Nocturnal Magic (Demons of Fire and Night Book 2)

by C. N. Crawford

Ursula stood in the middle of the arena, next to the remaining demons. Strewn with gore, the dirt floor looked like a butcher shop. She shoved her hand in her pocket, gripping on to the reassuringly solid contours of the silver ring.

  She wasn’t going to argue with Bael about Cera—not now. In fact, she couldn’t get her mind off the carnage she’d just witnessed, the images replaying in her skull. She clamped her eyes shut, willing her mind to fill with darkness.

  It didn’t work.

  She turned to Bael, letting her eyes run over his battle-stained clothes. “Are you injured?”

  He sheathed his katana. “No. But you are.”

  Not a question, but she answered anyway. “It hurts like hell.”

  From his platform, Hothgar raised his arms to the dark sky. “Let us congratulate the champions for a well-fought battle.”

  Around them, the crowd stood and roared their approval from their seats.

  For just a moment, a thrill flickered through Ursula. And then, the images burned in her mind again: the severed tendons, the sprays of blood. The reaper’s head. Her own blade, buried in the giant’s chest.

  They’d fought each other like rabid beasts. And Ursula had been right there, in the thick of it, slashing away to the dark cheers of the onlookers. Something had taken over her body, and she’d joined in the grim symphony of slaughter.

  She closed her eyes again, trying to cleanse her mind of the blood. A part of her yearned for the cleanliness of the void. The words of the Forgotten Ones whispered in the back of her skull. Only the darkness will save you.

  Maybe this was Nyxobas’s plan, to give her the choice between turning into a monster and joining him in the void. Or if not, surely this was his punishment for stabbing him with the dagger.

  She glanced at the statue of Nyxobas that loomed over the amphitheater, its eyes blazing. She couldn’t understand any of his actions. Why did he summon her here in the first place? Why did his own son, Abrax, hate him so deeply that he had tried to overthrow the kingdom? And above all, what made him think Abrax was no longer a threat?

  Maybe the will of gods wasn’t really meant to be understood. In all likelihood, they were completely mental from all the time they spent in hell.

  By her side, Bael stood perfectly still, his eyes closed. His chest rose and fell in an even rhythm. Entirely unperturbed by everything he’d just seen. Just another day in the Shadow Realm.

  Hothgar banged the gong, and the noise of the crowd died.

  “Of the fifty-seven champions who joined the melee, twenty-three remain in his mortal realm. In glorious battle, thirty-four more have joined the void to live for eternity.”

  As Hothgar spoke, black-cloaked oneiroi jogged silently into the arena. Remembering Massu’s ferocity, she shuddered. But these oneiroi weren’t here to fight. They were here to clean up the corpses. Silently, the oneiroi dragged them from the arena. The bodies left red smears over the dirt.

  Hothgar thrust his hand into the air. “Massu, can you step forward?”

  Cera’s brother stepped forward, his mouth dripping with fresh blood.

  Ursula heard the pause, the sharp intake of breath before Hothgar spoke again. And when he did, he spoke through clenched teeth. “This has been the first melee to include an oneiroi,” said Hothgar. “Despite his inferior status, he killed five demons, the most of any champion. As ordained in the warrior code, this accomplishment grants him pole position for the race.”

  Massu bowed deeply.

  Hothgar continued, “The race will be held at Asta. We will commence when the sun reaches its peak above the spire.”

  Lifting his hammer, the Sword Of Nyxobas smashed the gong a final time.

  The demons around her turned to leave, and Ursula bit her lip to stop the tears welling in her eyes. She turned away from Bael so he couldn’t see her face.

  Sure, she could use a sword. She could fight if she had to. But this had been a complete nightmare. A savage display of bloodlust, for absolutely no purpose.

  And the scariest part was that she’d fit right in.

  Blinking away the tears, she searched the sky for a sign of Cera. Maybe Bael thought they couldn’t be friends, but whether he liked it or not, Cera was her ride home.

  “Ursula?” Bael touched her arm, and she turned back to him.

