And then, he would leash her as he had the vapid nobleman who lay sprawled at his feet.
Of course, he’d also had to kill said vapid nobleman, when the fool had outlived his usefulness. He didn’t anticipate killing Katerina Ivanova. No, he had far more entertaining plans for his little Firebird. He had a list, even though lists were typically Sammael’s domain:
First, harness her power and drive back the Darkness.
Second, take his pleasure in her body, relishing her fire and defiance beneath him, his to exploit and command.
And third, experiment with how far he would have to go to break her, to bend her to his will. He imagined it would take quite a while, and require all manner of innovations.
In all of his fantasies, though, he had never pictured this: Dimi Ivanova’s accursed black dog, dragged from the depths of the Underworld to fight once more by her side. How was the creature here, when he’d seen for himself that it was chained to Sammael’s raving-mad Vila?
Gadreel had watched Sammael conjure a collar for the dog with his own eyes. Then he’d leaned forward and whispered his plans into the creature’s ear, savoring its helpless fury. The Shadow had snarled, struggling against its bonds, fighting to tear out his throat. Gadreel had taken great pleasure in the impossibility of such a thing, before he’d snapped his fingers and portaled out of the liminal space where Dimi Ivanova’s curse had landed them. Not the Underworld, nor the Void, but the place between.
He had never thought the Shadow would somehow rise and seek revenge. And yet here the black dog stood, every hackle raised and sharp teeth bared, growling across the cracked earth that divided them. And it was Dimi Ivanova’s rightful Shadow; Gadreel could sense the bond between them, thrumming tight with their shared magic.
The crazed Vila would never have let Niko Alekhin go of her own free will. Which meant that his Firebird had somehow descended to the Underworld and spirited him away. Powerful as Dimi Ivanova was, there was no way she could have stolen the Shadow from under Sammael’s nose, in the heart of the demon prince’s realm. That meant only one thing: Sammael had known she was there. He had known, and he had let her go free—and the Shadow with her.
Was Sammael so consumed by envy, so desperate to be rid of the Shadow his Vila craved, that he’d somehow staged this escape? Or did he know Gadreel’s deepest secret, and had loosed the Dimi and her Shadow upon the world to drive back the Darkness, in preparation for claiming victory and turning Gadreel’s armies traitor? Was this the final, most vicious strike in the war the two of them had been waging for millennia, ever since the Watchers fell?
He had a sickening feeling that the answer to both questions was yes.
Across the ravine from him, the dog growled louder, as if discerning his thoughts. In the square, the fight continued, his demon warriors battling hand-to-hand with Shadows, the earth crumbling beneath their feet and the wind blasting as the Dimis channeled their gifts. The gusts fed the flames of the firewitches, and his minions howled with agony as their skin bubbled and burned. It was of little consequence; there were always more foot-soldiers, and Gadreel had coerced the Darkness to hold the Kniaz’s guards at bay in the elderflower clearing where Niko Alekhin’s blood had once fed the soil. This village would fall; if not at his demons’ hands, then at the Darkness’s behest. Katerina Ivanova, though—he would not lose her.
She would be his.
His demons knew better than to touch her. So, oddly, did the Darkness; its tendrils recoiled from her, and small wonder. She still shone with Light, and her copper hair lifted, as if borne on the tendrils of the wind. Her dark eyes gleamed. Fire sparked at her fingertips as her eyes fixed on him, filled with such hatred, he had to fight not to step back. The Dark Angel of War did not retreat in the face of a worthy adversary. And such, she was.
“Little Firebird,” he called across the ravine. “Come to join my party, at last. A pity all of the decorations have gone. Ah well, one must make do.”
The dog coiled, as if to spring, and she knotted her hand in its ruff, restraining it as the Light faded from her form. “I am not your Firebird,” she hissed, with more venom than three of his demons’ bodies combined. “I am not your anything.”
“I beg to differ.” He rocked his hand from side to side, equivocating. “You are certainly my problem. Or perhaps, my salvation. At the moment, I confess it is difficult to tell.”
Katerina Ivanova snorted. “You are a power-hungry coward, and your greed will bring us all down.”
Under any other circumstances, Gadreel would have ended the creature who voiced such sentiments, be they Dimi or demon. In this case, though, he simply rolled his eyes. “Such a rude way to speak to the Dark Angel who will one day share your bed.”
No sooner had the words left his lips than the Shadow began to shimmer with the first hint of its Change. So easy to provoke, that one. It was entertaining—but more than that, it was necessary. Gadreel couldn’t afford for the full weight of Niko Alekhin’s fury to be directed at him—not now, when he had to concentrate on claiming the Dimi for his own. He needed Alekhin distracted, off guard. And something was wrong with the Shadow’s black dog, besides; there was a strange tint to its Light as it began to shift, a peculiar shade that looked almost like?—
His Firebird bared her teeth at him, and he looked away from Alekhin just in time. She’d harnessed the wind, splitting the oaks that edged the square and setting them aflame. A fusillade of fiery spears flew across the ravine that divided them, and he dodged her onslaught, smirking. “Beds are so boring, I agree. May I suggest my throne room? Or perhaps, my throne itself? I do enjoy being worshipped, and there’s more than enough room for two?—”
“Enough!” It was the Shadow, in human form now, and naked as the day he was born, gripping blessed blades he’d produced from who knew where. “You will not speak to her that way!”
With a disgusted flick of the hand, Gadreel conjured clothes for the Shadow—the black leather gear his kind preferred. Niko Alekhin glanced down at himself, incredulous, then glared anew, and Gadreel sighed. He supposed under the circumstances, gratitude was too much to ask.
“I am only accepting her invitation.” He raised an eyebrow at the Shadow, then slipped for a moment into Katerina’s form. “I know you want me,” he said in the desperate tone the Dimi had used when she wept for her Shadow in the clearing outside Kalach. “For your paramour, for your slave, for your weapon…I don’t care. You can have me. I’ll stand at your side, if you save him. Please. I’ll do anything.”
The Shadow turned to gaze at Katerina in utter horror, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were all for Gadreel, even as the battle behind her raged. “You killed my mother,” she spat. “You ripped out her throat.”
He’d almost forgotten about that little interlude; the recollection of it brought a smile to his face. It was the first time he’d seen Dimi Ivanova, years ago. Young though she’d been, the sheer power he’d sensed within her tiny frame had called to him. And here they stood.
“Ah, yes,” he said, waving an insouciant hand and shifting back to his normal shape. “That.”
“Why are you smiling?” Beneath his feet, the earth cracked and churned. He had to step sideways to avoid injury. “You find my mother’s death amusing?”
Gadreel shrugged. “Is there a wrong answer to this question?”
All this was mere subterfuge. Because there was something amiss with her Shadow, a strange magnetism he could feel even across the distance that divided them. Something familiar, something hungry?—
