“I have my weapons. They are yours.”
Of course he did. As if Provost Mael would leave the Institute unprepared. He wasn’t her. Her hands tightened around the tough plastic and she grunted as her boots hit the bottom step and she lurched onto the uneven floor beyond.
The cellar was quiet and dark, the grey light from the narrow window only a thin shadow breaking up the heavy blackness. She drew in a breath, and the scent of the Bringers thickened the air. And something else.
Her stomach turned over. “They’re still here.” She shoved the bag into the band of her breeks and gripped the plastic in tight fingers. It was a slight reassurance. The manmade material burned against her spilling magic. “This feels wrong.”
Above them the crash and thunk of Bringers raged. They would swarm the house, consuming everything. It was only a matter of minutes before they found the cellar.
Mael swore. “Here.” He grabbed her thigh and she squeaked. Squatting. He was squatting down beside a dark, curled lump. “Purisaz. He’s out cold.”
“He…he doesn’t smell right.”
He didn’t. So close, there was the usual Bringer stink that came with his breed, but surrounding it, layering it, was something, not sweeter but…different.
Mael grunted.
“What are you doing?”
“The other two are out cold as well. This one will buy us time.”
“Buy us—”
The door to the cellar splintered and a wild rush of air swept into the dank room. The spike of rot ran with it and Felix fought not to gag.
“Go.” Mael shoved her farther into the darkness.
He was behind her. She felt him. His shape. His heat. She would not leave him. Not this time. Four years before, he’d been bloody lucky to survive a single demon. He would not survive a Belial swarm.
She grabbed his wrist. “Stay with me.”
A fierce swirl of air ripped around her. Panic surged and she wanted to run. Run and hide. Gods above, she hated being the thin, bright line.
“The door is there.”
Mael’s voice was a strained growl.
Behind them, the snarls and yelps of the feeding Belial swelled the darkness. Felix fought not to think about what they were doing. What—who—they were eating.
The door handle whined. Hinges creaked. A fist in her chest twisted, hard. Fuck. Fuck. Had they heard?
“Out.”
Mael snarled the word and she lurched forward.
Fresh air hit her and scrambled her thoughts. Get out. Get away. Find something earthmade before the Belial finish their feast. She charged up the stone steps. Seconds. Seconds before they flew from the cellar like a plague. What was Mael’s plan?
The great bank and the tumbled and fractured face of rock loomed, the shine of it pricking at her. Dartmoor granite wasn’t a great feeder of magic. She’d never found any use for the crystal caught within it. But then she was a shit magus, what did she know? Mael was Provost for a reason.
“Now you get it.”
He dumped the unconscious form of Purisaz at his feet and splayed himself against the curve of the rock face. His magic reached out. The stone groaned, splinters of rock and dust spitting into the cooled air. His ring flared.
And with a fierce screech, a wave of ravenous Bringers surged up from the cellar.
Chapter Six
Felix bit back a scream.
Wings and tails and the shrieks of Bringers gorged on flesh and magic, but still, empty and aching for more, stormed across the cobbled yard.
Terror. Her mouth dried. Her heart was a pained lump, caught, unbeating. Blind terror. She—they—were dead.
“Mael…?”
She clung to the rock, her fingers biting into it. The bitter taste of feldspar coated her senses, burning against her tongue. Her magic flickered. Fuck, hardly anything. No ward. No crystal to strengthen her. She was weak. Useless.
Felix dragged a dusty hand across her face. Seconds now. “Mael, I—”
“I can hold them. Run.”
He bit out the words. Shadows flowed around him, his demon-half aglow. Her heart tightened. He was doing it again. Readying to sacrifice himself. For her.
“I’m. Not. Leaving.”
The wall of Bringer flesh was a white, crashing tide. Close. So close. The heat and the hunger smashed over her. Fuck.
“This is not your fight, girl.”
“It’s always been my fight.”
Her hand grabbed his, digging beneath his palm, meeting the hot bite of quartz, tourmaline and mica that he drew into his body. It was different with him. Something wild, free. Like in the cellar. In their bed. But this time, she had focus and intent.
One word snarled.
“Die.”
Magic surged, his, hers, she didn’t know. It had to be his. The power of it… Joyous. Incredible. It met the force of the Bringers, the wings, tails, fangs, the hunger and rage. Met it and shattered it. Drove through the ragged flesh in fierce, silvered whirlwinds, energy spiking, crackling over burnt skin and exploding shrieking skulls into dust.
Felix crumbled to her knees, dragging Mael with her, breaking the connection to the rock and to his touch. The magic died, the night sudden in its blackness and silence. The remains of the demons drifted, coating everything, the courtyard, the walls, window ledges, them with a fine layer of choking grey dust.
She wiped a shaking hand over her mouth and spat out the foul grit. They’d done it. She had no idea what they’d done. But they had. The demons were gone. For now. That kicked her thoughts. They had to get back home. So much raw magic would draw in other demons. “Mael?”
He was curled over, his knees drawn to his chest, the ash raining over him. Her heart lurched. He wasn’t moving.
She pulled his head into her lap, pushing his hair back from his face. Two fingers at his throat, she found his pulse. Slow, but steady. A burst of relieved air rushed from her and she felt almost dizzy. “Don’t scare me like that.”
His eyelids twitched, the curve of his lashes flicking against the coating dust. His lips parted and he wet them. “Well done, little magus.”
Zacharias. Her belly swooped. Was Mael lost?
His hand reached up to cover hers and his lips quirked upwards. Endlessly black eyes held her. “I will thank you, as he will not.” He drew her knuckles to his mouth and a warm, soft kiss tingled against her skin. “Wife.”
He blinked and the warm black drained away to hard amber. “Help me up.” The order was a low, angry growl.
Felix ignored the tight pain in her chest and blamed her leaking eyes on the stinging demon dust. With a number of winces and groans, creaking limbs and pained joints, they both struggled to their feet. Mael pressed his right hand to the crumbling rock wall and pulled out yet more crystal. The nexus ring on his little finger gleamed. And he called in the magi.
Felix wiped a hand across her eyes, trying not to think that even as Mael ignored her, his demon-half, the side of him she trusted, had claimed her as clan. Fuck.
Felix sat on the low wall, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea and a blanket warming her shoulders. Dust glittered in the soft crystal light illuminating the courtyard. Above her the dull red of a blood-ward shimmered across the night sky. Units stood guard on the perimeter…but it seemed, for the moment, that they’d wiped out most of the Bringers on Dartmoor.