Chapter Thirteen

Uriel

For a split second, I wondered what the hell I was doing. Yes, this had been my plan, months in the making. But it wasn’t until I was standing on the steps of the Rudolfinum, the Neo-Renaissance concert hall and art gallery in Prague, about to step into whatever strange, fucked-up display the high demon Yorick had orchestrated with Nadya at my side, did I doubt my plan.

She’d removed her coat as we stepped into the luxurious foyer with dangling chandeliers and the dressings of opulence from floor to ceiling. But I only had eyes for her. The fitted clothes revealed the dips and swells of her beautiful form, and if Ludvik’s gaze was unable to swivel away, then I knew there’d be a hundred more riveted to her. How could they not be? She was stunning. Even in her pseudo black witch garb, she was completely beguiling. A bright light among the shadow-cast creatures of this hellhole.

No turning back now, we followed Ludvik up a staircase. Up ahead, a demon man dressed in a tux walked with his arm around a human blonde who spilled out of her corseted sapphire gown, the two of their heads close together, whispering whatever lovers whispered on a night to watch a bloodbath in a formal concert hall. They stared at me more than Nadya as we passed, which was expected. Skaal had said no archangel had ever entered the fighting circuit. Yorick would have a full house tonight.

We passed several couples; one of which was even an angel and demoness, the angel’s black wings reminding me of the legion of Maximus’s soldiers. There were many who had defected to join the ranks of the demons, choosing the life of decadence over toil and service. And goodness. I couldn’t help but growl at the bastard as I passed. At least he had the decency to look away, tilting his head down to his demoness lover in a fully transparent sequined gown. I suppose she was temptation enough to make him want to defect.

“This way,” growled Ludvik, escorting us down a lone corridor where we came out on the balcony of the concert hall.

The room was decorated with giant round marble columns, gold filigree, and dozens of sparkling crystal chandeliers. At first glance, it appeared the place was full of well-dressed theatergoers. But once you looked closer, you’d see a demon with horns protruding from his hair, a woman dressed in a gown that exposed her nipples, or the demon who tossed his head back laughing, flashing canines sharp enough to shred steel.

“Master Yorick, this is Svetlana and…her champion.”

The high demon Yorick wasn’t at all what I’d expected. Pale skin, fine bone structure, and lean build, he glided toward us, his golden hair gleaming under the crystalline light. When he smiled, stepping away from his small group of finely dressed men and women, there was no hint of sharp canines, no claws protruding on his fingers. Instead, his nails were immaculately manicured, which I could see clearly from where he held up his champagne glass. His charming smile and feminine demeanor reminded me of what they called a fop in the 1700s.

“Oh, Ludvik! What have we here!” he practically gushed, his eyes dancing from Nadya to me, then back to her and to me again. “I can’t decide who is more fascinating.” He laughed, a throaty, high-pitched sound. His sycophants laughed with him. “Oh, darling,” he said, taking Nadya’s hand. “Skaal didn’t tell you about our dress attire. How naughty of him not to warn you.”

“No, my lord,” she said, as was proper to call the high demon of any region. “He failed to give me that protocol. I hope I won’t offend in my street clothes.”

He laughed in a sexually sinister way, dipping his head close to hers. Was he wearing makeup?

“You, my beautiful girl, will offend no one just as you are.” He turned back to his party. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

They cooed in agreement, the women smiling catty smiles, the men lascivious ones.

“And what do you think, Ludvik? I know you think our Svetlana is the absolute breathtaking vision that she is.”

“She is that,” agreed Ludvik, his crimson eyes sweeping down her long-limbed body.

My knuckles cracked where I fisted my hands at my sides. At least that brought Yorick’s attention to me. He arched a waxed brow and shook his head back and forth.

“My, my, my, my, my.” He breathed out, placing a soft hand on my shoulder and sweeping down my bare arm, skimming over the weapon strapped there. The man actually giggled, but it was throaty and deep. “You are going to bring the house down tonight, angel.” He winked.

It was obvious the way his lusty gleam glanced from me to Nadya that Yorick enjoyed both men and women in his bed. But he’d better get those black eyes off Nadya or I was going to snap my leash. I needed to get onto that stage. I needed to shed blood and break bones to relieve this tension, and to get us the hell out of here as soon as possible.

The strains of an orchestra warming up in the pit at the foot of the stage dragged my attention down below. The stage was pristine wood gleaming under the warm light, obviously used for symphony performances and ballets in the age before this war began. A prick of sadness stung behind my rib cage.

“Well then!” cooed Yorick, speaking to Nadya, while his eyes roamed over me. “There will be three bouts. A fifteen-minute intermission between each so that our warrior can rest.” Then he lowered his voice conspiratorially to Nadya. “Presuming he lasts beyond the first and the second.”

He laughed hysterically. His party behind us joined him. Nadya paled significantly. I eased closer to her from behind, pressing the tips of my fingers to the middle of her back, needing to comfort her any way that I could.

