by Linsey Hall
It sounded slightly like bullshit. Maybe a lot like bullshit.
A shout sounded, distracting Roarke.
Thank magic.
Roarke whirled to locate the noise, and I did the same, drawing my sword from the sheath at my back. I nodded toward the pathways on either side of the obstruction in front of us.
We took the one to the right, creeping around. I looked up, satisfied to see that I was correct. We’d been behind the raised altar. Ahead of us, the cathedral stretched long and tall, a massive space dedicated to worship.
Two demons, both with burnished red skin like the other fire demons we’d seen, were standing in the main aisle, their heads craned toward the ceiling. Shocked, no doubt, by the sudden appearance of the abbey in its entirety.
A shout sounded from my left. “Oy! Come on, then!”
I glanced up at the altar. Two demons were shoving golden holy items into sacks. My dragon sense tugged toward the glittering gold, and my fingertips itched.
No. No matter how much my dragon soul coveted those golden treasures, they weren’t mine. And they sure as hell didn’t belong to those demons.
Beside me, Roarke’s magic swelled on the air—the scent of sandalwood and the taste of wine the most distinct. Swirling black mist surrounded him, and he shifted into his demon form. He took off into the air, his massive wings carrying him toward the demons in the aisle.
I leapt up the steps to the altar, charging the demons who were sweeping the holy relics into their bags. They were so distracted by the loot that they didn’t hear me coming.
“Resorting to petty thievery?” I swiped my sword at the neck of the tallest demon.
His head tumbled to the ground, and I whirled to see the other with his hand raised. Flame swirled around the big mitt and I grinned.
“Go on,” I taunted. “I bet I’m faster.”
He scowled and hurled it. I dodged, avoiding the firebomb by inches. It exploded into the stone wall behind me, as I’d hoped. I didn’t know if this cathedral was here to stay, but if it was, I didn’t want him firebombing anything flammable.
Before he could gather the magical energy to hurl another, I charged, leaping off a low bench and swinging my sword down on his shoulder. It cleaved him straight to the heart. Blood sprayed as I tried to leap out of the way, but it hit me in the neck.
Ew.
The demon tumbled like an oak, landing hard on the ground. I left him and his treasures on the ground. In a few minutes, his body would disappear, returning to the Underworld. I didn’t know what would happen to the golden artifacts, but I didn’t want to touch them. No reason to get my dragon soul even more excited.
I raced down the steps toward Roarke, who’d just broken the neck of the second demon. He stood between the pews, looking like a fallen angel, the cathedral soaring high above him.
Oh boy. Now I was getting poetic again about the Warden of the Underworld. That was no good.
I hurried to his side, jumping over the fallen body of one of the demons. His black gaze met mine, scary in its intensity. He was well into demon-lord mode now.
“Come on.” I pointed down the church, which was even longer than a football field. “The big one is that way.”
“He’s got more minions.” Roarke’s voice sounded dark and gravelly once again. He cracked his knuckles, looking ready to kill something.
I shivered. “Then we’ll get them, too.”
We hurried down the main aisle, our footsteps silent on the stone. Pews stretched out on either side of us, candles propped on the end of each. I hadn’t seen any ancient monks come back to life yet, thank goodness. Perhaps it was too late at night.
A whistling sound was my only warning before something grabbed me around the middle. The ground fell away beneath my feet. I shouted as it carried me into the air.
A winged demon! Its pale arms were wrapped around my waist as it dragged me up, higher and higher. My heart pounded. We were in the tallest part of the cathedral, the tower that was right in the middle.
On the other side, four winged demons dropped down from their perches in the rafters, headed straight for Roarke. They were pale where he was dark, their skin an eerie white pierced by red veins. Their wings were the same blood red as their eyes.
Roarke soared into the air, all grace and fury, headed straight for me.
I stilled my struggling. We were high enough that if the demon dropped me, I was dead.
What that actually meant, I didn’t know. But dying the first time had hurt, and I didn’t want a repeat. I also didn’t want to turn into a Phantom.
