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

by C. N. Crawford

“You could have thrown the knife at Bileth, the one whose magic assaulted you. But you’re Emerazel’s hound, and even without her fire, you are destined to fight the darkness. Her flames have tainted your soul.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” She swallowed hard. It wasn’t like that, was it? She’d heard a voice in the back of her mind telling her to “kill the king.” Was it simple self-preservation, or the voice of Emerazel?

  Flustered, she waved a hand. “I didn’t have a lot of time to think about the options. And it was eleven against one. If I weren’t a hellhound, you’d be thanking me right now.”

  “But you are a hellhound. You don’t belong here. Every time I look at you, I’m reminded of the hell-beast and the evil that runs through your blood.”

  “And Nyxobas isn’t evil?” Her fingernails dug into her palms. “Are you really that loyal to the god of night, so devoted you think there’s a vast difference between the gods of night and fire?”

  He cut her a sharp look. “It’s not because of my loyalty to Nyxobas that I hate her.”

  “Then what’s your deal?”

  “Her mind has been twisted by the flames, and has been since the dawn of civilization. She is an abomination. I owe her vengeance, and I will not rest until I have ripped her heart from her chest.” The hatred in his eyes cut Ursula to the bone, warning her not to ask any more.

  A pit opened in the hollow of her stomach. He hated Emerazel with a ferocity that literally chilled the air. And here she was—wearing Emerazel’s sigil on her skin. A hellhound, loyal to his nemesis. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so safe around Bael. He might be mortal, but he could still kill her.

  Still, she knew how to handle men with rage problems. A year surrounded by drunks in her London bar had taught her how to manage that.

  Stalling and distraction were her greatest assets.

  She sighed, schooling her face to serenity, and drummed her fingernails. “So what happens now? What’s this trial all about, and the code of the warrior?”

  His steely gaze met hers. “You’ve manage to buy yourself some time. But you should know you’ve made some dangerous enemies tonight. The pale one, Bileth, is a psychopath. And while Hothgar might look old, he is the most powerful of the lords. You humiliated him in front of Nyxobas. He will want revenge.” The ash-gray returned to his eyes.

  “I thought you were the most powerful of the lords.”

  A rueful smile curled his perfect lips. “Before I lost my wings, I was Nyxobas’s Sword. The leader of his legions, but now—” He coughed and Ursula saw him wipe blood from his lips. “I am still a warrior, but I am a mortal. A mortal’s power is not the same. Still, I will fight in the tournament. And I plan to win.”

  “You certainly don’t lack for confidence.” And I hope to hell you’re right.

  “I am the best fighter the world has ever known.” His pale eyes slid to the window again, the chiseled lines of his profile showing silver in the starlight.

  She crossed her arms, sitting back in her seat. Biggest ego the world has ever known, too.

  Chapter 12

  The rest of their journey passed in silence as Bael brooded over whatever nightmares plagued his mind.

  After their elevator had touched down, he’d disappeared into the shadows without a goodbye.

  When she finally reached her quarters, her ribs were throbbing. Gingerly, she sat on the sofa, staring through the window.

  The crater looked the same as it had when she’d left. In this desolate place, loneliness gnawed at her. Bael was right about one thing—she didn’t belong here. And now, she’d landed herself in a whole new shitstorm.

  Tension turned her stomach. Hothgar, Abrax, and Bileth would want vengeance. Worse, she’d attacked a god. Obviously a major breach of protocol. And what if Bael was right—that Emerazel could still somehow control her? It would make sense. Help explain why Emerazel had been willing to give her up in the first place. Though it didn’t explain what Nyxobas wanted from her.

  What she needed was a stiff drink. She rose, sucking in a short breath as she was greeted by a jolt of pain in her chest. Her ribs felt like they were on fire where Bileth’s black tendrils had crushed them. Wincing, she carefully pulled off her dress, inspecting the damage. Deep bruises encircled her ribs.

  Grimacing, she searched her mind for the Angelic spell—Starkey’s Conjuration Spell. She remembered how it would feel—the familiar burst of pain as the spell knitted her bones back together, then blessed relief.

