And he had just agreed to let himself be bound. Anathema, to a vampire.
Ransley gave a tight nod in response. Nigellus transported them directly to the suite of rooms he maintained, carved into Hell’s native rock over the course of eons. The familiar surroundings offered him little comfort on this particular day. Empty and echoing, they felt too much like the inside of Nigellus’ mind as he contemplated what the successful deployment of the Fae weapon would mean... both for the wider war, and for the person standing in front of him.
He released Ransley’s arm and let air trickle out of his lungs slowly, more aware than usual of the guise of humanity he held wrapped around his true form. “Be at ease,” he said. “I will retrieve the crystal so we may proceed with the binding.”
Ransley looked at him sharply. “You didn’t bring it with you?”
He shook his head. “Such objects are too valuable to transport carelessly. Wait here; I’ll only be a moment.”
He returned to find Ransley standing stiff but composed, his back to the room and his eyes fixed on a sinuous sculpture carved into the wall—a combination of artwork and structural support that Nigellus had always found personally pleasing.
The crystal nestled in his palm thrummed with potential. Ransley turned, as though sensing the sudden charge in the atmosphere. His gaze moved unerringly to the small stone—translucent, and with facets sharp enough to cut.
Another being might have asked if all this were really necessary, or railed against his fate. Ransley only asked, “Will you be reaping me immediately afterward, then? Only, I’d prefer to have an idea of what to expect, going in.”
“I will not be reaping you at all, dear boy,” Nigellus assured him. “That would quite defeat the purpose of the exercise, I assure you.”
Ransley swallowed, then nodded. “If you say so.” He pulled a small blade from his boot. “Very well. I... offer myself to you, Nigellus, in exchange for the vow you made me. Is that suitably formal, or shall I also take a knee?”
The attempt at insouciance sounded forced, but Nigellus did not begrudge Ransley the attempt. “Unnecessary. This will do admirably.”
Ransley steeled himself before raking the blade across his palm. Blood smeared the crystal as he slapped his hand down on top of it, trapping it between them. Misgivings writ large on his face, he pulled away and handed Nigellus the little dagger.
Though he could have willed the blood from his own palm without benefit of a blade, Nigellus accepted it and sliced a small wound into the base of his thumb. It welled up, mixing with the vampire blood coating the magical stone. The crystal flared with brilliant ruby light. With a feeling of inevitability, Nigellus crushed it in his fist, and allowed the broken shards to sift to the floor.
He met Ransley’s eyes with a timeless gaze. “Your soul is bound, Ransley Thorpe. None can tear asunder what magic has constrained.”
Ransley blinked, his brows drawing together. The vampire’s lips were pale, like those of a human who’d been left too long in the cold. “I feel no different.”
Nigellus cocked an eyebrow. “Nor will you.” He drew breath to offer further reassurance, only to pause as fate shifted around him. More than ten thousand souls cried out as they slipped into the void, ripped from the world under a magical onslaught more powerful than anything the human realm had seen in millions of years. He closed his eyes, nostrils flaring.
“Nigellus?” Ransley’s voice snapped like a whip.
“It’s done,” he said heavily.
“Done?” the vampire echoed. “What’s done? Have you... stopped the weapon somehow? Saved them?”
Nigellus opened his eyes, looking down at the last vampire in existence. “No,” he said. “No, Ransley. I haven’t saved them. I’ve saved you.”
EIGHTEEN
Hell
RANSLEY THORPE backed away from Nigellus until his shoulders hit the carved stone wall with a soft thump.
“What are you saying?” he demanded. Blue flared in his gaze. “Nigellus, your vow...”
Regret washed at the edges of the demon’s thoughts. “I vowed not to allow your race to perish to extinction. And it has not. You survive, protected by the walls of Hell from the weapon that flooded the human realm with Fae magic moments ago. I will work to ensure that you continue to survive, so that the blood in your veins may one day beget a new vampire race.”
Ransley’s eyes went wide, his head jerking back and forth in a tiny movement of negation. His fingers curled into claws against the wall behind him, fingernails gouging small furrows in the ancient limestone.
“No. Nigellus... no. That’s not—”
“It’s already part of time’s turning,” Nigellus told him quietly.
The vampire continued to shake his head jerkily from side to side. He slid down the wall to sit in a heap, his glowing gaze of accusation never wavering. When he finally closed his eyes, it was to tangle his fingers in his wild mop of black hair, clutching at the tangled strands in desperation.
Nigellus seated himself on the cushions of the low divan against the opposite wall, knowing there was really nothing to be said that would improve the situation. So he kept vigil, watching over the battered survivor across from him until Baalazar arrived to confirm what he already knew—the weapon had worked, and with it, the Fae had struck a blow that would decide the war.
For now.
Outside, the unforgiving evening heat of the demon realm mellowed gradually into balmy night. Even here in Hell, darkness was a salve to one who’d lost his humanity to the blood-laced siren song of undeath. Ransley looked up for the first time in hours. Though he’d been as still and silent as the wall behind him, rusty tear-tracks
