The wolves howled again in the forest. The ravens took flight, their black wings silhouetted against the red-gold sky. On the banks of the pool, the black dogs growled, their paws digging into the sand and their lips pulled back from their teeth. Flame shot from the taller Dimi’s fingertips, igniting another rowan branch, and the wind blew, courtesy of the Dimi that spoke with her hands, whipping it into an inferno. Darkness foamed at the cursed Shadow’s feet, twining around his body like a lover. And in the midst of it all stood Dimi Ivanova, her hands still lifted to the sky in supplication, haloed with Light.
Damn her to the most insidious corner of the Underworld. What had she done?
His demons had frozen, as if mesmerized. And a moment later, Gadreel had his answer.
Before his eyes, the firs changed shape, breaking loose from the earth. Faces emerged from their trunks; golden horns sprouted from their branches. Two men stood where the trees had been, green beards tumbling to their waists, thick staffs clutched in their hands. Emerald eyes peered from their bark-brown faces, as bright as the needles of the firs that had flanked the water.
“Katerina.” It was the taller Dimi, her voice blank with disbelief. “How—what?—”
She never finished her sentence. Instead, her gaze tracked sideways, and Gadreel’s followed. From the depths of the pool rose the form of a nude woman, her hair topped with a crown of rowan leaves and her long hair dripping not with water but with Light. She had no reflection, and yet there she stood, as real as Gadreel himself.
“In the name of the Saints,” Dimi Ivanova whispered. She trembled now, as she had never done in the face of Gadreel’s wrath. A flame of resentment ignited within him. The Dimi feared these creatures, when she had thought nothing of standing her ground against a full complement of his finest soldiers.
“What is this?” His voice came low, malevolent. Beside him, his soldiers’ eyes flicked from the fir-men to the woman in the water and back again.
Vines began to twine from the forest, snaking along the ground and outward from the trees with the avidity of a hundred reaching hands, as the woman spoke. “This is a sacred place, consecrated to the Light. Demons, you have no business here.”
This was absurd. Gadreel refused to be defeated by a soggy nymph and two men who had been trees minutes before, no matter how impressive their horns might be. He would take those as a prize, he decided, and mount them to the wall in his throne room, once its glory had been restored. Whatever these creatures were, they stood between him and his quarry.
The smaller Dimi lifted a hand, sending the rowan-smoke wafting toward him. It chafed Gadreel’s throat, and he coughed, his soldiers echoing the sound. Steeling himself, he took another step forward, ignoring the black dogs’ raised hackles and Alekhin’s warning growl.
“I am the Dark Angel of War, the Scourge of Humankind, Slayer of Shadows and Devourer of Souls,” he spat. “I go where I please, and take what I will.”
The horned men’s green eyes flashed, gold flames flickering within their depths. From within the pool, the woman’s laughter trickled, cold and clear as the water in which she stood.
“We are the Lisovyki,” the men said, together. “Lords of the forest, kings of the wild barrens, and guardians of the groves.”
“And I am the Mavka.” The woman lifted one pale, languid hand to touch her crown. “Soul of the forest, temptress, and lure.”
Gadreel opened his mouth to tell her that he had lain with Lilith herself, mother of demons; it would take more than a waterlogged girl wearing a plant on her head to entice him. But then he looked left and right. His demons, once flanking him, stood there no longer. Instead they marched forward, heedless of the smoke, past the fir-men and the growling Shadows, past Dimi Ivanova and her besmirched bodyguard, straight into the pool of water. Heedless of his demands to stop, to turn around, to obey him, they beelined for the Mavka. One by one, she kissed them when they reached her, cupping their faces as tenderly as a lover, and one by one, they howled, then sank beneath the surface and did not rise again.
“What have you done to them?” His wings burst from his back in fury, beating against the ash-flecked air.
The smooth surface of the pool churned. From the depths came the metal-on-metal shriek of his dying soldiers. And then, silence fell. A silver-blue slick stained the clear water, the Mavka at its epicenter. She had only kissed his soldiers before they sank into the depths. But somehow, she had murdered each and every one.
“What they deserved. These have not harmed me or mine, not yet. But their brethren stole my sisters away and made them suffer,” the Mavka said, her lips rising in a serene smile. “These soldiers have paid for their brothers’ crimes. Would you care to be next?”
What in the name of all the Grigori was she talking about? How and why would demons possibly make use of Mavky? It was ridiculous, absurd.
But whatever the case, this one believed it. Her smile grew, lighting her eyes. Rivulets of water ran down her body, coursing over her bare breasts and belly. The droplets gleamed in the dawning light, crimson as human blood. And Gadreel felt it, then: the pull that had driven his soldiers to wade toward her, embracing their own demise. It coaxed him, urged him, tugged him onward: a fishhook snagged in his very soul.
He set his feet, resisting it with all his willpower. She might be able to ensnare his minions, but he was the Dark Angel of War. A single water-nymph, no matter how powerful, could not lure him to his death. And this one was powerful; her strength vibrated in his bones. He didn’t stumble forward, toward her—but he couldn’t break her hold, either.
“Let me go,” he snarled, then choked as the rowan-smoke seared his lungs.
Blood roared in Gadreel’s ears as the Lisovyki and the Mavka spoke as one. “The Dimi called to us, and we have come. By the laws of ancient hospitality, we protect those who walk our paths. They will cross our waters without malice, and you shall do them no harm.”
The Lisovyki pounded their staffs on the sand, and the vines reached for Gadreel once more, yanking him backward into the line of trees. They wrapped around him, binding his wings to his sides until the feathers bent and the bones creaked. Before the smoke that drifted over the water and toward the forest obscured his vision, he made out Dimi Ivanova’s dark, triumphant gaze, and the gleam of her Shadow’s teeth as the accursed creature lifted a hand in farewell.
Chapter Twenty-Four
NIKO
Every time Niko thought he’d found the limits of his Dimi’s powers, she surprised him.
Somehow, she had summoned the forest’s guardians. She had bought them time, had fended off Gadreel once more and given them a chance to escape.
He wanted to go around the pool, to keep to the path. Who knew what would befall him once he entered the water where the Mavka waited, trailing her fingers through the silver-blue sheen of demon blood? But their horses had swum straight across and disappeared into the thicket of trees beyond, and their best chance of retrieving them was to take the same route. Already, Alexei and Damien had waded in, still in the forms of their black dogs, their discarded gear clutched in their mouths. Sofi and Ana followed, dipping their heads in gratitude to the Lisovyki as they went. Katerina was right behind them, murmuring her thanks, promising to leave offerings to the forest in exchange for their help. He had no excuses left.