  Only, she couldn’t remember the bloody thing.

  What the hell? She’d properly memorized it, having used it dozens of times to heal herself.

  In fact, when she closed her eyes, she couldn’t bring to mind a single Angelic word, the divine language of magic. Not even the spell for light.

  The Forgotten Ones hadn’t just stolen her fire magic. They’d ripped all the magical knowledge from her mind.

  Dead-fingered bastards.

  When she touched her ribs again, pain shot through her chest. She winced. She’d have to find some other way to heal.

  A banging noise at the door turned her head, and she practically jumped out of her skin. Rising, she lifted the dress from the couch and slipped it over her head. If Bael were at the door, she didn’t need to shock him by the sight of her naked flesh, though something about the idea amused her.

  As she crossed the room, a part of her actually hoped it was Bael, even if he hated her. Suddenly, she had a deep desire to know why he hated Emerazel so much.

  But instead, when she pulled open the front door, she found Cera, dressed in a woolen cardigan and holding a dome-covered tray. The rich smell of meat wafted into the room.

  Ursula’s mouth watered, and she gripped her chest. “I’m starving.”

  Cera’s pale brow furrowed. “Oh my, what happened to your dress? It’s been rumpled and torn.”

  “Bileth attacked me.”

  Cera’s jaw dropped. “What happened?”

  “Hothgar demanded my presence at the meeting of the lords. Bileth attacked Bael—”

  “Is the lord okay?” Cera pushed inside. The door slammed behind her.

  “I think he’s okay. His throat is injured. He nearly died, and so did I. I did end up stabbing Nyxobas, which I realize overstepped a boundary or two. But in my defense, it was an emergency.”

  The tray in Cera’s hands trembled violently. “You did what?”

  “Did you hear the bit about the emergency?” Ignoring the throbbing pain in her chest, she grabbed the tray from Cera, carrying it to the bar. Her stomach twisted with a mixture of panic and hunger. “Anyway, now, in order for Bael to get his wings back, there’s got to be a tournament. When the sun next bleeds into the sky. Bael must fight and win if he wants to live and get his manor back.” She dropped the tray on the bar, cautiously eyeing Cera for her reaction.

  “This is a disaster.” Cera’s eyes were wild. “If he was injured tonight, he won’t have much time to heal. How will he fight?”

  “He can’t use magic to heal himself?”

  Cera shook her head. “No. He must keep the wounds on his back fresh so he can reattached the wings when he wins them back.”

  That didn’t sound good. “Can’t he choose five champions, like everyone else?”

  Cera shook her head, her eyes glistening. “Who would he choose? His men have all been killed.”

  “So each lord gets five champions, and he only has himself? That doesn’t seem fair.” She cocked her head. “Given those odds, he seemed pretty confident, though.” She winced as a sharp spear of pain stabbed her ribs.

  Cera studied her. “Are you injured?”

  Ursula touched her ribs. “It hurts. I think I may have cracked a rib. Or three. And those Forgotten Arseholes erased all the healing spells I memorized.”

  Cera hurried to her side, her features pinched with concern. “Let me see. Lift your dress.”

  Ursula pulled her dress over her head, draping it over a chair.

 
; Cera bent lower, letting out a low whistle at the purple bruises darkening her skin. “A lord did this to you?” Ursula could hear the hatred in Cera’s voice.

  She nodded, wincing as Cera gently she palpated her chest.

  “It doesn’t seem like a complete fracture, but I think you’re right about it being cracked. I can heal it for you.”

  “Thank the gods.” Ursula exhaled.

  Cera reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a purple crystal. It shimmered in the darkness.

  Ursula took a step back as an icy wave of shadow magic washed over her skin. “What are you doing?”

  “This is a lunam crystal. I keep it with me at all times in case I need to perform a spell. I can control the shadow magic within it. Even without knowing Angelic.”

  “You’ve never learned Angelic?”

  “The oneiroi are not allowed. I’m not one of Nyxobas’s brethren.”

