Nocturnal Magic (Demons of Fire and Night Book 2)

by C. N. Crawford

  Bael pushed up onto his elbows, blood dripping from his lips. “The other lords attacked. I defended. Albelda Manor stands, and I live.”

  Hothgar’s eyes flicked to Ursula. “He wasn’t able to control his captive very well either. The hound is out of control, as you have seen.”

  Ursula’s mouth went dry. This is not going well. “Isn’t there a way for Bael to get his wings back? When I became a hound, I was offered a trial—”

  “A trial,” said Nyxobas, lifting a finger. “The wretched hound has the blood of a warrior.”

  Hothgar and Abrax both turned to glare at her. Shit. What did I just suggest?

  Shadows coiled around the god of night. “The code of the warrior has always allowed for a trial. If Bael wishes to keep his manor, he must fight for it. Win, and all is forgiven.”

  Bael rose to his feet. “I will kill whomever I need to. I may be mortal, but you know my strength.”

  The god’s silver eyes narrowed. “There will be a tournament. The lords may nominate five champions each—their greatest warriors. For the tournament, all demons shed their immortality. And if you, Bael, wish to reclaim your status, you must win the trial.”

  Bael nodded. He spoke through bloody teeth. “So be it.”

  “Then it is settled,” said Nyxobas. “When the shadows grow long above Lacus Mortis, and the sun sets, we will conduct a melee. Those who survive will join the race. Finally, a duel. The prize is the remnants of Albelda manor, and a position as lord. If Bael wins, I return his wings.”

  An icy silence fell over the room, then Hothgar slammed his gavel onto the stone. “A trial for all the lords. A just ruling.” His voice boomed, echoing off the crystal ceiling. After a moment, the room filled with rumbling cheers.

  Hothgar stood. “Before the melee, we will hold a feast. We will present our champions. Then, the bloodletting begins.”

  * * *

  Bael stared out the window of the carriage, his jaw set tight. He kept his eyes fixed on the gray horizon. In the distance, his ruined manor glittered faintly.

  The bats’ wings beat the air, an oddly soothing sound after her close brush with death.

  Bael hadn’t spoken for the entire carriage ride. He’d regained his regal bearing, and blood no longer dripped from his mouth. But his demonic stillness sent a chill up her spine.

  She was quickly learning that the stiller a demon’s body, the more unquiet his mind.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Bael fixed his eyes on her, his irises shading over. “I told you to be subservient,” he spoke in a guttural growl. “Not to put a dagger in the god of night.” Dark magic whorled from his body, skimming her skin like an ice breath of wind.

  Anger inflamed her cheeks. “I was about to die. And if you hadn’t noticed, I saved you from suffocating to death. If stabbing Nyxobas is what it took to save us both, then so be it. I owe him nothing. He might be your god, but he’s not mine.”

  It took only a second for Bael to cross the carriage in a blur of black smoke. He boxed her in, one hand on either side of her head. “That’s right. You worship Emerazel, the wretched beast of hell. You have bathed in the fires of her evil heart.”

  Anger simmered. She’d never had a choice in aligning with Emerazel—at least, not one she could remember. She lifted her legs, kicking him in the chest. He slammed against the other side of the carriage, emitting a low growl.

  Ursula’s lips curled. She no longer had Emerazel’s fire in her veins, but her own rage blazed through her blood. “I do not worship Emerazel. I’m a pawn in the game of the gods. Like we all are. I don’t remember carving the mark in my chest, or why I thought it was a good idea, or anything about my life before three years ago.” She pulled down the shoulder of her dress. “The only thing I know is that this stupid scar is the worst mistake I ever made.” She yanked it up again. “I’m not Emerazel’s worshipper. I’m her slave, and I don’t know why. That’s the truth.”

  Shadows still clouded his eyes, and his nostrils flared. His cold magic thrummed over her skin. “You don’t belong here. The god of night has asked me to protect you, but I hate this job with every fiber of my being. He’s making a mistake. As a fire demon, you’re naturally inclined to destroy Nyxobas. To destroy all of us. Tonight proves it. You do not deserve my protection.”

  The coldness of his words pierced her chest.

  Brilliant. Her only true ally here hated her. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away. I’m not going to cry in front of him. “I was about to die,” she said through clenched teeth, trying to gain mastery over herself.

  “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 o
n 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.”