Shadows & Flame Complete Boxed Set: Demons of Fire and Night Novels

by C. N. Crawford

  He held out his hand. “I’ll need your phone.”

  Still manacled, she jammed her free hand into her back pocket and pulled out her phone with a shaking hand. She passed it to him, watching as he slipped it into his coat. Dread welled in her chest. He was enormous and strong, and she didn’t think she could outrun him. She’d have to fight him, though her chances weren’t good there, either.

  “Wear this.” Kester handed Ursula the jacket, then leaned over her, unlocking the handcuff with a gold key. “Don’t try anything stupid. You won’t outrun me.”

  Christ. Can he read my thoughts? Stepping out of the car, she slipped into the grey parka, welcoming its warmth. If she was going to fight him in remote fields, she didn’t need the added disadvantage of hypothermia. She pulled up the hood, eyeing him cautiously. You didn’t give a jacket to someone you wanted to murder, did you? Then again, he was obviously stark raving mad.

  A beep sounded as he locked the doors with the key fob. “I’m going to make sure that we’re alone. Stay here.” Clouds of breath bloomed around his face.

  Like hell I’m going to stay here. If she strained her eyes, she could see lights shining on the other side of the fields. There was a faint smell of wood smoke in the air. As soon as he was gone she’d jump the fence, sprint across the field, and run to the nearest house to dial 999. The next time she’d see Kester’s pretty face would be on the evening news.

  He turned away from her, then glanced back with a wolfish grin. “You should know that if you decide to run, I’ll sniff you out before you can get 100 meters. It’s only fair to warn you.”

  Sniff me out? Creep. She shivered, trying not to picture a madman sniffing around her ankles.

  Kester faced the berm, tilting back his head. He began to mutter.

  What happened next went beyond creepy and right into the realm of pure terror.

  As he spoke, his body began to tremble. Panic spread through Ursula as she watched the side of his face transform. His nose protruded, and his clothes disappeared into dark fur. With a sharp crack, his spine lurched forward, bones snapping as they repositioned. Where Kester had been only moments before, now there stood an enormous black hound.

  When it turned to Ursula, the beast’s eyes glowed green.

  Ursula’s heart stopped.

  She stumbled back toward the car, gaping. Kester isn’t human. It’s real. Witches, magic—the fire goddess, my condemned soul. Her world tilted.

  The beast prowled toward her, sniffing the air before emitting a growl than rumbled through her bones.

  She tried to steady the shaking in her hands, balling her fingers into fists. I’m losing my mind.

  Then the hound turned, bounded up the berm, and disappeared into the darkness.

  Alone by the Lotus, Ursula felt a cold wind bite through her clothes. Kester’s transformation from man to hound had shattered her very understanding of reality, and her blood roared in her ears. For a moment, she wondered if she’d hallucinated the whole scene.

  Maybe she’d stolen this car, dreamt up a beautiful dog-man, and convinced herself that her life had a purpose—that she wasn’t just a screwed-up, unemployed loser, but was part of a new magical reality.

  Or maybe Madeleine was right. Witches were real, and Kester was one of them—just like the monsters who had terrorized Boston.

  She watched the snow drifting to the ground, trying to root herself in reality. A sudden ability to conjure fire with her thoughts wasn’t exactly normal. Still, she’d assumed there was a scientific explanation she just didn’t know about. It wasn’t like she’d spent a lot of time in biology classrooms, so maybe she’d missed something.

  But magic and werewolves were the stuff of fairy stories. And she didn’t want to believe in them, because if magic was real then maybe the gaping-eyed monsters of her nightmares were real, too. A gut-churning image flickered in her memory—a beautiful man with midnight eyes, and a smile cold as death… She shook her head, pushing the image beneath the surface.

  Her breath came thick and ragged. Focus, Ursula. Did I really just see a man transform into a hound? Or have I lost my mind? The most likely explanation was that she was a mental case—a newly unemployed mental case—with imaginary magical powers. Perhaps she had only just now come to her senses, alone in a field with a stolen car. But mental cases didn’t really come to their senses so suddenly, did they?

