The ghostly traces of the demon that had tried to devour him solidified and his terrible, scarred beauty was all too apparent. Bleached white, curving bone at his temples, great arcs of wings and the slithering tail contrasted with his lithe body and the blackness of his human eyes and hair. His eyes mirrored a Bringer’s dark, endless gaze, all trace of amber gone.
Her fingers flexed and the strangest itch to trace the smooth length of his horns, to slide her palm against their ivory smoothness burned in her hands. A swift ache in her flesh followed, the need to be wrapped tight by his wings, a gruesome play on the deathly embrace of a true demon…
She blinked and the vision faded, his Bringer aspect once more almost ethereal. “Ready.”
He glanced over her, before he gave her a sharp nod. “Good enough.”
Felix almost laughed. That had to be the first compliment he had ever given her. Sour as it was. “What now?”
His mouth pinched together again. Yes, saying something nice about her would foul up his mood even further. Shit, her thoughts were scattering again. But panic and fear did that. She had to remember to focus.
“Lose your waistcoat and garter. Anything that obviously marks you as an apprentice.”
She shucked off her waistcoat, unwound her sock garter and tucked it into one of the waistcoat’s bellows pockets. She dropped it across a chair. Nothing else stood out.
“You’ve not been beyond this room?” She shook her head. “The cellar mirrors the rooms above. In the far left corner,” he stretched out his arm, his hand spread, “there’s a door, old, barely locked. A short outer stairwell, cut into rock, leads up to the yard. That is our escape.” He drew in a breath. “I will break through your ward. When it’s down, we go. You at my front, your magic leashed. You must not use it. No matter what happens.”
That lesson had been drummed into her in the summer training camp that followed her first year in the Institute. Did he doubt her so much that she would forget? She bit back something bitter. He was risking his life—again—for hers.
“Once outside, we head north. What I am…confuses them. With your magic bound and hidden, they will continue to believe that I am a demon and you are within my thrall. I cannot allow you any synthetics. They would sense it and question it. Is all that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mael held her gaze for a moment, a line appearing on his brow, no doubt expecting some argument, or a string of questions. But she couldn’t. Her nerves were stretched, fear pinching them. This wasn’t training. This was all too real.
Mael turned the handle, the metal groaning, wood and hinges. “Remember. Leashed. No matter what.”
The door opened onto a dark stairwell and they descended into blackness.
Chapter Three
Chilled air wrapped around her, the musty scent of black mould and damp brick and earth lying thick against her senses. Her fingers skimmed the walls. She couldn’t see anything. Only…feel. Mael was somewhere in front of her, a strange mix of power and warmth, his boots silent on the worn steps.
Her own boots slithered on the smoothed stone of the stairwell and she bit her lip. Silence. She had to stay absolutely silent. Little remained of her turquoise—the Bringer had pulled so much from her flesh the hollow imprint of the lost crystal was a deep ache—though there was just enough to wrap herself in silence. Still, it was patchy. And she couldn’t risk breaking her magic.
Felix pushed down on another rush of raw pain, the bitter bite of her own stupidity. How could she have brought nothing with her? The synthetic stakes even First Years tucked into their boots? Her shoulder belt—packed with extra crystal and herb pouches—sat in her trunk at the foot of her bed. Useless. If they got out of this alive, she would expel herself.
She winced. Something broke through her bout of pity. Through the damp stink of the cellar, she caught a different odour. What was it?
Mael stopped ahead of her. Beyond him, a rectangle of diffuse grey lifted the darkness of the narrow stairwell. She stumbled over the last step and Mael caught her elbow, steadying her, before his fingers snapped away.
The rush of blood and nerves at this unexpected touch jerked against senses. That smell. It thickened, twisted so that she could almost, almost identify it…
They stood in the mirror-shape of the kitchen and a long window, its small box frames crusted with dirt and cobwebs, filtered grey light into the space. Doors led off here and there, boxes and abandoned furniture filling the space. Felix drew in a deep breath, even as her gaze shifted over the lumpy darkness of the room.
Slight, so slight a scent it was hard to pick out through the other heavy odours. Damp wood. Mould. Wet tile. Earth. But there…decayed flesh. And—her heart turned over—the sharp stink of urine. Fuck. She almost swore out loud. Was it a residual from the Bringer that was so much dust in the kitchen above? Or had she foolishly trapped another demon inside the house?
She had to let Mael know. More curses streamed through her mind, too fast and thick to separate. Her fingers curled into a tight fist before she fought the strain and stretched out to touch his arm.
His head snapped to her, his gaze narrowed.
She pressed her lips together, willing her courage. Fuck, this man made her nervous. “I smell demon.”
Mael frowned and drew in a breath, scenting the air himself. “The Dagon could have passed through here.”
Felix shrugged. He wasn’t doubting what she’d said, what she thought. That was…surprising. “The air stinks. It is there, though. I’m certain.”
He gave her a short nod and slipped his hand over hers, his fingers enfolding her with warmth. Strength.
Felix’s heart stopped, the sudden ache sharp and deep. He’d grabbed her before without thought…but this, this was an echo of what had happened four years ago. Of how he’d protected her. Sacrificed himself for her safety.
“We have no choice.”
Something edged his smooth, low voice. There were…levels to it. He meant more than their forced walk into the dark. Felix gritted her teeth, wishing that her fear, her nerves weren’t stretched to the point that thinking straight was almost an impossibility. And the thickening cut of death, of a Bringer, did little to help.
It was everywhere now. In every breath she took. Filling her lungs, so much, too much for a single demon. Her hand squeezed his in reflex, a hot rush of fear flaring up through her chest. She’d trapped another one. “Something is down here. Still here.”
He returned the pressure on her hand and Felix stared up at him through the grey gloom. He hadn’t questioned her. Disbelief almost broke the tight ache of dread and laughter bubbled in her chest. Who was this impostor who wore Provost Mael’s harsh face?
Her heart drummed and still they crept forward, every sense stretched, even as her magic bound tight to her. Damn, she wanted to let it flare, search the turns and bends of the cellar’s darkness to find the hints of where the Bringer hid. But Mael was right. Unmasked magic drew a demon, faster than she could hunt it out.
“Remain silent and still.”
The words seared against her thoughts and panic fired through her. Her feet froze, the sudden tension in her body making it difficult to breathe. Her wards. Off to the left, sketched into the darkness, something had tainted the blood-red pulse of her wards against the stone and brick. Tattered edges, fading down to the crumbled plaster formed round a ragged hole. It pushed against her skin now. And the stink of death was fierce.