  He leveled his intense gaze on her. Apart from the blood spattering his cheeks, he looked perfect. Like a god himself—golden skin, thick lashes framing violet eyes, and full lips.

  “You should come with me,” he said quietly. “I’ll heal you, but not here.”

  “Where’s Cera?”

  “She had to return to my manor.” He turned to walk for one of the open archways, expecting her to follow.

  She quickened her pace to catch up with him. “You didn’t let her stay to see her brother fight?”

  “No.”

  “Why? I’m sure she wanted to be here.” Ursula’s stomach clenched. She must be out of her mind with worry.

  “What if he’d died? Do you think she’d have wanted to be there for that? Do you think she’d want it to plague her nightmares for the rest of her life?”

  Ursula shook her head. “I’m sure she could decide for herself, if you hadn’t decided for her.”

  “She doesn’t yet know what it’s like to watch...” He cut his own sentence short. “Don’t question me.”

  Clearly, there was a story there. But she already knew if she probed further, he’d rebuff her.

  Bael led her through the archway into a stone tunnel, their footsteps echoing off the ceiling. She tried to block out the pain lancing her shoulders—every step was an agony, and she could hardly keep pace with Bael.

  He turned to look at her, then spoke a few words in Angelic. A glowing orb appeared in front of them, casting a dull light on the rough stone walls.

  She swallowed hard. “I’m confused why you’d care about protecting Cera’s feelings. You said the oneiroi are not our friends.”

  Pearly light shone at the end of the tunnel.

  “No. They’re not, but that doesn’t mean we must be cruel to them.” He stole a glance at her. “You fought well today.”

  “I don’t feel great about everything I saw today.”

  “It’s not your first battle. You fought the oneiroi in the fae realm.”

  She bit her lip. “Yes, but they seemed so vicious then. So inhuman. Now that I know Massu drew spaceships as a little boy, it will be hard to cut his head off. Plus, this battle served no purpose except to entertain people I hate. They could have just given you your manor back and saved us all the carnage. But where would the fun be in that, for people like Hothgar?”

  At the end of the tunnel, they stepped out into the cold night air. On the barren, gray land, lines of carriages wound over the landscape. Bael turned, walking a few paces to his black and silver carriage.

  He pulled open the door, motioning for her to enter.

  She sat, laying the sword across her lap, and he climbed in next to her, closing the door.

  “Take off your jacket,” he said.

  She did as instructed, peeling off the black leather jacket. Blood poured from her shoulder, and she tried not to look at the deep gash that had ripped through tendons and muscle.

  Bael’s jaw tightened at the sight of it. Remus’s blade had found its way past her jacket’s collar, straight into her flesh.

  He touched her skin, just on the edges of her wound, and closed his eyes. Shadow magic swirled from his body, rushing over her injury in a soothing wave. She could feel the pain leaving her shoulder, replaced by a soft tingling sensation, a powerful caress.

  Warmth radiated from his fingertips. Were these gentle hands the same ones that had just slaughtered four demons?

  She gazed into his eyes, and her pulse raced. Maybe it was the trauma of the fight, but with him so close to her, with his powerful hands on her body, she couldn’t think straight.

  “Where else are you injured?” he asked softly.

&
nbsp; It took her a moment to remember how to speak. “My back.”

  He glanced away. “You’ll need to take off the corset, and face the other way.”

  Her pulse raced faster, and she turned away from him. She slowly began unbuttoning the front of her corset, then pulled it off. Her nipples hardened in the cold air.

  She felt Bael’s warm fingertips trace just over the wound. “You were protected by two layers of Cera’s armor, I see. What weapon cut through to your flesh?”

  “A scythe.”

  “Did you kill the reaper?”

  “Yes.”

  She felt his magic washing over her skin, soothing the pain and warming her body at the same time. When she could no longer feel the pain from the cut, Bael’s fingertips grazed lower over her back, and heat shot through her body. Despite the cold, a blush rose on her chest.

  She tensed. Ursula, you sick bastard. Why was she thinking about sex now? She’d just taken part in a massacre.

  Bael pulled his hand away. “You can dress again.

