Fate and Fury

Chapter 31

31

ELENA

E lena slowed her steps as she approached the clearing where the ruined chapel stood, wondering if she was making a terrible mistake.

For seven days, against her deepest instincts, she’d agreed to meet with the demon. He no longer seemed as terrifying as she had once imagined him to be. Over the past week, he had almost come to seem like a friend—even an ally.

Who would have ever thought that a demon would aid Elena in her battle against the Darkness? Yet here they were, with him giving her the very tools she needed to rescue her Shadow. The old ways had been shattered, and together, he and Elena were ushering in the dawn of a new age. A holy age, where she could command the power of a Dimi.

Still, each time she went to meet him, she fought with herself over the decision. And each time, she came to the same conclusion: this was meant to be, gifted to her by the Saints. For Sammael had revealed something wondrous to her. He had shown her what she was truly capable of. She would use this power to defeat Katerina and reclaim her Shadow. She would prove her love to Niko, and he would love her in return.

Surely, when Baba Petrova saw what Elena had achieved, when she learned the truth about Katerina, she would banish the Dimi and find a true disciple of the Light worthy of Niko. After Elena and Niko married, there would be a week left before they left for Rivki. Sammael had promised her that by then, she’d be strong enough to stand against the Dimi, and he, Sammael, would stand with her. Elena wouldn’t allow Katerina to rob her of her destiny. She would ride out to Rivki with her Shadow by her side, joined to a new Dimi. All of Iriska would know Elena as the Vila who saved her Shadow’s soul and delivered the realm from the Dark.

Decided, she strode the final steps into the clearing where the ruined chapel stood. Sammael was waiting for her, pacing in front of the stones. When he spotted her, his face lit with a smile. “I worried you weren’t coming,” he said.

“Me, too,” Elena said, giving him a hesitant smile in return. “But here I am.”

“And I’m glad of it. I brought you this.” He extended a ripe peach to her, his eyes crinkling when hers widened. “You told me of the blight. That the villagers are hungry. Farther to the south, near the lava fields, no such blight exists. I thought you might enjoy this.”

Mindful of her manners, Elena did her best not to snatch it from his hand. “Thank you,” she murmured, accepting the peach. It was sun-warmed, its skin yielding tart sweetness as she took a bite. The rich juice ran down her chin in a sticky stream, and Sammael laughed.

“If I’d known it would make you this happy, I would have done this sooner,” he said, his tone indulgent. “Here; I brought you this as well.”

He bent, opening the lid of a small basket at his feet. Inside were three perfect rolls, a second peach, and a small flask. “For you,” he invited.

And so Elena found herself doing the unthinkable: sitting in the grass under the spring sun, having a picnic with a demon. As her empty belly filled, she found it hard to believe he was as evil as everyone said. Maybe he was just…misunderstood.

When she’d finished eating and washed the food down with ale from the flask, Elena turned her face up to the sun, letting its rays bathe her skin. She felt him watching her, but his gaze wasn’t threatening. Instead, it was appreciative, as if she were a fine work of art.

“Elena,” he said at last.

“Yes?” Her breath caught in her throat; was he about to say something that would make her regret all of this? Something that would reveal his true, wicked nature?

But all Sammael said was, “Are you ready to continue our lessons from yesterday?” He gestured to the knives he’d laid in a line on the remains of the altar.

Elena’s heart picked up speed as she nodded. “Yes. I’m ready.”

“Then let us begin,” the demon said, excitement clear in his voice.

Elena closed her eyes, concentrating. She focused so hard, her body shook. When she opened her eyes, the knives that Sammael had laid in a line on the ruined altar rose, one at a time, to hover in the air. They turned to point at the demon, a phalanx of airborne blades.

He gave a triumphant laugh. “Good. Very good indeed. Have you been practicing?”

One of the knives broke from its fellows and inched closer, wavering, until it hovered scant inches from Sammael’s throat. He snatched it, and Elena’s concentration broke.

