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

by C. N. Crawford

  “Of course I trust Kester. I’ve known him a very long time.” They reached the top of the stairs—Hugo’s level. “I don’t think he likes collecting souls any more than you do. But there is no other option, believe me.”

  They strode down the hall toward Hugo’s box, and Ursula clutched her wyrm-skin purse. “Do you know why Kester carved his mark?”

  “Yes, but it’s not for me to tell.” Zee paused at a door. “I think this is Hugo’s. Do you want me to go in first?”

  “I think that’s a good idea. It’s likely to alarm him when he sees his own damnation coming for him.” Plus, Zee could glamour everyone around him. Ursula pulled her pen from her purse, ready to charm the pants off Hugo.

  Zee open the door, and Ursula lingered in the doorway, keeping in the shadows—just like a good hellhound.

  “Oh hi, Zee!” Virginie trilled, throwing her arms in the air. “I didn’t know you were going to be at the Opera tonight.”

  “Hi, Virginie.” Zee’s glamour was utterly convincing. Too bad Hugo wasn’t there.

  Zee’s hand flew to her chest. “Where’s your gorgeous date?”

  “He went to the little boy’s room.”

  Ursula began to slip away. Of course. That’s where I have all my traumatic encounters with pop stars.

  The theater’s lights flickered, signaling the end of intermission. Show time, Ursula. She turned, hurrying through the hall, the bone-colored pen clutched tight in her fist.

  A few stragglers rushed back to their seats in the corridor. At the end of the hall, Ursula spied a door labeled Men in gold lettering. No bodyguards—good. That would simplify things.

  Ursula swallowed hard, trying not to think about fire. She glanced behind her to make sure no one was around, then slipped inside.

  Gilded moldings and pictures of famous opera singers decorated the walls.

  “Hello?” she called out in her most soothing voice. “Hugo, darling?”

  Only the sound of dripping water greeted her, and the faint swell of violins from the orchestra. Shit.

  Ursula’s mind raced through the possibilities. If he’d returned to his box, she would have seen him in the corridor. He wouldn’t have just left Virginie alone at the opera while he went somewhere else, would he?

  Actually, that did seem like something he’d do. This was a guy who’d dumped his girlfriend for wearing the wrong swimsuit.

  But, no—his jacket had been hanging on the back of his chair in the box. He had to be here.

  Maybe he’d gone out for a smoke? She turned, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her auburn hair was piled on her head in a glamorous up-do, a few tendrils cascading over her pale shoulders. If she couldn’t lure Hugo into his own damnation looking like this, she’d never get anyone to sign.

  She turned, eyeing the stalls. The doors reached the floor, so she couldn’t peer under them. Instead, she began pushing them open, one by one. The doors creaked as she opened them. “Hugo, my love. I’ve been wanting to see you again.” Creak. “I thought perhaps I could explain things better.” Creak. “Maybe over some wine—”

  From the furthest stall, a sucking sound interrupted her investigation. What the hell?

  “Hugo, darling?” she said in her most soothing voice. “Is that you?”

  The noise stopped, replaced by the muffled voice of the tenor singing on stage.

  “Hello?” She softened her voice into a low caress, walking toward the final stall, heels clacking on the floor. “Are you there? We got off the wrong foot before, I know. I’m here to make everything better.”

  No response. As she stood before the final stall, the hair rose on her arms. Something felt wrong—the air felt a little too cold, almost electrified. Was it just a draft, or was that dark magic crackling in the air around her? She flicked out the blade of the reaping pen. Dread rose up her throat, and she leaned closer, knocking on the door. “Hugo, my darling. It’s not as bad as you think.” Lies. Horrible, evil lies, tumbling from perfectly-glossed pink lips. She was a monster now.

  She took a deep breath, waiting for his response, but she heard only shuffling in the stall, and a low moan.

  She stepped back. Her heels wouldn’t be good for running, but she could still kick down a door. She hiked up her dress and slammed her foot into the wood. Her kick snapped the lock, sending the door smacking open.