  She pulled the corset around herself, buttoning it up again. She was certain her cheeks were flushed, and that Bael would notice the blush on her body, the dilated pupils. What would he think of her getting turned on by his touch after everything that had just happened?

  Then again, she was pretty sure she’d read once that sex and death went hand-in-hand. During the bubonic plague, people reacted one of two ways: they walked through the streets, whipping themselves in penitence. Or they shagged strangers in the woods.

  Apparently, she was the stranger-shagging type. If she had to guess, Bael was probably more likely the self-flagellating kind.

  She fastened the button on the top of her corset. “Are we going?”

  “You must return to the manor, but I’m not joining you.”

  “Why not?”

  “I must attend to business with the lords.” She glanced at him, certain her cheeks still glowed from the intense pleasure of his touch. “I forgot to thank you for the sword.”

  “You deserved a fair fight. But don’t forget that in the end, only one of us can live.”

  His words sent a chill through her. “I know.” And there’s not much of a chance it will be me.

  He started to shut the door, but turned back to her. With a furrowed brow, he leaned in to the carriage and met her eyes. “When you get back, pour a lavender bath. It will help with the nightmares.”

  He leaned out again, closing the door with a final click.

  Chapter 25

  Cera jumped to her feet the moment Ursula opened the door to her quarters. The oneiroi’s eyes were frantic, her question unspoken. Faint sunlight streamed through the darkened windows.

  Ursula held up a hand. “He’s fine. Massu is fine. And so is Bael. We all made it.”

  Cera dropped to her knees, clasping her hands together. “Thank the gods. I knew it would be okay, just for today.” She rose, her eyes wide. “Massu is entirely unharmed?”

  “Not only unharmed, but he won the tournament. He killed five demons.”

  Cera’s hand flew to her mouth. “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I would never lie to you. He slew five with his bare hands.” With his teeth, really.

  “Oh my gods. Oh my gods,” said Cera softly, kneading her hands. She paused, her eyes widening even further. “Bael fought well, too?”

  “Yes, he’s fine,” said Ursula with a sigh. “Not a scratch on him. He moves like the wind.”

  Cera dropped her face into her hands. With her face hidden, she could easily be mistaken for a child.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I didn’t know who was going to open the door: you, milord, or someone else. If it had been another—”

  Ursula’s throat tightened. Any other demon would have killed you, wouldn’t he? Despite Bael’s warning, she couldn’t reconcile this sweet woman with the savagery she’d seen from Massu. Could Cera fight that way? It was hard to believe this little seamstress with her cardigans could eat a man’s flesh off his skull.

  “Cera?” she asked tentatively. “Do all oneiroi fight with their teeth instead of weapons?”

  “What?” Cera wiped a tear from her eye.

  “Do oneiroi ever use swords or daggers?”

  Cera’s brow furrowed. “Of course oneiroi use swords. Why would you ask that?”

  “Your brother—” And frankly, all the other oneiroi I’ve ever battled. “Massu didn’t use his a sword. He used his teeth.”

  “No.” Cera shook her head. “No. Don’t tell me that.”

  Ursula’s blood chilled. “What’s wrong?”

  “That way of fighting is forbidden. Those who taste the forbidden flesh turn into beasts. They become the Corrupted!”

  Ursula’s mouth went dry. Abrax has apparently screwed up a whole lot of oneiroi.

  Frantic, Cera gripped her hair. “Once an oneiroi starts, he can’t stop. The call of blood is too strong. Before Nyxobas arrived, the Corrupted were ostracized—sent to wander the wastes, where they fed upon each other like wild beasts.”

  “What is the forbidden flesh?”

  “Any raw meat. It only applies to oneiroi. It’s something in our nature. Eat too much meat, it changes us. Stokes a different kind of hunger. We become stronger, faster, and angrier, but at the cost of our minds.” Her lip curled back from her teeth. “I would murder Massu if he weren’t certain to die in the melee. He should have never allowed himself to become Corrupted.”

  Given the ferocious look on Cera’s face, Ursula didn’t fancy Massu’s chances in a fight against his sister. Even if he’d won the tournament.