It killed me to await rescue, but I wasn’t an idiot.
Most of the time.
The demons charged Roarke as he flew, but they couldn’t get a hand on him. He was faster and stronger by a mile. All it took was for him to grab a single body part of theirs, and he’d heave them into the walls. They flew wings over ass, tumbling through the air until they crashed against the stone.
When Roarke was nearly to us, the demon who carried me hissed, then loosened his grip. I fell, my stomach leaping into my throat, but managed to grab his ankle.
He kicked, but I tightened my grip. I was still over forty feet in the air, which was well within splat-like-a-pancake distance. And no way was I going to let this bastard get away.
Roarke hurtled toward us, a vision of strength and fury as his massive wings ate up the distance. In one graceful move, he grabbed me by the waist and gripped the demon’s calf in his massive hand. I released the demon, and Roarke spun in a circle, gaining momentum as the demon swung around us like a whirligig. Right as my vision went blurry, Roarke let go of the demon too. It hurled into the wall, colliding with a stone archway before plummeting to the floor below.
Roarke stopped spinning and held me tightly against his side, his skin so hot it nearly burned me. We hovered in the air for a moment, so high it should’ve made me nauseous, but I’d never felt safer.
“Thanks,” I wheezed.
He nodded sharply, then lowered us to the ground.
I stumbled as he set me down, but he gripped my shoulder gently to steady me. My mind narrowed in on the feel of his hand.
“What the hell were those things?” I asked.
Winged demons were rare. Roarke was the first I’d ever seen.
“Hellspawn. Quite literally. They come from the deepest hell in the Underworld. Cat 3 demons that are rarely on Earth. They don’t make good mercenaries.”
“They did all right.”
He grinned. “They’re good fighters, but they don’t follow orders.”
“So they’re just attracted to the Ubilaz demon’s evil.”
“Most likely.” Roarke glanced around at the now-quiet church. “Where the hell is that thing, anyway?”
I turned toward the far end of the church, where the entrance would normally be. “That way. And possibly underground.”
“The crypts.”
“Yeah.”
We hurried down the nave. I kept my sword at the ready and my gaze darting. This place was crawling with demon magic, though the church was now silent. Candlelight flickered on the jewel-toned figures in the stained glass. I swore their eyes followed us as we passed.
When we reached the main entryway of the cathedral, I stopped.
“We’re above him,” I whispered.
“There.” Roarke pointed to a narrow doorway. The wooden door was open to reveal a winding set of stone stairs that led down.
“Of course the creepy demon hides out in the crypt.”
I followed Roarke to the stairs, my skin prickling from the magic that flowed up from below—the distinct garbage fire smell of the Ubilaz demon, along with the scent of mold and rot and the feeling of ice against my skin.
Roarke insisted on going first, so I followed. Our footsteps were silent on the stone stairs. The hair on the back of my neck stood up at the sound of something scraping against stone. When we reached the base of the stairs, I knocked on my head for good
luck.
The crypt was dark and low ceilinged with many nooks and crannies. The symmetrical order of the cathedral above was not mirrored down here. This was a labyrinth of stone walls and tiny rooms. Stone sarcophagi were aligned neatly against the walls. Some were ornately carved, some plain. But it was the small ones that broke my heart.
I shook my head and focused on the hunt, searching the dark space around us.
A ghostly silver form rose up from the sarcophagus to my left. A regal looking woman with an ornate gown, she looked to be about forty. She inclined her head toward me, then pointed to the left, deeper into the crypt.
It was the same direction that my dragon sense pulled me.
She then held up both hands and showed me nine fingers.
Demons. She had to be talking about the number of demons.
I nodded my thanks.
The ghost’s mouth moved, like she was trying to speak. Hurry. She made a shooing motion. Her gaze was desperate.
I pointed. “That way.”
His quizzical gaze met mine, but I didn’t tell him how I knew. He hadn’t seen the ghost, and I wouldn’t confess to having seen it.