  So what the hell do I do now? Do I run, or will that beast hunt me down and tear the flesh from my bones?

  A distant shriek pierced the frozen night, and a moment later the hound bounded down the slope. Blood dripped from its jaws. Her stomach flipped, and panic threatened to overwhelm her. She stepped back again, her calves thudding against the Lotus’s fender.

  Panting, the beast retracted its claws, and its snout shortened. As Kester’s spine straightened, clothing spread over his body and the fur disappeared, revealing the smooth skin of a movie star.

  Her breath came in short, sharp bursts. No, she hadn’t finally cracked. People didn’t assess their own sanity while they were hallucinating, which meant that Kester was telling the truth. Apparently, Ursula’s soul belonged to a fire goddess.

  Bloody hell. What the hell had F.U. been doing with her life?

  Kester wiped a hand across his mouth. “Looks like we’re alone.” He followed Ursula’s eyes to the blood staining the snow. “Sorry about that. I was hungry.”

  Her fists clenched tighter, her nails digging into her palms. Who did he just kill? “Did you—” she stammered, “just eat someone?”

  Kester smiled wolfishly. “Not a person. What sort of monster do you think I am? Just an old ewe I found on my way back here. Put her out of her misery to be perfectly honest.” He scratched his cheek. “She shouldn’t have been outside in this weather.”

  Ursula exhaled. A sheep. It was only a sheep.

  Kester glanced at her. “We can’t talk all night. We have business to attend to, since you wanted the damn trial.”

  “I have no idea what’s going on. F.U. wanted it.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Former Ursula. It’s what I call the version of myself I can’t remember.”

  He glared at her like she was the mad one—as if he hadn’t just eaten a raw sheep—then crossed toward the car, clicking open the boot. The car lights shone on his dark hair while he rummaged around.

  Straightening, he pulled out a long object wrapped in black leather. With a flick of his wrist he yanked the sheath away, revealing an ancient sword. Strange patterns wove and writhed along its iron blade as though it were alive, and the air left her lungs.

  Okay. Now I know how he intends to kill me.

  Chapter 6

  Ursula’s chest unclenched a little when Kester shoved the sword back into its sheath. He slammed the boot shut, turning to climb the slope. “Come, my dear. You’ve got work to do up the hill.”

  He trudged toward the bank, and she was left with only the sound of the wind rushing across the snow. She glanced one last time at the distant lights twinkling in the night. If she ran in an all-out sprint, she could be sitting before a fireplace in five minutes. But she’d never make it. Kester would hunt her down like the ewe he’d so casually disemboweled.

  Dread wrapped its fingers around her heart as she climbed up the slope. I have to get out of here. Her best bet would be to convince Kester she was stupid, and then disarm him when he least expected it. In fact, given his condescending tone, there was a good chance he already thought she was an idiot.

  If she could get the sword from him, she stood a chance. She was skilled with a sword, even if she had no idea how she’d learned. When she’d been discovered in the church, she had no memories beyond her name. But even though she had no idea who she was, the doctors who’d treated her had explained that she still had something called “procedural memory.” She remembered how to walk, cut up her food, and speak English. She couldn’t type, which meant she’d never learned, but as soon as she saw a
piano, she’d been struck by a certainty that she knew what sounds her fingers would make on its keys. She just had no memory of how she’d learned to play in the first place.

  When she thought of sword fighting, it was the same. She could imagine herself wielding a blade with precision, each thrust and parry as familiar to her as the movements of walking. As she envisioned herself fighting, a little of the terror seeped out of her chest, and she smiled to herself. In all likelihood, Kester was not counting on her expertise in this area. At least F.U. had done something right for her.

  The berm was more slippery than she’d expected, and near the apex she had to scramble on her hands and knees so as not to slide down its side. On the flattened hilltop, she straightened, shielding her eyes as a strong gust of wind whipped snow into her face.