  A knocking at the door interrupted them, and Cera hurried over to it. “Who is it?”

  “Bael.” His voice boomed through the door.

  Cera flung it open. Bael stood in the doorway in clean clothes that fit his muscular body perfectly. The lunar wind blew a tendril of hair in front of his eyes.

  “Milord.” Cera bowed. “I’m so relieved you are unharmed.”

  He nodded at her. “Thank you. I wish to speak to Ursula. Alone.”

  “Yes, of course, milord.” Cera hurried from her quarters, and Bael shut the door behind her. He narrowed his eyes, studying her as he walked closer. “How does your shoulder feel?”

  “Fine.” She crossed her arms. She couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of his fingertips on her bare skin. Just looking at him, she could feel a blush creeping into her cheeks. Bael hadn’t actually shown any interest in her, and anyway they were supposed to kill each other. So what the hell was she thinking about his hands for?

  She needed to change the subject. “Did you know that Abrax has been feeding oneiroi raw meat?” she blurted.

  “Yes. It turns them into savage fighters—brings out the beast within them.”

  “Right.” She swallowed hard. “Thank you for healing me.”

  His brow furrowed, and he looked at the ground. She had the impression he wanted to ask her something, but he couldn’t quite get the words out.

  “Did you want something?” she prompted.

  “I thought perhaps you wouldn’t like to eat alone. I was hoping you might join me for dinner.”

  Now that was unexpected. She glanced down at her leather outfit covered in sand and dried blood. “I’ll need time to change.”

  “Of course. I’ll return in an hour.” He turned, departing as suddenly as he’d come.

  * * *

  As she filled the bath, Ursula peeled off the blood-stained leather trousers and corset.

  Cera had been right about the strength of the material. A few slashes had pierced through the reinforced leather, but it still hung together. Still, something would have to be done about the grit that seemed to permeate every crease and fold. If she wore it again, she’d get a rash.

  She stepped into the bath, letting the warm water soothe her burning muscles.

  She closed her eyes, but the images from the fight flooded her mind: Remus, impaled on her sword. The
reaper’s head, detaching from his body, the hot spray of crimson blood. Her eyes snapped open again.

  She reached for the soap—lavender-scented. Bael had said it would chase the nightmares away. She rubbed it over her skin, working up a pale blue lather, washing away the blood and grit. When she inhaled deeply, some of the images faded from her mind.

  Still, a voice nagged in the back of her mind. Fighting—viciously—had come so easily to her. So who was F.U.? What had she done that slicing through a man’s neck came as naturally as breathing? Ursula swallowed hard. She couldn’t help but wonder if F.U. had been something of a monster.

  And she had the strange feeling that Nyxobas knew all about F.U.’s monstrosity. Still, Ursula couldn’t remember a damn thing.

  She stepped out of the bath, toweling off. As she examined her skin in the mirror, she could find not a single scar marring her pale skin. Bael’s magic had worked remarkably well. In fact, as she gazed at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of his powerful magic, kissing her body. What would his lips feel like on her bare skin? The lords’ wives had said he was an amazing lover.

  She gritted her teeth. Stop it, Ursula. It was ridiculous. He was going to kill her—he had no choice but to kill her. Unless, by some miracle, she managed to slaughter him first. And here she was, wondering what his lips would feel like on her bare skin.

  “There is something really wrong with you, you know that?” she said to her reflection.

  Wrapped in a towel, she climbed the stairs to the bedroom she never used. Cera had left some dresses in there.

  She opened a drawer, plucking out a pair of purple knickers. She slid them on over her hips, then crossed to the closet. She pulled out a dress—a stunning indigo. She stepped into it, pulling it up over her shoulders. Her milky-white legs shone through the sheer fabric. Delicate, glimmering stitching wound up the front of the dress. Cera is an absolute genius.

  She slipped into a pair of deep-blue heels.

  Cera had left a makeup kit on the dresser, and she rubbed blush into her cheeks.

  She felt like she was preparing for a date, which was completely insane. She was meeting another warrior, for a post-slaughter feast, before they jumped into the fray again.