My heart thundered in my ears as we hurried toward them. Why did we need to hurry? What would I find? Some terrible ritual in the crypt of an ancient cathedral?
I shuddered and gripped my sword tight.
We turned a corner in the crypt, immediately coming upon a long, low-ceilinged room that was filled with demons. We pressed ourselves against the wall and peered in.
Nine demons.
Shit. The ghost had been right.
Worse, they were massive, at least a foot taller than Roarke while he was in his Were-demon form. Their magic smelled like dust and felt like paper cuts.
In the middle of the room, there was a pit. Dirt flew out of it, like someone was shoveling. Must be the Ubilaz demon.
I sheathed my sword at my back and reached into my pocket for three of Connor’s potion bombs. The glass vials were red, which meant they were deadly Portlothian acid bombs. I could take out three demons from a distance with these.
I looked at Roarke and mouthed, “Let’s move.”
His black gaze met mine and he nodded.
We raced into the room, each taking one side of the pit. I hurled the potion bombs in quick succession, taking out three demons in a row. They collapsed to the ground, shrieking. I drew my sword and headed straight for the demon who stood at the edge of the pit.
He looked even bigger up close. I leapt, swinging my sword for his neck. But he reached out with one massive arm and swatted me away. I crashed against the ground, skidding on stone until I could see into the pit. Inside, the Ubilaz demon shoved the top off of a massive stone coffin. Within lay a skeleton dressed in tattered robes. A gleaming golden pendent lay on her chest.
The Ubilaz demon reached for it and yanked it off. The skeleton’s head tumbled to the side.
That bastard!
I heaved myself to my feet and spun to face the demon who had hit me. He approached, his massive fists clenched and ready to strike. This time, I went low, hurling myself at the demon’s legs and swiping out with my blade. I landed a blow that made him stagger, so I capitalized on it, leaped up, and planted my feet in his chest. He stumbled backward. I leapt upon him and plunged my blade into his heart.
His mouth opened on a snarl as I yanked my sword free and jumped back. Just as he was about to fall, he swung his massive arm, knocking me in the chest and hurling me into the pit.
I crashed to the ground. I scrambled to my feet, but before I could raise my sword, the Ubilaz demon spotted me.
His muddy eyes flared with rage as he backhanded me.
Pain exploded in my cheek as I flew through the air and crashed against the side wall of the pit. Instinct alone kept my blade in my hand. My head spun as I lurched to my feet, briefly catching sight of the carving on the top of the stone coffin’s lid.
Gwenhwyfar.
I called upon my magic, desperate to shift into Phantom form. Roarke couldn’t see me here in the pit, and I’d need everything I—
The Ubilaz demon jumped on me before I could shift. His clawed fingertips slashed against my front. Pain fired through me, whiting out my vision. Another clawed blow pushed me off him. More pain flared in my side.
I had to shift or he’d kill me!
The demon’s heavy form crushed mine as he landed on top of me. His claws raked down my arms. Acid pain shot through me. I shrieked.
It didn’t matter if Roarke saw me. I couldn’t survive this in my human form. I struggled to throw the demon off as I tried to shift, but I was too weak.
My magic stayed dormant, crushed by the debilitating pain that roared through me. I was thoroughly human, and I was staying that way.
Because I’d waited too long.
Blood coated my hands, and I lost my grip on my sword. Through blurry vision, I could make out the demon’s enraged face.
He was going to kill me.
Help!
The demon raised a massive clawed hand, ready to swing the death blow that would break my neck. I thrashed, my motions now weak as my blood pooled around my broken body. Too weak.
His arm swiped down. Death coming.
A transparent blue cloud swooped into the pit. But instead of encompassing me as it had the last time, it swirled around the demon and lifted him up into the air.
Magic sparkled, familiar and warm. It smelled sweet, something I recognized. The blue light whirled around the demon, keeping him suspended. It whirled faster and faster, then began to coalesce. Taking shape.