  When she’d wiped the snow from her eyes, she found herself standing beside an enormous grey rock, its rough-hewn surface crusted with ice. Two more stones rose from the ground on either side, and if she strained her eyes, she could see the dim edges of more boulders curving off into the darkness.

  Kester gripped his sheathed sword. He nodded at one of the rocks. “What do you think of the ringstones?”

  She turned to gape at him. Is he seriously making small talk? And what sort of opinion was she supposed to have on rocks?

  “They’re big.” She kept her eyes on the weapon that swung by his hips. “But why are we here?”

  “A trial can only be conducted in a place of ancient magic.” With the sword tucked under one arm, he led her further into the stone circle. As they walked, another ring of giant stones came into view.

  She took a deep breath. How, exactly, was she going to distract him long enough to get that sword? He’d nearly lured her into his trap through the power of suggestion, but that really wasn’t part of her skill set. Especially not when she was stuffed into a grey parka, half freezing to death.

  Then again, men could be simple-minded creatures.

  Kester turned to her. “We need to be within the inner circle.”

  She shivered, gazing out over the dark and empty fields. If she could move in close enough to kiss him, she could ram her elbow into his Adam’s apple. He’d drop the sword immediately. And yet, a voice in the back of her mind urged her to follow him.

  Maybe, if she survived whatever the hell was about to happen, she could learn the truth about herself, about where she’d come from. If she killed him, she’d be stuck in the darkness forever. There was also the fact that she didn’t particularly want to drive a sword through someone’s heart, even if he was a psychopath. She’d have to see how this played out before she did anything drastic.

  They reached the second circle of stones. Crusted in ice, the monoliths towered over Ursula. Her heart pounded.

  His green eyes flashed like storm clouds in the dark. “Wait here a moment.”

  Cold fear inched up her spine. A few feet from her, Kester pulled the sword from its sheath. Puffs of frozen breath drifted from his mouth as he whispered over the weapon. When he finished, a glowing orb appeared, hovering above his head and illuminating a small patch of snowy grass in the center of the stones. The word magic rang again in her head, and her body thrummed with a dark thrill. It’s real.

  Gripping the sword in both hands, Kester raised it above his head, blade pointing toward the earth.

  “O’ shadow stalker.” His voice was firm. “A thane awaits a trial.” He stabbed the frozen earth with the blade.

  Ursula’s stomach clenched. What the hell is a shadow stalker? And, is this thane supposed to be me?

  The wind died, and a deathly, unnatural silence enveloped them. The orb’s flickering glow revealed nothing beyond the stones. In the icy air, each intake of breath froze Ursula’s throat.

  A snowflake fell on her eyelash and she blinked. Had something shifted in the darkness just beyond the inner stones? The hair rose on the nape of her neck.

  She whipped her head around, sensing an unseen danger. “Kester, what—”

  He lifted a silencing finger, still holding the sword’s hilt. As he raised his eyes, he seemed to search the stones. “Moor fiend, reveal yourself.” His grip tightened on the pommel of the sword.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs, and time seemed to stretch out as she waited.

  Between the stones, she could make out a faint outline—tall and hunched, and nearly as large as the rocks themselves. Her breath caught in her throat. What is that?

  Kester beckoned Ursula to come closer. “Shadow stalker, I have brought you a thane to battle.”

  Her mouth went dry, her spine stiff with fear, but she stepped toward Kester. I can do this—whatever this is. I know how to use a sword.

  He looked at her, one hand still on his sword. “You wouldn’t sign the pact,” he said in his velvety voice. “This is the third option. If you defeat the wight, you’ll become a servant of Emerazel, like I am. You can repay your debt that way.”

  She took a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t really want to do that either. Can’t I just go back to my flat—”

  “Ursula,” he interrupted. “You must decide now. Either sign the contract or defeat the monster. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to reap your soul. I don’t particularly want to do that. It means you’ll die now.”

  From just beyond the stones, a guttural growl rumbled. A shiver snaked up Ursula’s spine. She had a feeling that whatever was out there wanted her soul, too. She gritted her teeth, nodding. Shadow stalker it is.

