I have claimed this as well.”
“You think we did not see your betrayal well before you acted?” Nazhivēr rumbled, satisfaction pulling at his dusky lips. “What you have done is save us a great deal of time.”
“You presume to take this from me?” Vasilii mused. “I see. Take it, then, demon. With but one hand, I will slay you.”
The darkfae cradled the grimoire safely against his chest and raised his other hand, fingers casually curled. The slender digits darkened to black and extended into rigid claws.
Nazhivēr raised his hands in turn, scarlet glowing across his wrists and up his arms. Before the demon’s talons could finish forming on his fingers, Vasilii vanished.
Blood sprayed and Nazhivēr lurched backward, his chest raked with wounds. Vasilii slashed again and the demon darted sideways, scarcely evading. As Nazhivēr swung his glowing talons, Vasilii reappeared behind the demon. Blood splattered the ground.
Vasilii was so fast I couldn’t follow him. So fast he seemed to disappear as he moved.
Zylas pushed on my legs and I dropped off his back. Deepening his stance, he cast me a silent, commanding look—stay there—then slunk into the clearing. Motions blurring, Claude’s demon and the vampiric darkfae circled and slashed. Only Nazhivēr bled.
Cautiously, Zylas closed in, and when Vasilii blurred beyond my vision, Zylas launched forward. His glowing talons struck Vasilii’s lower back, tearing through his dark shirt and ripping deep into the fae’s flesh.
Zylas leaped sideways, evading Vasilii’s counterstrike, and Nazhivēr smashed his fist into Vasilii’s stomach. The darkfae flew backward, landed on his feet in a graceful skid, and straightened.
He gazed emotionlessly at the two demons, standing side by side as though they’d planned to ally against him all along. He blinked his charcoal eyes and lifted the ragged bottom of his shirt.
Zylas’s talons had torn deep, revealing dark, inhuman flesh beneath his humanlike skin—but the bloodless wounds were shrinking. The skin drew back together, the injury melting away. As the slices disappeared, the fae’s skin dimmed. His flesh grew darker and darker—and as it blackened, his body changed.
Limbs lengthened as though stretching out, thin and wiry. His spine stretched up, tattered shirt rising above his waist to reveal black skin clinging to prominent bones and rangy muscle. His face sunk in, inky eyes largening until they dominated his face. His bulky jaw opened, gaping wider than it should’ve, to reveal inch-long fangs.
With that horrifying grin, the seven-foot-tall darkfae vaulted toward the demons.
Zylas and Nazhivēr split, spun, and came at Vasilii from opposite sides. The three adversaries flashed across the clearing, too much speed and agility for my human eyes and slow human brain to comprehend. Crimson magic flashed in brief spurts, but even Zylas’s swift demonic magic required a few uninterrupted seconds to cast.
Vasilii was so swift that neither demon could produce a powerful spell. None of their attacks, even the ones that connected, slowed the fae—while bleeding gashes marred both demons. The fae’s long limbs, despite their fragile appearance, struck with crushing power, and through it all, he held the grimoire to his chest like a mother cradling an infant.
Zylas broke free of the lethal dance, skittering sideways on nimble feet.
“Adināathē izh,” he barked. “Ittā rēsh!”
Nazhivēr lunged in. His tail caught Vasilii’s legs, interrupting his movements for the barest instant, and his fist struck the fae’s head.
Zylas angled across the clearing, opening a space between him and his enemy. Crimson power raced up his arms. Runes formed across his limbs in their wake and spell circles surrounded him like satellites orbiting a planet.
Vasilii broke away from Nazhivēr and whirled toward Zylas, the length of the clearing separating them. Nazhivēr grabbed his arm, halting him—and Vasilii rammed his claws into the demon’s gut, sinking them six inches deep.
Crimson light blazed.
Vasilii tore away from the wounded demon and flashed toward Zylas, inconceivably swift.
The rune circles spun around Zylas, all six aligning atop one another, facing the oncoming fae. Before Vasilii could change course, a fiery beam exploded from the spell, struck the fae, and hurled him backward. Vasilii flew thirty feet and smashed into a tree trunk, shaking the fifty-foot hemlock. Pine needles rained down as Vasilii slumped to the dirt, his left hand empty—the grimoire gone from his hold.
Silence fell, broken only by gusts of wind whining through the trees and my pulse thundering in my ears.
Nazhivēr, one hand pressed to his punctured gut, walked forward. He stopped in the center of the clearing. From out of the snow, he lifted the grimoire.
A quiet scrape. Vasilii raised his