  Ursula leaned closer, studying the crystal. It looked exactly like the ones she’d seen on the ceiling in Bael’s cave. Shadow magic swirled from the violet rock, buzzing over her skin.

  With a faint smile, Cera said, “The lord gave it to me. It’s from the druse that grows in his cavern. It contains some of Nyxobas’s magic.”

  She gripped it between her fingers, closing her eyes. Ursula stared as powerful shadow magic wafted from the crystal, curling around her ribs. The magic caressed her body, soothing her and exiting her at the same time. And most importantly, it leached the pain from her body, drawing it out as her bones fused together.

  Ursula took a deep breath, sighing as the magic curled back into the crystal.

  “Did it work?” asked Cera.

  “Beautifully.” Ursula grabbed her dress, pulling it back over her head. “Thank you.”

  Cera smiled. “Excellent.”

  Ursula pulled the dome off the tray, revealing a steaming meat pie with a side of mashed potatoes. “Will you join me?”

  Cera wrung her hands. “I am quite hungry...”

  “Please, eat with me.”

  Cera plopped down on a stool, grabbing a fork to delve into the pie.

  Ursula speared a potato and bit into it, letting it melt in her mouth. “I’m confused. Nyxobas said the melee begins when the sun sets over Lacus Mortis. But the sun has already set. It’s night.”

  “Lacus Mortis is on the other side.”

  “I see. Seems a long way to go.”

  Instead of answering, Cera shoveled another forkful of meat into her mouth, gnawing away.

  She had to wonder who Cera would have shared a meal with before the Abelda Manor massacre. This place was almost entirely deserted now. Ursula couldn’t be the only one plagued by loneliness. “How many oneiroi lived here before the attack?”

  Cera’s face fell for a moment. “Hundreds. Most died. The rest ran away.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Cera’s face contorted with anger. “Serving in a lord’s manor is a lifetime appointment. Without loyalty, we have nothing.” She shoved a hunk of pork into her mouth.

  “I see.”

  “And besides, if my brother’s lord learned I’d failed in my duties as a servant, it would be very bad for my family.”

  She scooped a piece of buttery, flaky crust into her mouth. Gods below. This woman can cook. “You never mentioned you had a brother.”

  “Yes, it’s just me and Massu now. He’s a soldier. Even if I wanted to desert the lord, I couldn’t, for his sake. I must protect Massu by remaining loyal to my lord.” Savagely, she tore into a hunk of meat, swallowing quickly. “Of course, I don’t hear much from him these days. I’m not sure that his lord would find out if I ran, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. I worry about him terribly.”

  “Are you close?”

  Cera nodded. “We were, before we were split into different manors. He was the sweetest boy. He always wanted to dress up like a lord, and he’d parade around with his little toy sword in secret. And he used to draw little pictures for me, of moths and bats and ships that flew in the air.”

  Ursula smiled. “He sounds adorable.”

  “He certainly was. All grown up now, but I’m sure the same sweet boy inside, even if he serves another lord.”

  So which one of those sadistic arseholes does Massu work for? “Which lord are we talking about?”

  Cera shook her head. “I’m not allowed to say the name of any lord.”

  “Can you write it down?”

  Cera shoveled a forkful of potatoes into her mouth. “Why is this so important to you?”

  Because I watched Abrax bring an army of oneiroi into the fae realm, and I killed dozens of them. “I just like to know the lay of the land. And I may have seen him in the fae realm.”

  Cera silently nodded, swallowing her food. She placed her finger on the granite countertop, slowly tracing out letters. Ursula followed along, tracking the movements as Cera spelled out a name:

  A...B...R...A...X

  Ursula’s blood went cold. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Cera’s brother was a soldier in Abrax’s army. Had Ursula killed him—murdered the brother of the only person she actually liked here? Had Bael killed him?

  “You think you saw him in the fae realm?” asked Cera hopefully.

  Ursula’s chest tightened. I can’t tell her now—not until I know the truth. It would only worry her. “I can’t be sure.” Feigning calm, she plucked a fingerling potato from the plate, biting into it. “When was the last time you heard from him?”