  A rush of fear ran over her skin. The man she’d met earlier—the one with the pale grey eyes—stood, cradling Hugo in his arms like a baby. As soon as the man’s eyes locked on Ursula, he dropped Hugo onto the toilet seat, and the pop star’s head smacked hard against the stall’s wooden walls. His skin had taken on an unhealthy sheen.

  Ursula swallowed hard. What. The. Fuck. “What are you?” she breathed.

  Abe stepped toward her in a single flowing motion, like smoke rising from the wick of an extinguished candle. The air temperature dropped at least ten degrees. He fixed his otherworldly gaze on her, his eyes gunmetal grey.

  He moved closer to her. When he smiled, fear twisted in her gut—but something else, too. She couldn’t stop staring at his smooth, golden skin.

  “Hello, pretty girl.” His voice whispered over her body. When he spoke, it almost felt as though he were touching her with a feather-light stroke. “I was wondering if you’d stop by.”

  She tore her eyes away from him, glancing at the crumpled pop star on the toilet. Nausea welled in her stomach. This was all wrong. “Did you kill him?”

  “I may have been a bit greedy with him. His soul tasted delicious.”

  “You devoured his soul?” Horror slithered over her skin. She had a dizzying feeling she was facing one of those shadow demons Kester had mentioned. And what would Emerazel do when she learned Hugo’s soul had been stolen?

  Abe’s cheek dimpled as he smiled. “Nyxobas needed more souls. I know you understand.” He reached out, stroking her cheek, and his touch sent a thrill racing through her body, pushing out all of her dread. “But of course, you are the real prize this evening. You’re the most beautiful woman here, and it’s not every day I get to consume a hellhound’s soul.”

  Chapter 23

  Her body was growing hot, and sweat beaded on her neck. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but I’ve become quite attached to my soul, and I plan to hang on to it.” His lips looked full and soft, but she forced herself to tear her gaze off them, stepping backward toward the sinks. A strange ache was beginning to fill her body, and she couldn’t stop looking at him.

  Slowly, he moved closer, his eyes trailing over her shoulders, her cleavage, her hips, as if he could see right through her dress to the lacy pink bra and panties underneath, and the thought sent a strange thrill through her belly. What is he doing to me? With a trembling hand, she lifted the blade of the pen toward the center of his chest. “Don’t get any closer. I won’t hesitate to reap your soul.” I need to burn him, but I can’t remember how.

  “You silly little thing.” His eyes blazed with desire. “Do you have any idea how powerful I am?”

  A battle raged in her head—carnal desires warring against the corner of her mind that wanted to bash his head into the tiles. Some traitorous part of her wanted to rip off her dress right there and invite him closer, while the rest of her knew she should stab him with the pen. I need to get out of here.

  She could yell for help, but Emerazel would surely slaughter her for calling attention to herself.

  Abe prowled closer, licking his perfect lips. Ursula let the silky strap of her gown fall lower. She wanted him to see all of her, wanted his hands on her bare skin.

  Just inches from her, he ran a finger over her collarbone, and heat blazed through her. He leaned in, and she arched against him, desperate to feel his lips against hers. “I wish I could take you to Oberon’s. It would be so fun to show off a gorgeous human pet like you, with your perfect breasts and ass…”

  Fuck. Hadn’t Zee and the hairdresser said something about Oberon’s? But it hadn’t soun
ded nearly as tempting as when the word rolled off Abe’s tongue. Whatever Oberon’s was, she wanted to go with him. What was she doing here? She was here for him, wasn’t she? Here to please this god of a man. She felt her legs opening, and her hand slid up his chest. There was something she was supposed to be doing, but her mind was a blank.

  He slipped his hand around the back of her neck, his eyes trailing down her heaving chest. A pleasurable heat radiated from his body, and she could think of nothing but his touch.

  He lowered his mouth to hers, and for one glorious instant an inferno of euphoria flared—until it died as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by a gnawing emptiness and overwhelming sense of revulsion.

  Abe pulled away from her, his face contorted with disgust—just like Ursula felt. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips, as if trying to wipe away her taste.

