Nocturnal Magic (Demons of Fire and Night Book 2)

by C. N. Crawford

  Sallos circled the stranger, swinging the massive axe around his head like a drum major’s baton. Ursula held her breath. The intruder didn’t even have a weapon. What was he thinking? As Sallos neared striking range, the stranger dodged back. Sallos lifted his axe to strike, but the stranger dodged again.

  “Fight me, you coward,” Sallos shouted.

  The stranger remained silent.

  Sallos continued circling, thrusting, striking—while his opponent weaved and dodged, just out of reach.

  Fascinated, Ursula stared. She had a perfect view of the fight from here. She could see the sheen of sweat on Sallos’s forehead, but he continued to press his advantage.

  From the lords’ table, Hothgar called out, “You won’t win by the grace of your dancing. A challenge can only be settled with blood.”

  A few of the lords chuckled. Apparently that comment passed for a joke in the Shadow Realm.

  Dodging another strike, the intruder leapt backwards in a perfect backflip. When he landed, he’d deftly produced two daggers, one in each hand.

  Ursula’s throat tightened. Bloody hell. He may be small, but he’s agile as a gymnast.

  Sallos didn’t seem to understand the threat. He threw back his head, laughing. “You think you’re going to hurt me with those children’s toys?”

  The stranger merely stared at him, gripping his daggers.

  Sallos advanced again, swinging the ax in great curving arcs. As he closed in on the intruder, he drove him closer to Ursula’s table—so close, she could actually hear the whoosh of Sallos’s blade as it sliced the air. She turned in her chair, her eyes locked on the fight.

  When the stranger stood only a few feet away, he dodged toward Ursula. His foot caught on the fabric of her dress, tearing it. Her heart jumped into her throat as she watched the intruder fall to the floor. Please don’t die because of my dress.

  Instantly, Sallos charged, thundering at the fallen man like a bull at a toreador. Lifting the axe above his head, he prepared to strike the coup de grâce. But as the axe descended, the stranger rolled away.

  He dodged the swing. Then, with a perfectly timed stroke, he slashed at Sallos’s foot.

  Sallos’s face reddened, and he bellowed in pain. He spun to face his assailant, but the stranger was already on his feet, already out of reach.

  Sallos charged forward, but stumbled as his foot gave way. His axe flailed wildly.

  The stranger circled behind him, then dove for the floor, slashing at Sallos’s other foot with his blade. Ursula cringed at the audible snap of a severed a tendon.

  The stranger had crippled him.

  Sallos fell to his knees with a bellow of pain. He gripped his battle axe, glaring at the stranger, eyes red with rage. “Come fight me like a man,” he bellowed.

  Ursula knew the fight was over, even if Sallos didn’t.

  The stranger circled him slowly. Sallos tried to lunge for him, but the stranger merely sidestepped behind him. In a flash of steel, the stranger’s blade severed the sinews in the back of the Sallos’s knee. The demon howled, fear and rage tearing from his throat. He twisted his body, trying to keep the stranger in front of him, but the stranger was faster. With a lightning-fast strike, the intruder slashed through the other knee.

  Sallos fell forward, crashing on his face with a boom that shook the hall.

  Around Ursula, the demons in the hall sucked in a collective gasp. Sallos rolled on the ground, trying to get away—but the stranger was too fast. In one strike, he carved a gash across Sallos’s chest. With another, he severed the ligaments in the demon’s wrist. He worked his way around the demon, hacking through tendons, until Sallos lay immobile and trembling on the floor.

  Defeated and bloody, Sallos opened his mouth and howled.

  The stranger straightened, bowing to Hothgar. “I have defeated him.”

  Hothgar rose. “And yet he lives.”

  The stranger shrugged. “He is immobilized.”

  Bileth’s nostrils flared, and angry black magic sliced the air around him. With a deafening roar, the lord leapt over the table and charged. For a moment, Ursula expected him to attack the stranger.

  Instead, he snatched his son’s battled axe.

  Ursula watched in horror as he raised the axe above his head. He brought it down in a ferocious strike, crushing his son’s skull with a sickening crunch of bone.

