by Cate Corvin
No Nephilim was meant to lose their wings. The shock of it had dampened my healing abilities for a very long time.
Melisande touched my scars, which no longer hurt, stroking down the length of them.
I couldn’t tell her how badly I longed to taste the open air. She’d only have pity, and I loathed pity more than anything.
I made up for my lack of flight by being the most dangerous creature in the Seventh Circle, with the exception of my prince.
My thoughts tumbled over themselves, lodging in my brain like stones. Mate or not, there was nothing I could do to stop Melisande from pursuing her freedom. Love was wanting someone to be free even if you had to stay behind.
I couldn’t keep her caged like I’d been caged.
I rolled under her and pulled her down against my chest. Her hair pooled between my face and neck, her floral scent mouthwatering. For a moment everything seemed peaceful and perfect, and I imprinted the memory in my mind.
“The fastest way to kill a Nephilim is with an ebonite blade.”
Melisande raised her head, meeting my eyes. She seemed to be barely breathing. “What is ebonite?”
“An infernal element found only in Hell. There’s very little of it, but when it’s forged, it takes on the properties of magic the smith imbues it with. An ebonite sword forged with the essence of death will always strike a killing blow. An ebonite hand forged with the essence of movement will function like a real hand. Whatever it’s made into, it becomes the essence of that concept.”
She frowned. “So where will I find an ebonite blade meant to kill Nephilim?” She flinched when she said it, like she might offend me.
I stroked her arm from shoulder to elbow. “Our prince happens to have one. It’s how he tamed Yraceli.”
“I don’t suppose he’ll just let me borrow it?” she asked dryly, and I shook my head.
“That part’s all on you. You’ll know it when you see it: the metal doesn’t shine. It’s black as night-”
“And has red iridescence,” she finished, her eyes gleaming. “I’ve seen it. He had it on him the night we fought. God, you’re telling me the answer to winning my seventh round was right there the entire time?”
I nodded and shifted. The way she was sprawled over me was sending all the blood rushing from my head. “Steal it, and you have the key to killing Yraceli.”
“Would it bother you?” she asked, her gaze veiled. “If I killed a Nephilim? I don’t want you to think… that it’s something I would ever do to you. No matter what.”
No matter if you turn into a mindless monster was the unspoken subtext. “The Nephilim kill each other all the time. I have no doubt if I was released on them, I’d do the same fucking thing. I can’t keep you here, little friend. If killing Yraceli wins you freedom, I’d rather see you fly away than remain locked in here forever.”
She traced the line of my cheekbone down to my jaw, and I felt the thump of her heartbeat against my chest. “Thank you, Tascius. But I’m coming back for you after I win, and there’s nothing you can say to convince me otherwise. I’m doing this for us.”
“Right. When you get this new arena of yours.” I stifled a laugh and she mock-punched me in the shoulder, her knuckles just dimpling my skin.
“You can laugh now,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “But I have an idea, and I think I can pull it off. If I want to punish Gabriel, I need to kill Satan. If I want to kill Satan, I need a powerbase. If I want a powerbase, I need my freedom, and Belial can’t resist a bet.”
Her mouth curled down at the edges, her face darkening as she thought of something, but she smoothed it away almost instantly.
“I have to do this.” She muttered the words. “He’ll forgive me someday.”
I tangled my hands in her hair and pulled her against my side. “Someday can be a very long time for an immortal prince.”
Melisande’s breathing evened out, and she reached up to stroke the feather in my hair. “He’s not my enemy. I see that now. But I’m not going to let him call my shots for me, either.”
Belial was extremely unforgiving, but I wondered if he’d make an exception for the fallen angel who shared his fervor for mayhem and violence.
“You’ll come, right?” Her voice sounded so small, full of hope. “If I have a place where I can keep you away from them? I want you to always be with me.”
