Chapter Fourteen

Nadya

My God, he was beautiful.

The word seemed paltry, not enough to describe the sight of him with white wings spread, armored in steel, standing feet apart and calm as ever, as if he weren’t about to battle that gigantic monster readying to beat him bloody with a spiked club. The spikes were easily as long as my fingers, and I could imagine were razor-sharp. Even a graze of the weapon could cut him bone-deep.

My heart in my throat, he looked up at me with the same unreadable expression he’d worn since I met him. Except his time, there was no ice in his eyes, but a raging inferno.

The hulking demon bent his legs then leaped across the stage, swinging his club in a wild circle over his head. The audience cheered and roared at the spectacle he made, launching himself headfirst toward Uriel who hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Move,” I whispered to myself. “Move, dammit.”

“I’m sure he will, darling,” cooed Yorick in the seat next to me. “He—”

Uriel crouched low and shot straight into the air, whipping his wings wide, unsheathing a long knife from the scabbard strapped to his calf in one fluid motion. The beast changed trajectory, swinging his club upward to try and clip him on the way down. But Uriel defied physics in his supernatural speed and flip-dive back down, spinning backward so that he landed directly behind Mastok, slicing the tendons in his bulky forearm holding the club, then buried his blade straight down into the top of his skull. The demon hit the floor a split second before Uriel’s booted feet straddled his twitching body.

A hush fell. Uriel put a foot on his neck, bent over and removed his blade with a slick crunch, slinging black blood in an arc across the polished wood floor. He stood and faced the side where Ludvik must be waiting, wiping the blood on the skirt of his tunic over his thick thigh.

“Let’s meet number two, Ludvik,” he said with all the command of a legion general or a demon king.

In that moment, he became more than an archangel, more than a wielder of justice against the evil in this apocalyptic world. He became my hero. My everything.

The audience broke out into jeers and laughter, many applauding the surprising defeat of Mastok the Marauder. Others hissed and booed, but still yelled for more. Yorick swiveled his fiendish gaze at me. I was expecting fury or confusion in his expression, not the gleeful grin he spread wide.

Turning back to Uriel, his readiness for another kill screaming up to the rafters, I couldn’t take my eyes from him. His sideways glance at the audience was chilling. The fire burning behind his eyes belied his calm facade.

“Your man will make this the event of all events tonight, my darling.”

I gulped, watching two bare-chested demons dragging the body of Mastok off the stage, leaving a black trail behind them.

“I believe so, my lord. I’m happy that my…my champion will bring you popularity.”

“Popularity? Ha!” He raised his champagne glass and waited for the liveried server, a pretty human man, to fill it to the brim. “This will bring me fame beyond the European territories. I must send Skaal something special for my appreciation. For providing such a magnificent opponent to my ring.”

“He is magnificent, isn’t he?” I couldn’t pull my eyes from him, standing there in stoic concentration, staring off to the wings of the stage and waiting for the next opponent.

Yorick chuckled darkly. “I imagine all that aggressive force is glorious in bed. Yes, Svetlana?”

Ludvik stepped out onto the stage and announced, “Second bout. The Butcher, Heinrich.” No fanfare this time, but the mention of the new fighter received a roar of applause.

Then Ludvik disappeared beyond the curtain as another bulky figure strode onto the stage bearing two axes. He twisted his wrists, spinning both his weapons in a circle. My stomach tightened into a ball, and I couldn’t breathe again. Grinning like a fiend, the Butcher twirled his axes in a mighty display, circling like the other one had until he faced Uriel with his back to the audience.

Just as before, perhaps even quicker, Uriel crossed his arms over his chest as if he was about to strike a relaxed pose, but then pulled two needle-like blades from the scabbards strapped to his biceps and launched them viper-swift at his opponent. The Butcher raised both arms, his axes swinging high, then froze. Uriel hadn’t moved, simply stood there watching as the demon stumbled, then fell backward with a powerful thud on his back, the blades protruding from his eye sockets.

“They’re no match for him,” whispered Yorick. “Not even close.”

I wanted to agree but was afraid to stoke Yorick’s anger. He seemed amiable for a high demon. The fact he preferred the glamour of a genteel and civilized world as opposed to the bloody chaos most high demons liked to wallow around in told me he might not overreact at this swift defeat. But then again, I’d learned to beware the hidden beast within these fallen angels. The monster always lurked close to the surface.

As guards dragged off the dead Butcher, smearing another black-blood line across the stage, Ludvik stalked forward and announced with force, “The Garrote!”

