Nigellus.
Myrial.
The other demon must have emerged from Hell and answered Rans’ call right after Myrial snatched me. But... how had they tracked me here without any sort of a trail to follow? I looked around at the unremarkable surroundings—patches of dry grass and sandy dirt, swirling into small dust devils as the wind stirred it. I still had absolutely no clue where we were.
I winced at the sensation of my shoulder knitting itself together on fast-forward, clenching my hands into fists to keep from clawing at the deep, all-consuming itch. Rans hefted me into his arms and carried me away from the pile of fallen cops, his eyes never leaving the two demons circling each other a short distance away from us.
“Let me down,” I insisted once we were clear of the carnage. “What’s going on?”
“An imminent demon smack-down, at a guess,” Rans said grimly, setting me back on my feet. “The worrying part is, I’m not at all certain which one of them is going to be left standing afterward.”
“Oh, great,” I muttered. “Shit, meet fan.”
I still felt really, really strange—and not in a good way. My shoulder was nearly healed, but I was battling that familiar, unpleasantly overstuffed feeling of having drawn too much power too quickly. To make it worse, some of that power was Fae, and Fae magic had never sat well with me. Add in the shakiness of a full-on post-crisis adrenaline crash, and I sincerely hoped I wasn’t about to be called on for anything particularly athletic.
Sure, my inner voice taunted, two immortal demons are about to fight each other while standing a few yards away from you. What could possibly go wrong?
I really hated it when my snotty inner voice used logic on me.
“So, are we running, or...?” I prompted, unable to keep the nervousness from my voice.
“No point,” Rans said. “If the wards are weakened enough for her to be able track us, running won’t help.”
With a pang, I realized that I was the one with a beacon flashing over my head, thanks to my shared bloodline with Myrial. If it weren’t for me holding him back, Rans could dissipate into mist and disappear, slipping the demon’s net.
“Damn it,” I whispered, before clearing my throat. “Okay, on a scale of one to ten, how fucked are we, here?”
Rans was still keeping a sharp eye on the standoff. “Oh, an easy five, I’d say. The way I see it, either Nigellus will win and we’re safe, or Myrial will win and we’re screwed.”
The pair of demons had been exchanging words in the background, but the sound of the wind howling around us had kept the sense of them from reaching me. Now, the atmosphere stilled, our surroundings growing ominously quiet.
“... but it’s still not too late to retreat from this course of action, Myrial,” Nigellus was saying. “Even now, no irreparable harm has been done. There remains a viable path out of the current situation, if only you will agree to take it.”
My eyes flew to the bodies strewn on the dusty ground. At least one of them was unequivocally dead of a broken neck. I didn’t want to think too closely about any of the others. Apparently, Nigellus and I had widely varying definitions of what constituted irreparable harm.
What a shock, right?
Myrial was laughing again, the sound bright and merry—not to mention more than a little unhinged. It was a sound I was rapidly coming to hate.
“A path out of the current situation?” she parroted. “Considering the amount of energy I’ve expended in orchestrating this situation, why would I possibly want that?” Her gaze turned sly. “Goodness. After putting your broken toy back together—not to mention transporting these two creatures across an ocean of salt water—you must surely be feeling rather drained right now, mustn’t you, Nigellus?”
The last word was a hate-filled hiss. My stomach sank as I connected the dots to reveal a grim picture. Myrial had gone to great lengths to draw Nigellus here while he was still seriously weakened from the events of the past few days. Good god... was it possible the attack on Edward had nothing at all to do with my father, and everything to do with ensuring Nigellus would be drained from all the power he’d expended to heal the old man?
Everything in Hell is about power, Myrial had said. Gaining it. Losing it. Taking it. Once you understand that, nothing in the demon realm will remain a mystery to you.
For Myrial, this was only peripherally about us. Rans and I had just been tools she could use to maneuver Nigellus into a vulnerable position. They were both immortal—she couldn’t kill him. But I was guessing if she somehow managed to disable him, she could advance in Hell’s hierarchy, gaining stature over him.
And if Nigellus went down, Rans and I were practically defenseless. We had nothing except a single dagger made of salt and marine-grade epoxy to stop Myrial squashing us like bugs. And Caspian was here, for fuck’s sake—though I didn’t know if he was alive or dead. Either way, this was a perfect opportunity for her to make it plausibly look as though the Fae had broken the treaty by killing the last vampire. If she wanted the war to start up again, that seemed a quick and straightforward way to make sure it happened.
“You were never a match for me, Myrial,” Nigellus said, the words emerging in a jaded tone. “Not for me, nor any of the other first-tier demons. But as you’re clearly set on this course of action regardless, you might as well get on with it. I grow weary of the dance.”
Myrial’s smile grew dangerous, and Rans grasped my hand and started walking us backward, his gaze never wavering from the powerful creatures in front of us. In his other hand, he
