where else are you injured?” he asked softly.
It took her a moment to remember how to speak. “My back.”
He glanced away. “You’ll need to take off the corset, and face the other way.”
Her pulse raced faster, and she turned away from him. She slowly began unbuttoning the front of her corset, then pulled it off. Her nipples hardened in the cold air.
She felt Bael’s warm fingertips trace just over the wound. “You were protected by two layers of Cera’s armor, I see. What weapon cut through to your flesh?”
“A scythe.”
“Did you kill the reaper?”
“Yes.”
She felt his magic washing over her skin, soothing the pain and warming her body at the same time. When she could no longer feel the pain from the cut, Bael’s fingertips grazed lower over her back, and heat shot through her body. Despite the cold, a blush rose on her chest.
She tensed. Ursula, you sick bastard. Why was she thinking about sex now? She’d just taken part in a massacre.
Bael pulled his hand away. “You can dress again.
She pulled the corset around herself, buttoning it up again. She was certain her cheeks were flushed, and that Bael would notice the blush on her body, the dilated pupils. What would he think of her getting turned on by his touch after everything that had just happened?
Then again, she was pretty sure she’d read once that sex and death went hand-in-hand. During the bubonic plague, people reacted one of two ways: they walked through the streets, whipping themselves in penitence. Or they shagged strangers in the woods.
Apparently, she was the stranger-shagging type. If she had to guess, Bael was probably more likely the self-flagellating kind.
She fastened the button on the top of her corset. “Are we going?”
“You must return to the manor, but I’m not joining you.”
“Why not?”