Yorick leaned close, whispering with some venom, “Your champion is too swift for brawn. Let’s see how well he does with cunning and skill.”

A black-clad demon walked onstage with a smooth gait, a length of looped wire hanging loosely in one hand. His movements were slow and measured, his dark-haired head tilted disarmingly toward Uriel. Deception. A shiver shot down my spine. This one was lethal.

Not that I underestimated Uriel. He had shown in two all-too-short bouts his swift skill in taking down these demon warriors. The interesting part was that I hadn’t sensed a rise in his archangel power as I expected to. He hadn’t used any that I could tell. He apparently didn’t need any for Mastok and Heinrich. But this one…he seemed quite skilled in the art of strangulation with that thin wire dangling in his hand.

“Careful,” I whispered as if Uriel could hear me from here.

A chuckle next to me. “Yes, darling. He’d better be.”

Some of the crowd below were on their feet, yelling obscenities and cheering the Garrote. Just as I swept my eyes away, a thin, gaunt figure caught my eye beside a pillar on the edge of the seating.

No. I sucked in a breath, my pulse tripping faster, then I leaned back, afraid he might see me up here in the balcony. But he wasn’t looking up here. His beady eyes were fixed on the stage. Uriel hadn’t noticed him. His attention was fully focused on his opponent who had stopped across from him, closer than the others had come before their launching attack. But the gaunt demon near the pillar was standing as still as Uriel, just watching, perhaps waiting for something. Then he pulled a cell phone from his tuxedo jacket pocket and snapped some pictures.

Unable to keep from glancing at the slimy demon who had been servant and advisor to my sister, Lisabette, back in Estonia, I wondered who he was gathering intel for. It must be Vladek.

Why had Uriel given his real name? Not that it would matter once they came face to face, but giving Vladek any kind of time to prepare was a risky move.

“A dumb move,” I mumbled.

“What’s that, dear?” asked Yorick, riveted to the stage.

“Nothing.”

Lightning-fast, the Garrote sped toward Uriel who was armed and ready with the two needle-like blades that had dispatched Heinrich a few moments before. Three yards away, the Garrote dropped and slid on his knees, a dagger I hadn’t seen in the hand not holding the wire drawn back. He struck true, stabbing straight into the top of Uriel’s thigh.

Uriel grunted like it was a minor blow, but it took him down to one knee. One of his blades clattered to the floor. At first, I thought he dropped it, but realized he actually threw it to free up his hand. The Garotte’s stab in the leg was a distraction so that he could slide behind Uriel and up between his wings to loop his noose around his neck, exactly as he’d just done.

“No,” I hissed.

Then I saw that Uriel had inserted a hand, palm outwards, before the noose was cinched, blocking the wire from cutting directly into his throat.

“Bloody hell, he’s good,” said Yorick, sounding more irritated than before.

My chest felt tight, then I realized I’d been holding my breath. The black-eyed Garrote was whispering in Uriel’s ear, squeezing his wire tighter and tighter. Blood dripped from Uriel’s palm, slicing open with every second of Garrote’s tightening grip.

I clamped my hands over my mouth to hold back the scream trying to crawl up my throat. The horde chanted Garrote’s name, the cacophony of lewd and foul words almost eclipsing the orchestra and chorus belting out Latin verses with quickening tempo.

Uriel closed his eyes, whispering something as well. Was he talking back to his attacker who still had him on his knees, cutting through the flesh of his palm? God, could he cut all the way through his bone and finish him just like this?

Right when I thought I’d empty the contents of my stomach at my feet, a familiar current rippled in the air.

“Well, fuck me,” said Yorick, which sounded strange in his lilting, civilized voice.

I smiled. “Archangel power.”

Uriel’s skin began to glow gold with the innate magic flooding through his veins. Garrote hissed, still holding onto his wire and squeezing tight, but his pale face reddened and pinched in pain. Uriel continued to say some words I couldn’t hear, his mouth moving swiftly through some old incantation that made him shine with a luminescent light.

The crowd became silent. Even the orchestra had finished their choral piece, and the maestro hadn’t started another. He simply stood beneath the stage in the orchestra pit, watching the battle onstage.

Gibbon snapped another picture, then stopped. Riveted. Uriel dropped his other blade, reached behind him, and grabbed hold of Garrote’s hair. Ducking low and lurching forward, he flipped the lanky demon onto his back and slipped the wire from around his own neck. Still holding it in his bloody hand, dripping onto the stage, Uriel had a knee on Garrote’s chest, the noose now around Garrote’s neck and his palm pressed to the demon’s forehead.