  Chapter 19

  Bileth lifted the axe from the brain-spattered floor, his face contorted with rage. Turning to face the stranger, he spoke through gritted teeth. “I will have my vengeance.”

  Lord Bileth turned, striding out of the room.

  Ursula was just about ready to vomit her mushroom soup all over the table. Maybe I’m not really cut out to be a warrior. She didn’t want to live in a world where fathers smashed in their sons’ skulls.

  Trying to calm herself, she rubbed the silver ring between her fingers.

  After a long pause, the hall erupted with thunderous applause. The stranger bowed deeply.

  And when the hall quieted again, Hothgar spoke. “Congratulations. May you fight well in the melee.”

  The stranger in gray nodded. Without saying another word, he turned and left. As he disappeared through the doors, the hall erupted into a chorus of chatter.

  Next to her, Ursula heard Viking say, “I’d like to change my bid—”

  At the table of the lords, Hothgar banged his gavel. Around him, the demon lords called for order. Hothgar stood until it was quiet enough to speak.

  “I’m glad you all enjoyed the unexpected show, but we have more champions to present. Who will be the champion for the Legion of Abrax?”

  Abrax rose. His icy gaze flicked to Ursula for a moment before he spoke. “I nominate Massu from my legion.”

  Ursula’s throat went dry. Massu. Cera’s brother. The little boy with the spaceship drawings, who always wanted to be a lord.

  On the plus side, she hadn’t killed him.

  On the downside, one of these champions certainly would.

  As the hall waited, a tiny oneiroi man entered the hall. Dressed in tight leather armor, he carried no weapon. As he walked, he drew his lips back in a snarl, revealing his razor-sharp teeth. His whole body twitched with nervous energy.

  Hothgar pointed. “What in the seven hells is that?”

  Abrax folded his hands behind his head. “My champion.”

  “He’s an oneiroi,” shouted Hothgar. “He cannot be a lord.”

  Abrax shrugged. “That is not an actual law, I think you’ll find. Merely tradition. And you know how I feel about tradition.” He leaned forward, his glacial gaze on the oneiroi. “Show them what you can do, Massu.”

  Massu leapt on Sallos’s body. With a quick flip of his head, he ripped the skin from the Sallos’s chest.

  Around Ursula, the women gasped.

  “Oh my,” said Goth Princess.

  Massu held the flesh between his teeth, bowing deeply.

  Bile climbed up Ursula’s throat. So much for the sweet little boy.

  “So be it,” said Hothgar. He stared at the oneiroi soldier. “Congratulations, Massu. May Nyxobas grant you strength.”

  Hothgar had begun to lift his gavel when Bael rose.

  “I would like to present a champion,” said Bael, his voice booming off the ceiling.

  Ursula took in his massive form, his perfect, chiseled features. He was powerful. She knew that. But she didn’t want him anywhere near these maniacs.

  “Right, I almost forgot.” Contempt laced Hothgar’s voice. “Who will fight for the house of Albelda?”

  Bael’s looked out at the crowd. “I will be defend Albelda myself. And I will win.”

  “Congratulations, Bael.” Hothgar waved a dismissive hand. “May Nyxobas grant you the strength of a warrior.” He mumbled the last part.

  “He already has.” Bael returned to his seat.

  Ursula sipped her champagne, and Hothgar called upon one lord after another to nominate their second
set of champions. By the time the lords had moved on to the fifth round of selections, Ursula had a pretty good buzz going.

  Finally, Hothgar banged his gavel to signal the end of the ceremony. His voice boomed, “The champions have been chosen. There will be three trials: a melee, a race, and the duels. The melee begins when the sun sets at the Lacus Mortis, in nine hours. The challengers will fight until less than half remain.”

  Bloody hell.

  Around Ursula, the women clapped, and cheers filled the hall. The lords rose, smiling and clapping one another on the back. Except for Bael, who stood to the side, his expression grim. Ursula shivered. My fate is now truly in his hands.