  “It was before the attack on the manor. He said he was going on a special mission. He wouldn’t say where.”

  Sweet mother of hell. I could have slaughtered Massu, the boy with the spaceship drawings.

  Cera cocked her head. “Are you okay? You look ill.”

  “I’m—I’m okay.” Ursula put down her fork, staring at the now empty tray of food. “I’m just feeling a bit queasy from everything that happened today.”

  “Of course.” Cera plopped the dome back on the tray. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be back later with some food. I must check on the lord now.” Tray in hand, Cera slipped out of the room.

  But Ursula knew she wouldn’t get any rest, not with her thoughts roiling like storm clouds. Bael hated her, the lords wanted her dead, and she may have killed the beloved brother of her only ally.

  And what the hell had happened earlier, with that voice in her head? Kill the king? It had sounded so familiar, like it was a part of her very being.

  Ursula pulled off her dress, dropping it on the floor, then kicked off her shoes. Exhaustion burned through her body, and she longed for sleep. In her underwear, she curled up in the corner of the sofa and pulled a downy white blanket over herself.

  Loneliness tightened its fingers around her heart. If she’d been a normal person—one with memories—she’d probably take this opportunity to recall the times that her mother had looked after her, bandaged skinned knees or quieted her fears. Those sort of memories would soothe her soul, she imagined.

  Instead, the best she could do was think of Zee, with a champagne cocktail and a fashion magazine. She missed her friend terribly.

  In the darkness beyond the windows, Astra glowed faintly, and the clouds still twisted and writhed around it. Now that she’d learned what they were, the clouds no longer seemed quite so beautiful. Each vortex, each tendril, was a flock of moths fleeing in terror from a hungry bat.

  She closed her eyes, and in her mind’s eye, streams of moths whirled in frantic eddies.

  She was one of them now—a moth hunted by Nyxobas’s creatures.

  Chapter 13

  Curled up on the sofa, Ursula awoke with a start, adrenaline flooding her veins. What had roused her?

  She scanned the room. Nothing seemed amiss—nothing had moved, not a single Grecian urn out of place. And yet, the hair on her neck stood on end.

  An uneasy feeling licked at the back of her mind, telling her that someone was wat
ching her.

  Could someone have entered the room while she’d slept? She lay perfectly still, pretending to sleep, searching the darkness through slitted eyes. Had one of the demon lords come for revenge?

  You’re just paranoid, Ursula. Probably Emerazel’s mind tricks, fucking with you.

  Then, she caught a flicker of movement in the darkness outside her window. Shadow magic. Her pulse raced.

  Not paranoid after all.

  She opened her eyes wider, straining to see through the swirls of magic. She pushed up onto her elbows, desperately searching for a plan. Without so much as a corkscrew, what would she use to fight? Urns? Not to mention the fact that she was wearing nothing but lace knickers and a bra under her blanket. Please don’t let it be Nyxobas or any of the other perverts. As she stared outside, the magic thinned, revealing an enormous lunar bat.

  It hovered in front of the window, wings beating silently, blood-red eyes and wings of the color of bone. Something moved on its back—a rider dressed in gray. He straightened, then flung a sticky black substance against the window in front of her. Then, in a single silky motion, he aimed a small crossbow at her.

  Panic stole her breath. What the fuck is going on?

  She threw herself from the sofa.

  The black tar exploded, shattering the window in a spray of glass that ripped into her skin.

  Curling into a ball, Ursula tried to shield her body from the crossbow. Her stomach clenched as she heard the soft whirr of the arrow flying through the air.

  Her heart raced. She waited for the thunk of the bolt when it struck her, the searing jolt of pain, the tearing of her flesh.

  Instead, she felt only the sharp ringing in her ears from the blast.

  When she opened her eyes, the rider had disappeared into the night. She gaped at the remaining shards of glass. The bolt had missed her. Why? It’s not like she’d been a moving target.

  She rose to her knees and glanced down at her body, at the crimson streaks cutting across her pale flesh. She’d been cut all over by the glass. But at least that was the worst of it.