Blackness crept in at the corners of my vision. I struggled to stay conscious as the blue cloud rose up, away from me. Through my blurry gaze, just before I passed out, I thought I saw the blue cloud form something recognizable.
But impossible.
A dragon.
Definitely a dragon.
Chapter Nine
Light flickered in the distance, pale gold and beckoning. Pain seethed through me as I struggled toward it. Heaviness weighted my limbs.
Trapped. Blind.
I struggled, or tried to. I couldn’t move. Something held me down. Through the morass of pain and exhaustion, I pulled myself toward consciousness.
When I first opened my eyes, I saw nothing. Blackness all around. Then light filtered in, revealing a high wooden ceiling. A figure leaned over me. Pale, slanted eyes and a pair of tiny horns stood out starkly in my vision.
A demon!
I shrank back.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Roarke’s voice, rough with concern. “She’s helping you.”
My neck ached as I turned my head. Through blurry vision, I saw Roarke, hovering behind the demon. His clothes were blood-soaked and dirty, and concern shadowed his eyes. My gaze dropped to his hands which were clenched into fists.
I opened my mouth, trying to ask what had happened, but my head swam. Something cool flowed over the wounds in my chest, followed immediately by a searing, molten-iron agony.
Blackness took me.
I floated in the dark, free of pain. Visions flashed across my mind. Memories. Me, lying in the pit. Roarke, tall and strong in his Were-demon form, jumping down beside me. Blood poured from wounds piercing his chest and stomach, but he bent and picked me up, cradling me to his chest.
His wings spread wide, and he lifted us both gracefully into the air.
When I woke again, the healer was gone. So was most of the pain.
Golden sunlight filtered in through the cracks between the wooden blinds, sending an orange glow across the wooden floor. My head felt like it weighed a million pounds as I turned it to search the room.
Roarke sat on a small sofa near my side of the bed, his head tilted back and resting against the wall. His broad chest rose and fell slowly. He slept. The shirt he wore was cleaner than the other had been, but patches of fresh blood dotted it.
He hadn’t let anyone tend to his wounds.
Stubbo
rn man.
But otherwise, his face looked peaceful in slumber.
My gaze darted around, taking in my surroundings. The room was rustic-chic with a heavy wooden bed and fireplace on the far wall. The ceiling was high with wooden rafters hung with iron lights. Paintings of the forest dotted the walls, and through the windows, I could make out the faintest sound of a rushing river.
We were at his place by the river in the woods. It had the feel of Expensive Mountain Retreat rather than Cabin, but that didn’t surprise me. Between his car and clothes, Roarke was used to the best.
“You’re awake.” His sleep-roughened voice made me jerk my head toward him. A slight pain pierced my skull at the quick movement, but it faded.
Relief was stark on his face. Happiness as well. It made his expression look lighter, as if a weight were lifted off him.
Huh. I wouldn’t have expected that.
He stood, then knelt by the bed. Concern darkened his eyes. “How are you?”
“Okay.” I struggled to sit, my muscles aching and pulling. Though I felt like I’d been hit by a bus, there was no sharp pain like I would have expected from the kinds of deep wounds the demon had given me.
“My healer mended your wounds. The poison is still in your system, but you’ll survive. She gave you another dose of the potion that wards off the transition, but we still need the demon’s blood to cure you.”
And we hadn’t gotten any. Not in that fight, at least. But he’d gotten someone to heal me? “Is that why we’re at your place?”
“Yes. It’s closest to the portal she uses to leave the Underworld.”
“Thanks.” I glanced down to see that I was wearing an overlarge T-shirt. His. My arms weren’t wrapped in bandages. They weren’t even scarred.
I peeked under the neckline of my shirt. My chest was the same, except for the scar from the blade that had killed me.
“Did you put these clothes on me?” I asked. Nerves skated through me. I definitely didn’t want him seeing me naked.
“No. Lofta did.”
“The healer?” An image of her face flashed in my mind. “The demon healer.”
He shrugged. “She’s good.”