“Of course I will.” I couldn’t resist rolling onto her, pushing between her legs. Her eyes just about glazed over when she felt me against her. “If I’m going to be imprisoned, it’s going to be by you. You already have me.”
She ran her hands through my hair, drawing me close for a kiss. As always, she tasted like the after-effects of magic, almost as floral as the smell of her hair, tinged with mint.
“Then wish me luck,” she whispered. “And we’ll go together.”
“You don’t need luck. You have yourself.”
When I pushed into her and drowned myself in her lips, it was easy to forget the lurking madness, the exile, or that my missing wings had ever hurt at all.
All of it vanished, and for a little while, there was only Melisande.
32
Melisande
I woke up in Tascius’s arms with the strange sense of thunderstorms in the air.
Then I realized: it was the sixth day of the week. I owed Azazel twenty-four hours of my time at twilight, which was only a few hours away.
A slow grin spread across my lips.
Not tonight.
Not any night after this.
If I ever graced the halls of Blackchapel again, it would be because I wanted to, not because I’d been told to.
I kissed the sleeping Nephilim’s cheek and worked my way out from under the covers, silently shutting the door behind me and sneaking back to my room. I was declaring my intention to fight my seventh round tonight, Azazel be damned.
But I needed the dagger. I’d held it in my own hands. Hell, I’d even tried to stab him with it.
If I’d known how important it would become to me, I would’ve fought him tooth and nail to keep it.
I changed quickly and approached the blank wall between our rooms, offering up a prayer to any deity willing to listen that Belial wasn’t in there. I didn’t even know if he ever left the dagger in there, but I wasn’t willing to wait one more night to fight my seventh, especially with Azazel waiting in the wings to swoop off with me.
I’d fly my own ass to Blackchapel after Belial’s Last Argument was dead, and I was going to win that argument by a landslide.
With my heart in my throat and my lungs frozen, I touched the wall, the obsidian swirling open to reveal Belial’s chambers.
He’d already had the bed replaced, but the scent of char still hung in the air, along with his own spicy smell. And the warmaster himself was draped across the bed, his chest slowly rising and falling.
I remained still as a statue for several moments, only the slightest tremble of my wings giving away my anxiety. I was sure I forgot to keep breathing as I crept in, waiting for an alarm to trip and give me away, to see those aquamarine eyes open and focus on the intruder.
Belial remained asleep, one arm flung above his head.
Despite my nerves, I couldn’t resist the urge to tiptoe a step closer. Even asleep, he looked brutal and beautiful, like he couldn’t relax even while dreaming.
He was probably dreaming of running down new victims.
I realized I was staring at his nude chest and stomach and pulled my eyes away. Only weeks ago, if I’d come across Belial so vulnerable, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I would’ve pulled one of his swords from the walls and driven it through that perfect, golden chest, right through the spot my nails had marked.
The idea of doing that now made my heart hurt.
I gritted my teeth, clenched the fist bearing his brand, and forced myself to turn away. I just hoped he’d forgive me for what I was going to do.
With the exception of his mystical doorway, the walls
were covered with weapons from floor to ceiling. I slowly turned, searching every single rack- sword, spear, axe, halberd, kukris, blades I had no name for- until I found the dagger that swallowed all light.
It hung on the far wall, only inches above my head, a simple dagger the length of my forearm. The matte ebonite shimmered with streaks of iridescence, like ribbons of blood had been trapped inside the blade.
I held my breath as I reached for the grip and pulled it down, my muscles clenched tight.
There were no alarms, no sirens going off to announce my theft. The only sound, besides the roaring beat of my own heart in my ears, was Belial’s soft breathing.
But the empty spot on the wall was obvious. I gripped the ebonite dagger with sweaty hands, carefully plucked a silver dagger from one of the unobtrusive lower rows, and hung the silver blade in its place.
My nail flicked the blade as I jerked my hand away. A soft sound like a chime filled the air.
I flinched, freezing before I’d even taken a step. The sound grew higher, and Belial shifted, his head turning to face me.