  “Ugh.” Infuriated, he glared at her, gripping her wrist. “What the hell are you?”

  Rage simmered in her chest. She was getting sick of being treated like a toy for the demons to play with. “I’m a hellhound.” Free of his spell, she could feel the fire rising through her arms, hot and molten. Abe jerked away from her, and she threw a hard punch at his pretty face, thrilling at the smack of knuckles against bone.

  Abe’s head snapped back, and he growled. Faster than a storm wind, his hands were at her throat, and his cold stare hypnotized her. He opened his mouth, sucking in air from her body. As he did, a deep void filled her chest. She kicked his shins, but his eyes remained locked on her, unflinching.

  Her blood rushed in her ears, her limbs tingling and weakening. What is he doing to me? She was going to die in the men’s bathroom at the hands of a pervert she’d just kissed. This was worse than the fake heroin overdose. Abe’s fingers dug into her neck, his icy eyes flashing with cold light.

  Her vision grew dark, and she could hear her own heartbeat growing weaker as he sucked the life from her. Panic exploded in her skull. He’s killing me. Lights flashed before her eyes. Her lungs were going to implode, as the fire inside her guttered and dimmed. A tiny lick of flame danced in the recesses of her mind, and as her energy drained from her body, she tried to stoke it to life, but it sputtered and died. Something else was filling her mind now—a memory: a gleaming sword in the sunlight, in a field overgrown with wildflowers, a smaller sword in her own hand. The blade cut through the air, glinting in the sunlight, as she was taught to wield it.

  Fight, Ursula.

  Someone, long ago, had wanted her to be a warrior.

  Fight.

  She blinked, trying to refocus her vision, and she made out the blurred outline of her attacker. She needed to—

  Thwak! Something hit him in the side of the head, and he released his grip.

  Abe let her crumple to the ground, and her head smacked against the floor, the nape of her neck pressing against the bathroom tiles—cold, just like her body. She felt as though a heavy weight pressed on her, crushing the life out of her. Nearby, Abe was fighting with someone—a woman—but Ursula’s limbs were frozen, drained.

  “Ursula!” they shrieked. Zee?

  She licked her lips. She needed to warn Zee away—Abe’s kiss was death—but she felt herself drifting away, a cold wind whispering over her skin.

  I need to help Zee. She willed herself to get up. She would fight him, smash his pretty face into the tiles.

  With a great force of will, she forced her eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. Abe had drunk so deeply from her it took virtually all her remaining strength to roll to her side. She blinked, her vision coming into focus. Abe, a few feet from her, stood clutching Zee like a rag doll.

  If she’d had any of Emerazel’s fire still within her, she would have tried to scorch him, burn him to ashes, but he’d sucked her dry. She needed to hurt him another way.

  Her eyes flicked to Emerazel’s pen, glinting in the yellow lights just a few feet away. Slowly, like she was moving through quicksand, she reached for it until her knuckles brushed its bony cylinder. She tightened her fingers around it, pulling it into her grasp.

  Zee’s blond hair hung down as Abe held her in his arms, her black high heels dangling over the floor. Ursula inched closer, shivering at the chill that emanated from him. Had she actually been attracted to this monster?

  Gritting her teeth, she rolled closer and stabbed the pen’s blade into his heel with all the strength she could muster.

  He wrenched his foot away with a muffled grunt, then tottered for a moment before crashing to the floor, the knife protruding from his foot. She yanked out the pen, its blade stained with blood.

  “Gods below,” he sputtered.

  A small smile curled her lips. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

  He rose, lunging for her like a lion attacking its prey. She stabbed him again; she’d aimed for his heart, but the blade lodged in his stomach instead.

  On his knees, Abe threw back his head, roaring, the bony pen shaking where it protruded from his gut. He clawed at it, as the wound started to smoke. The smell of burning flesh filled the room. Emerazel’s weapon.

  Abe leapt to his feet in a blur of motion and staggered toward the exit, blood and steam bubbling between his fingers.

  She rose on her elbows, trying out one of her new seductive smiles. “For such a little thing, it’s got a hell of a bite.”