  She rubbed her arms. Even with a buzz from the champagne, the hall was freezing—shadow demons didn’t seem to care for heat.

  Just as she was about to rise, she noticed that the hall had quieted again, and the air around her thinned. She glanced at the women, who all stared straight at the dais. At Nyxobas. Suddenly, she felt completely sober.

  The chill in the room deepened. Shadow magic whorled from the god, and a hollow ache rose in Ursula’s chest.

  Slowly, the god opened his eyes. They shone a bright silver now. As Ursula stared at him, she could feel the void calling to her. She felt as if she was standing at the edge of a precipice, gazing into a dark abyss.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, and a vision rose in her mind. She stood at the edge of the void, her body trembling with fear. But what scared her wasn’t that she was going to fall in.

  What scared her was that she wanted to jump.

  Her eyes snapped open again, and she stared into the icy silver of Nyxobas’s eyes. She’d seen those eyes in her dreams, even before she’d met him. Why?

  “I will also be nominating a champion,” he intoned. His voice sent a shudder of dread up her spine.

  Hothgar bowed deeply. “Of course.”

  Nyxobas’s eyes locked on Ursula, and cold dread spread through her chest. That piercing gaze, the face of her nightmares. And suddenly, she knew what was coming. Nyxobas will be my death. As he stared at her, terror stole her breath.

  “No,” she whispered.

  His pale gaze locked on her, and he boomed, “The hound will be my champion.”

  “What will be her reward?” asked Hothgar. “A hound of Emerazel cannot be a lord.”

  “If she wins, I will release her from my service.”

  “And if she loses?” asked Hothgar.

  “She will share the same fate as all defeated. She will join me in the void.”

  Chapter 20

  Ursula traced her fingertips over the ring in her cloak pocket, staring out the carriage window. They flew over the barren landscape—small oneiroi houses mixed with the remains of meteor impacts. Asta’s glow cast them in violet light, while above, clouds of moths swirled and danced. If she looked carefully, she could occasionally see the black form of a bat winging among them.

  A bat among the moths.

  On the other side of the carriage, Bael sat mute, his face fixed with a stony expression. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but she could guess. Since he was a gentleman—despite what the other women said—he was probably considering the most painless way to kill her in the melee. A quick slash of his sword through her neck, perhaps.

  Her chest tightened. What I need is a plan. An escape route. A way to survive.

  And if not, I need to know exactly what I’m up against.

  “So how did you win it?” she asked.

  Bael’s sapphire gaze slid to her. “Win what?”

  “The tournament. When you became a lord, how did you do it?” Give me a bloody clue, at least.

  A perplexed line appeared between his eyebrows. “I won by being the best fighter. And the strongest.”

  Well, that’s unhelpful. “Can you, you know, provide some specifics? How did you survive the melee?”

  “I killed any man who came near me.” His eyes were cold as glacier water. “The same way I will survive this one.”

  “So you think you can kill him?”

  “Him?”

  “The man in gray. The one who killed Sallos.”

  “Sallos was weak, and a fool. The stranger will be no match for me.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Even with your injuries?”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. Even obliquely mentioning his lost wings seemed to set him off.

  Time to change the subject. “Has anyone else ever survived? I mean, has there been more than one left alive at the end of a tournament?”

  “You ask me if anyone has violated Nyxobas’s edict? No, the penalty of defying the god’s orders is death.”

  “Hothgar set the rules.”

  “Hothgar speaks for Nyxobas. It is the same punishment.” He turned back to the window, lost in his own thoughts.

  She bit her lip. Hadn’t the wives said that Bael could use mind control on humans? And if so—did she count as a human? She didn’t have her demon magic here. If that were the case, he could just compel her to stab herself. The fight would be over.

  “I guess the other women know I’m not here as your harlot now,” she muttered.

  “What?” he snapped, suddenly alert.

  “The lords’ wives believed that’s why I was here. A consolation prize for you. Apparently their husbands have some kinky desire to mind control human women. They were certain you were the same.”

  He stared at her, his expression unreadable.

  “Could you, if you wanted? Use mind control on me?”

  “I won’t.”