  With his eyes locked on hers, Kester released the sword, stepping away. Ursula tried to steady her breathing, stepping toward it.

  She inhaled deeply, yanking the sword from the frozen earth. Lighter than I thought.

  Kester stepped away. “The wight will enter the circle when the light dims. You must defeat him.”

  As she gripped the sword in both hands, she took a tentative swing. The blade moved easily through the air, and she nearly smiled at the sensation, relief flooding her for the first time tonight. Somehow the sword felt like an extension of her body, like one of her own limbs. F.U. must have swung a sword a thousand times before.

  Kester chanted a spell, and as the air crackled with electricity, fur sprouted from his body. He lurched over, bones cracking; with a deep growl, he transformed into a hound. For a moment, he studied her, green eyes flashing, before bounding from the circle.

  Above her, the orb began to dim.

  Chapter 7

  Despite the cold, sweat dampened her brow, and she gripped the sword hard. This blade would be her savior.

  She strained to see in the dark, but she could no longer make out the monster’s hunched form. The wind picked up again, spraying snow between gaps in the ringstones.

  She lifted her weapon, trying to keep the fear at bay. I’m a sitting duck here. Her mind raced. She was at a serious disadvantage, since she had no idea where or what this shadow stalker was. At least a stone could guard her back. She backed into the shelter of the nearest one.

  To her right, something scratched at one of the stones, and she spun to face it. She held the sword in front of her, her breathing ragged. Ice flaked off the boulder, drifting to the ground, and fear stole her breath. Snow crunched behind her, and she whirled again. More fragments, crumbled off the stones. Where was this monster? A low growl spread through the circle, rumbling through her gut, followed by a sharp, scraping sound.

  The fiend is sharpening its claws.

  Without the orb, darkness enshrouded her. She pressed her back against the basalt rock, her sword wavering as she peered into the darkened center of the circle. How did one see something made of shadows?

  In the center of the stones, something whirled—tendrils of black on a phantom wind, deeper and darker than the night sky. Please let me get through this.

  From two feet above her head, yellow eyes flickered into existence, as large as dinner plates. Panic inched up her spine. The fiend was at least eight feet tall. Following the eyes, its body shimmered into
view, shoulders as broad as a ringstone.

  A wave of fear slammed into her. Sure, she knew how to swing a blade, but did she know how to fight a giant?

  She clutched the sword, pulse racing as the fiend lurched forward. It balanced on the knuckles of a long arm, like a monstrous gorilla. She readied herself for its attack.

  It lunged, swiping at her with a clawed hand. She dove to the side, slashing upward, but the blade cut only air. Scrambling to her feet, she searched frantically for the monster, but it was gone.

  Bollocks bollocks bollocks. It had only feinted to draw her away from the safety of the stone. She whipped her head around, searching for her opponent—but not fast enough. The creature’s arm flew from the darkness behind her, slamming into her side like a cudgel.

  The sound of her arm and ribs snapping cracked through the air, and she was lifted off her feet. She slammed into the frozen earth next to one of the blue stones, and pain shot through her like a white-hot knife. She screamed.

  A wet, guttural sound drowned out her cries. Laughter.

  Agony pulled her apart. I can’t die here. I can’t die alone, not knowing who I really am. She gritted her teeth and pulled herself to her feet, lifting her sword. The monster had smashed her left arm, and something warm and metallic dripped from her mouth. Blood.

  She turned her head toward a movement. The fiend was creeping into the circle again, eyes blazing yellow.

  She glared back, her jaw set tight. If I’m going to die tonight, it’s going to be on my terms. She slashed at its ribs, but despite its enormous size the shadow stalker dodged easily. Fighting this thing was like trying to grip a plume of smoke.

  A third option, Kester had called it, but this trial was just a slow and terrifying execution. The moor fiend was toying with her. Kester was probably enjoying every minute of it. He’d sacrificed her to this monster, before she’d even come to grips with the existence of magic.