His chanting grew louder. A stream of unintelligible words, had I even understood the language, spewed out in growing violence. The vibration of force rattled the chandeliers above us, tinkling as if an earthquake were readying to crack this place open.

Then Uriel made a sharp movement with the hand holding the end of the wire, pulling taut at the same moment he stopped his chant and the vibration ceased with a clap of thunder. He stood with the severed head of Garrote in his hand, holding it up for the audience to see. I couldn’t help but glance at Gibbon who had his cell phone back up, probably videoing.

Someone screamed below. The head flew over the audience, black blood spraying in a pinwheel arc before it landed on the lap of a demoness who scrambled to get away from it. Even from here, I could see the head was smoking, as was Garrote’s still body on the stage, burned from the inside with archangel magic.

Without fanfare, Uriel walked over and picked up his blades, re-sheathed them at his biceps, then sprinted toward the audience, lifting into the air just as he leaped out over the orchestra pit. Another few screams and some demonic laughter at the gory finale to their show. I watched with my heart in my throat as Uriel beat his wings, coming straight for us. For me.

He landed on the balcony ledge right in front of me, looking down at Yorick. I imagine he was looking down on him in more than one way if the fiery glint in his eyes told me anything. Blood dripped from the wound in his hand, landing with a tiny splat on the balcony railing. His gaze swiveled to me before he said in a raspier tone than his normal silky one.

“Time to go, domina.”

Another shiver traveled up my spine, but it wasn’t out of fear this time. I stood, turning to Yorick and his gawking followers.

“Thank you for this opportunity, my lord,” I said with all the deference I could manage, because I wasn’t sure if the sharp-eyed look he was giving me now meant anger or interest. “Please relay to Skaal that we’ll be awaiting instructions for the next circuit.”

Yorick stood, took my hand and bowed to kiss my knuckles. “My pleasure, darling.” He grinned at me, then winked at Uriel. “Thank you both for a most unforgettable night.”

I nodded and started to walk down the aisle, but strong hands scooped me up from behind. I yelped as Uriel resettled me, one arm under my knees, the other behind my back, then he flew with me cradled in his arms above the crowd toward the balcony exit.

“We could’ve just walked,” I said, noting his granite expression was harder than I’d ever seen it.

“No. Not taking a chance that the bloodlust in the air won’t make some of these assholes break the house rules.”

Yorick’s voice came over the speakers. “That will be difficult to top, ladies and demons, but let’s give it up for our beautiful burlesque girls, the Redlips.”

I groaned, not even wanting to know if they were human or demon. I closed my eyes against Uriel’s sweaty chest. Two seconds later, he landed next to the exit, put me on my feet, and ushered me through with a hand on my back, the metal armor on the top curve of his wing clanking against the door.

Blood still dripped from his hand and leg. “Are you—”

“I’m fine. Move, domina.”

He kept up the facade in case anyone overheard us. Even though we were pretending, the thought of me playing his domina stoked a nest of hot desire inside me. I felt the word spiral heat down between my legs. But he didn’t let me catch my breath, pushing me with increasing urgency down the stairs.

There was only one couple out in the foyer, going after each other in a shadowed corner. I glanced away, thankful that Yorick’s burlesque show would keep the mob busy while we got the hell out of there. Uriel had an arm around my waist, practically carrying me toward the door, both of us hoping no one would try to stop us. I was actually shocked when no one did.

He pushed open the doors, the cold night air a welcome feeling against my heated skin. A rumble of thunder above a canvas of low-hanging clouds reminded me once more why the world had been shrouded in gray since the Great War had begun. The clash of angels and demons always sparked the air with electricity, filling the atmosphere with otherworld power. This battle, even inside the concert hall, had gathered storm clouds. They matched the tempest in Uriel’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” I tried to take his bloody hand, but he swatted mine away and wrapped his other arm around my waist, pulling us flush against each other.

“Take us home, Nadya.”

“You want me to—?”

“Yes. You know how. Just picture it in your head. I’ve got you.”

“I don’t mind the blood.” I glanced toward the hollow in his throat, unable to hold his piercing gaze. Then I whispered, “Hold me with both arms…please.”

A pause. My pulse skittered faster. Then his other arm came around me, his bloodied hand pressing firmly at the center of my back, our bodies fully aligned.

“I’ve got you, beautiful,” he whispered, jolting my eyes to his.

The heat simmering there could melt the Arctic in seconds. I gripped his shoulders, the tunic drenched with sweat beneath.

“I’ve got you, too.”

Then I took us home.