  She let out a long breath. “Okay, so that’s one of my fears allayed. But there’s the matter of me not having a weapon.”

  Bael leaned forward in his chair and looked her straight in the face.

  “I won’t control your mind. But it won’t matter. You are not going to survive this tournament, whether or not you have a sword.” His words slid through her bones. “If one of the other champions doesn’t kill you, I will.” He looked out the window again, his jaw clenched tight.

  * * *

  Descending in the elevator should have come as a relief as Ursula neared the comfort of her quarters. But instead, with each passing level, it was as if an increasingly heavy weight pressed on her chest.

  The full implications of her new role as Nyxobas’s champion were awful to contemplate. A fight to the death—one she had no chance of winning. In order to survive, she’d have to slaughter Cera’s brother, the stranger in gray, and a horde of lethal demons. If, by some miracle, none of them killed her, she’d have to face Bael, a twenty-two thousand-year-old demon.

  Panic tightened its grip on her heart. I’m going to die in this barren place, my soul sent to the crushing isolation of Nyxobas’s void. For the rest of eternity. A painful ache gnawed at her chest.

  When the elevator finally opened, she turned, heading away from her quarters. Clutching the silver ring in her pocket, she strode toward the water portal, where she’d first arrived. It’s time I get the fuck out of here. If Nyxobas wanted to kill her, he could do it in New York.

  She pushed through the black door into the semicircular portal room, hurrying over to the portal. Starlight reflected off the water’s surface. She pulled off her cloak, dropping it on the floor. In the next second, she’d pulled off the dress and slipped off her knickers. The cold air in the portal room raised goosebumps on her skin, and her teeth chattered.

  She kicked off her shoes. In a few moments, she’d be back in her flat. She’d call Zee and tell her the whole story over a bottle of wine. Then she’d call up Emerazel and explain the situation. The goddess would quickly realize that Nyxobas had been breaking their terms, and all would be settled. Emerazel hadn’t sent her here to die.

  She dipped a toe into the frigid water, hugging herself for warmth. I just need the spell that Cera used...

  Her stomach swooped. The Forgotten Arsholes ripped all the magical knowledge from my brain.

  She clamped her eyes shut, tr
ying to remember a single Angelic word.

  Nothing.

  She kicked the water in frustration, splashing the marble.

  Behind her, a deep voice echoed off the ceiling. “What are you doing?”

  Dread coiled around her. So much for my plan.

  She looked over her shoulder. Bael stood in the doorway, completely avoiding looking at her.

  “I was trying to escape. I’m sure you understand why, what with the certain death you promised me.”

  “It won’t work.”

  “I know. Those stupid Forgotten Twats stole all my magical knowledge.”

  “It wouldn’t matter if you remembered the spell. The spell requires Nyxobas’s permission. No one enters or leaves the Shadow Realm without his approval.”

  She took a deep breath, teeth chattering. Bollocks. No escape. Grief welled in her chest, and she choked down a sob. Maybe all the lords’ wives thought she was a whore, but she had some dignity. She wasn’t going stand here naked and sobbing in front of Bael.

  She would stand there naked and sniffling though, apparently. “Why has everything been forgiven with Abrax? He tried to overthrow the entire Shadow Realm. He’s the whole reason you’re in this predicament.”

  “He is Nyxobas’s son. And the god respects brutality. Abrax demonstrated plenty of that when he tried to overthrow the kingdom.”

  “So that’s it? It was violent enough that Nyxobas isn’t mad anymore?”

  She heard a long exhale from Bael. “That, and I think Nyxobas feels guilty for what he did to his son.”

  A shiver made its way up her spine. “What did he do?”

  “It’s not important right now. I can hear your teeth chattering.”

  “I’m going to put on my dress.”

  “That’s for the best.”

  She leaned over, snatching the dress from the ground. “I suppose you still won’t tell me anything about the opponents we must face, because my death is certain anyway.”

  “The man in gray,” he said. “He may be someone known as the Gray Ghost.”

  “Gray Ghost?”

  “No one knows who he is. Only that he rides a white bat.”