But his eyes remained closed. His muscles relaxed, and his breath evened out again.
Beads of sweat rolled down my back. I placed every footstep on the way out like I was avoiding invisible landmines, stepping carefully over the layered carpets and clutching the dagger like it was a precious baby, until I was back in my room.
I gazed at Belial before the wall slid shut. No sign of my trespass remained besides the swapped daggers.
I lifted the ebonite blade and examined it, taking in the edges so sharp they were nearly invisible, the smooth onyx set in the hilt. It wasn’t just a dagger.
It was the key to my cage.
Vyra barged in with an hour to spare and I flinched. I’d spent the interim hours waiting for a massive lion to explode inside, teeth bared and spitting fire.
A succubus with nail polish was a much more welcome sight.
“Well, he might not bring you out tonight since you just had your sixth round a couple of days ago, but it would pain me to send you into the stands not looking your best.” Vyra held up a bottle of silver polish. I kept my most innocent expression pasted in place.
“Glitter. Excellent.”
She gave me an odd look. “Are you coming down with something?”
I just held out my hands, and she couldn’t resist pouncing on them.
Vyra tugged me into leather and sparkling gauze, braiding my hair in a crown around my head. I pulled on a pair of gloves that reached just above my elbows and had a built-in knife harness.
When Vyra’s back was turned, I slid the ebonite blade into place on my left arm. It had a low enough profile that with all the spangled gauze hanging from my shoulders and shirt, someone would have to look very hard to see it.
“Perfect,” she said, looking me over. ‘Perfect’ was high praise coming from someone who looked like sex on heels, wearing a tiny dress made out of white chiffon just sheer enough to tantalize the demons.
I held out my arm with a smile, and she took it. Tascius waited for us in the common room. He was a solid presence at my back as we followed the other big names down the stairs, and I reached back and squeezed his hand once for comfort.
He was right. I didn’t need luck, only my own skill and wits.
He pulled me back as Vyra went ahead, kissing me hard. “Don’t you dare fucking die on me,” he whispered, blue eyes fierce.
I held his hand to my mouth, brushing a kiss over his knuckles. “Never.”
We settled in the spectator box as Belial paced out of the corridor, motioning for the imps to open the arena doors. My fanatics were the first to come in, their chains clinking softly as they walked.
Instead of taking up one section, they spread around the arena wall, encircling it almost completely. My breath caught in my throat.
It was like they knew, like they’d sensed the electrical presence, too. That change was in the air.
I stood up and reached over the box to touch the hand of the nearest one. A shiver went through the cloaked and hooded form, and the clawed hand didn’t withdraw until I did. The demon touched the next one, and they touched the next, passing my touch along the line.
I swallowed my nervousness. There was something almost ritualistic in the gesture.
The stands filled quickly. I glimpsed the sky outside the doors, the bloodred tone turning the color of rust. It was almost twilight, or what passed for it on the Brightside.
When the doors finally slammed shut, marking the beginning of the night’s bloody festivities, I steeled my nerves until they were iron, unshakeable and unstoppable. I was flying free tonight or I’d die trying.
Belial sat back on his throne, giving me the look I craved: his endless, savage hunger. He raised one hand to his Overseers, preparing for them to open the first gate and let the minor rounds begin, but I strode across the spectator box until I was close enough to almost reach up and touch him. At its base, only several feet away, Yraceli was slumped over a large rib bone, her sides just moving with her breath.
“I have a bet for you, Belial.”
His gaze sharpened, the lust hidden behind suspicion and avarice. God, but he couldn’t resist a gamble. I silently apologized for playing on his one weakness as he asked, “And what might that be, angel?”
“If I win my next fight, I want half of the Seventh Circle- the Nightside, and all its denizens and domiciles.”
He gave me his crooked grin. “Now that’s a hefty bet. And if you lose?”