  “Bitch,” he spat before flinging open the door and disappearing into the hall.

  Chapter 24

  Ursula lay on her back and stared at the eggshell-white ceiling, trying to will herself to move.

  But the first step was peeling herself off the bathroom floor. Her legs tingled with pins and needles, and she almost cried with relief when she moved her toes. She pushed herself up, onto her hands and knees. She crawled closer to Zee, panting. Hadn’t Abe said the opera was the perfect place to put aside one’s anxieties? Wanker.

  She crouched next to Zee, her heart tightening at the sight of her. The fae girl’s chest hardly moved. Blood stained her dress and matted her hair, though Ursula was pretty sure that belonged to Abe.

  She reached out, feeling for a pulse on Zee’s neck. It was faint, but blood flowed gently beneath her translucent skin. If she could only get her outside, there was a Bentley waiting for them by the Met’s entrance.

  Thank God Abe hadn’t killed her, but she wasn’t about to walk out of here. How the hell do I wake her up?

  Once, she’d seen someone come back from the dead. Braden, a boy in her first foster home, had a nut allergy, and he’d chowed through a packet of almond macaroons without realizing. He’d passed out in less than five minutes, but an EpiPen had completely revived him.

  That was what epinephrine did, right? It sent hormones racing through your veins. She just needed to get her hands on one. Her pulse raced. This was not a good situation.

  She panted, still trying to catch her breath, her knees pressed into the cold tile. Maybe this was a good time to call Kester.

  As she glanced around for her purse, she heard the door creak open. She lifted her head, bracing for another fight—not that she could fight at this point. A silver-haired opera patron, dressed in a beige suit, stood in the doorframe. Ursula blinked through the fog of exhaustion, trying to make sense of this new player in the game.

  Half-conscious, her first thought was What sort of knob wears a cravat? And her second was He’s going to call the police.

  For a moment, his eyes locked on hers, and she recognized the horror in his face. “Good god!” He shouted. “What did you do?”

  With a tremendous effort, Ursula sat up. Her eyes flicked to Zee, whose jaw hung open like a corpse’s. Of course the man was panicking. He’d just discovered two women on the bathroom floor covered in fresh blood, one of them apparently dead. It was a small mercy he couldn’t see Hugo’s corpse slumped over the toilet in the stall.

  She imagined how the next twenty minutes would go down. First, Silver-Hair would alert security and call the police. They’d find Hugo’s
carcass. None of the authorities would believe her when she described Abe’s death kiss, and as the only conscious person in the room, she could find herself accused of the pop star’s murder, as well as some sort of assault on Zee. Her heart thrummed.

  “I’ll get the police,” he stammered. “Security.”

  So much for staying in the bloody shadows. I’m getting sent straight to the inferno when Emerazel learns of this. In a few minutes the bathroom would be full of security guards. If she’d had any energy, she’d have lit the place on fire to give herself enough time to escape, but she could feel her embers dulled.

  “Wait,” she said, holding up a hand. She couldn’t let him leave.

  There were two options: she could create a diversion using hellfire, or she could find some way to attack the man and get out of here with Zee. Only, she couldn’t manage either of those things without energy.

  Shit. What would a normal woman do in this situation? Probably not thinking about lighting things on fire and stabbing people, for one thing.

  A normal person would cry.

  “Wait,” she repeated. She let her eyes fill with tears, and pouted, choking out a sob. “She wasn’t feeling well,” she sniffed, letting the strap of her gown drop again. “I told her not to order the salad. She didn’t have her EpiPen. Or her inhaler. And I tried to take her to the women’s room, but she said she couldn’t make it. So we came in here. And then she slipped on the tile and cracked her head. She’s my dearest friend. Please help us.” She let a tear roll down her cheek. Please, please, please, convince him.

  “Oh. That’s awful.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

  “No!” she shouted, before letting her face soften again. “It will take too long for them to get here. If she doesn’t get an EpiPen now, she’ll die.”

  His face blanched. “Where do I get an EpiPen?”