“The intermissions won’t be necessary.”

His dark eyes swiveled to me. “You might want to rethink—”

“No breaks,” I commanded, cutting him off abruptly and earning me a narrowed look and a tension-filled silence.

Ludvik took a step closer, but Yorick raised his hand to keep him from doing whatever he thought he was going to do. Good thing for Ludvik’s sake, because I would’ve taken off his arm if he tried to touch me at that moment. My body was primed for violence, so ready to wreak havoc on the first person who threatened me…or Nadya.

“Trust me, my lord,” I said in the most placating tone I could manage, which still somehow sounded like an order. “What you’re about to see will make your venue the most popular in the demonic realm.”

That brought back the sparkle to his black eyes. “Raise your glasses,” he said, raising his own along with his followers. “Let’s toast to Svetlana’s champion, the archangel…?”

Nadya stiffened, obviously not knowing what fake name I’d planned on using. I stroked my fingers up and down her spine soothingly.

“Uriel,” I said. “Archangel Uriel.”

I wanted everyone to know who I was. But, most importantly, I wanted Vladek to get word and to know I was coming for him. For there was no mistaking that once he found out I was in the circuit he’d know what my endgame was. Getting to him.

Nadya flipped her head over her shoulder so fast, her long hair whipped against my chest armor. I caught her worried gaze and gave her a smile. What I wanted to do was bend down and press my lips to hers, to soothe her angst and pain, to wash away all her worries.

“To Uriel!” Some clinking of glasses sounded from the murmuring gaggle of Yorick’s people. “Ludvik, you can lead him down to the stage now.”

“Not necessary,” I said, finally breaking my gaze with Nadya. Squeezing her hip reassuringly, I stepped away. “I can make my own way down.”

With two sprinting leaps, I whipped open my wings, the steel plates zinging as I soared over the crowd below. People gasped and one woman even screeched, probably thinking they were under attack. Within seconds, I landed on the stage with a resounding thud, quieting even the orchestra down in their pit. Taking my position on one side of the stage, I waited. But I didn’t have to wait long.

Within minutes, the house lights dimmed and the demonic horde of theatergoers settled in their seats, eyes gleaming with bloodlust and glee. They were ready for a show, and I planned to give them one. A few had pulled out their cell phones and were taking pictures or videos. I was glad of it tonight. The sooner word reached Vladek, the better.

The maestro—a bespectacled human, probably forced to serve Yorick in exchange for protection—tapped his thin baton on the podium three times. A hush fell over the crowd, then Ludvik walked out onto the stage with a monstrous beast following behind him. He could’ve been Ludvik’s giant, demonic brother. Shaved bald with full-sleeve tattoos of barbaric, bloody scenes I took one second’s notice of before looking away, he wore black leather pants and boots, but no shirt. His bare muscular torso and bulging biceps were meant to intimidate. As was the spiked club he carried at his side.

Ludvik took my wrist in one hand and my opponent’s wrist in the other before announcing the standard, “Only body and blades in the ring. Fight till you die. Or survive.”

The voice of Yorick echoing through the speakers of the hall crooned over the masses. “Tonight, we have a special guest. To challenge our champion Mastok the Marauder, we have Uriel the Archangel!”

Sudden raucous yells erupted from the audience. I heard what I’d expected from some of the jeering crowd.

“Kill the angel!”

“Break his wings!”

“Take off his pretty head!” one demoness in the front row yelled with spittle flying.

Fuel to the fire, my friends. They had no idea what had been building inside of me since the day I’d been taken captive by Vladek and restrained by his putrid essence and by Lisabette’s blood rites and black magic. It would all be unleashed tonight.

“Let the games begin!” shouted Yorick, then the maestro waved his arms.

The orchestra swelled suddenly, joined by a chorus in the left balcony that I hadn’t noticed. A few of them were seraphs, but mostly humans. Throat collars with chains binding them one to the other kept them in place. All slaves to this bastard, Yorick.

“To the death,” grunted Ludvik, smirking at me before letting our wrists go.

The behemoth circled away from me, but I stood perfectly still.

I recognized the music building with spine-chilling accuracy. “O Fortuna” from the cantata Carmina Burana. The Latin voices and strings rang with staccato perfection. The haunting lyrics vibrated straight to my soul, opening it wide for the words to take on new meaning. Words penned by defrocked monks now long dead sang straight to my heart. Oh, yes. Lady Fortune had been undeservingly cruel, blasting me with one disaster after another, enslaving my soul with despair, bringing me to my knees and expelling me out of hell so that I could stand on this stage and take my revenge.

As my soon-to-be first kill continued to circle me like a menacing predator, his sinister grin having zero effect, I glanced one more time up to the top balcony, capturing her look of mingling worry and fear and another heady emotion no woman had ever held in her eyes for me. I pressed it all inside my chest and turned to the monster crouching for a strike.

Let it all begin.