I die. But, like everyone else, he thought I’d be backing down to throw my next fight, avoiding the deadly round with Yraceli.
Better to let him believe he could exploit that little loophole and give him bait he couldn’t resist. “If I lose, I stay here forever, no matter how many rounds I win.”
His tongue flickered out and ran over his lower lip. The hunger was back in his gaze.
It was an offer he couldn’t resist, especially if he thought he was bound to win.
“Forever.” Belial’s smile was slow, cruel, greedy. “I’ll take your bet, angel.”
My exhalation was silent, my skin as cold as ice.
He settled back, waved a hand, and one of the Overseers ratcheted the first gate upwards.
I leaped over the wall, landing in a flurry of wings and turned to look up at him. Every eye in the arena, thousands of them, of every shape, size, and color, focused directly on me.
“I declare tonight my seventh round,” I announced, making sure the entire arena could hear me loud and clear. “I’ll fight the Last Argument.”
Yraceli slowly raised her head, porcelain mask gleaming under the lights.
All sound in the arena ceased.
Belial’s nostrils flared, his eyes glimmering with the fires of rage, but my rights had been made clear. If I wanted to fight her, there was nothing and no one who could stop me from trying.
Not even the Prince who owned this place.
A gust of cold wind touched the back of my neck. Twilight had fallen, and Azazel was right on time.
Instead of sweeping me away, he settled on the dais reserved for him. A gold-and-silver titan caught my eye. Lucifer’s quicksilver gaze took me in as he settled on his throne, and Azazel’s full mouth split in a cruel, eager grin.
The Grigori had known, of course. The winds of change couldn’t hide from a Watcher.
My breath was shallow, my head almost swimming. The time had finally come.
He stared, waiting for me to renege. I raised my chin and gazed back.
Soon, the arena began whispering, shifting impatiently, wondering if their prince would break his own laws.
“The first round is between No Saint and my Last Argument,” Belial declared to his people through gritted teeth. “Let her skill determine if she goes free or dies.”
He fell silent and shook his head at me minutely. I refused to look away.
Please, he mouthed.
He had no idea I had h
is ebonite dagger. He thought I would die.
I shook my head back, striding into the middle of the arena. “Unleash her.”
Vyra had leaned over the balcony of the spectator box, her hands clapped over her mouth. She gestured to Azazel, but her brother ignored her frantic hand movements.
Belial’s lip curled, and he raised the magical shield. Vyra darted backwards as it rose, and Belial reached down to an iron pin set in his throne and pulled it free, dropping it like my choice had disgusted him. The chains clanked as they loosened.
Yraceli watched them slither over the side of his dais, clinking with every bone they hit on the way down. She rolled her head, her neck making a series of disgusting cracks, and rose to her feet.
And kept going.
Her torso was twice as long as a normal woman’s, and her legs were jointed in multiple places, zigzagging back and forth. The bulk of her twisted body had been hidden behind the bones.
Her body kept cracking as she stretched to her full height, nearly thirteen feet tall, the sheet of tangled crimson hair hanging nearly to the ground. She took several tentative steps forward, gaining confidence with each one.
I blocked out all thought of everything outside the barrier. She was one of the monsters Tascius had described.
I just hoped he was right about the ebonite.
My fingers flexed, already itching to grab for the dagger. Yraceli reached up to her face with spindly fingers and pried the porcelain mask away, letting it drop and shatter into fine white shards at her feet.
Underneath it, she had no face at all. It was a smooth, featureless expanse, like the shell of an egg.
I stood my ground, heart pounding when her skin stretched and tiny seams appeared. The smoothness split open like a flower, revealing a wet red interior. Several long, thrashing tentacles spilled out, whipping the air as she wheeled to face me.
They were tongues. They tasted me.
I summoned my magic as the Nephilim lumbered forward, firing several fiery balls of thorns at her warped torso, but my magic just bounced off, the flames dying out into puffs of smoke that dissipated with the scent of ash.