“It doesn’t do me much good to practice this sort of thing without you,” she said as the rest of the knives clattered to the stones. “It only works when you’re with me. It’s like the relationship between Shadows and Dimis, except instead of shielding me from demons, you’re lending me your gifts.”

Sammael laid the knives in a straight line once again. “I don’t think I’m lending you anything, Elena. I don’t have the gift of manipulating the elements. No, I think whatever has altered the dynamic of your world has allowed us to tap into the magical aspect of your own nature, the gift in your blood that allows you to give birth to Shadows and Vila.”

The thought gave Elena a strange turn, as if she were perverting her birthright. “I don’t have magic,” she protested.

He flicked his gaze at the knives. “I beg to differ.”

“That’s different,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I told you, it’s only possible because you’re here.”

Sammael leaned back on his hands, tilting his head as if in thought. They’d been meeting for a week, and each time, he’d imparted a different bit of magical lore. Sometimes it was their shared history—the centuries-long war between Dimis, Shadows, and Grigori. Sometimes, if she was lucky, it was a bit of his personal story. He’d laughed when she’d asked him if he was over five hundred years old. “Try five thousand,” he’d said, lounging back against one of the rose-wrapped columns that flanked the altar, and laughed harder when her mouth fell open in shock.

But what Elena liked best was how Sammael treated her—like an equal, not a fragile girl to be protected or a deluded Vila who didn’t know her own worth. He was never the slightest bit inappropriate with her, never impatient or angry. “Are you sure you’re a demon?” she’d asked him once, after he’d spent thirty minutes explaining the basic principles of magical energy exchange, without once losing his temper or scoffing at any of her questions.

An odd expression had crept over his face then—sadness, mixed with regret. “If there is one thing I am sure of,” he’d said, toying with the frayed cuffs of his shirt, “it is that, Elena Lisova. I never forget it for an instant. And if you are wise, neither will you.”

He always came to her in the guise of the red-haired man. Once, she’d found the courage to ask him what he really looked like. He’d shrugged, looking abashed. “I hardly know,” he’d said. “I’ve spent the years wearing a thousand faces. Do you not like this one? I can offer you an infinite number of alternatives.”

“This one is fine,” Elena had said hastily. Having such an obvious demonstration of his alien nature would have been more than a little off-putting—an inescapable indication of what she’d gotten herself into, for the sake of Niko’s salvation.

As petrified as Elena was that she was committing a horrible sin in the name of a holy pursuit, she had to admit that being with Sammael was thrilling. He’d taught her how to draw on his demonic essence, pulling his energy through her so that she could accomplish amazing things. By the end of their first real lesson, she’d been able to suck the life from a patch of clover and send the plants shriveling to the earth. By the end of the second, she’d loosened one of the ancient stones from the altar and propelled it end over end down the steps into the grass, using the power of her mind. Now, a week later, she could lift knives into the air and send them hurtling at her enemy—not with tremendous force, but still.

“Have you ever done this before?” she asked him now, sinking onto the steps below the altar. “Shared your power with a Vila like this?”

He blinked down at her in surprise. “Never once. If you’d asked me, I would have told you it wasn’t possible. You are unique in all the world, Elena Lisova.”

A hot blush suffused her cheeks, and she looked down at the steps to hide it. “I still don’t understand why you’d help me this way. Surely you have better things to do.”

“Like what?” His voice was gentle.

“Oh, I don’t know.” She gave him a small, flirtatious smile. “Stealing souls. Corrupting the innocent. Picking the world’s bones clean, one vulnerable creature at a time.”

A shadow passed across Sammael’s face. “What makes you think,” he murmured, “that I’m not?”

Elena sat up straight. “Maybe that’s what you do every second you’re not with me, Sammael-of-the-Void. But you’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I won’t forget it.”

“I keep telling you, Elena, that I am a demon.” His eyes dropped, as if the effort of holding hers was too much. “And demons do nothing for free.”

She was about to ask him what his price might be when his head rose and his nostrils flared. He leapt down the steps, arms outstretched to shield her.

“What—” she began, getting to her feet, but he hushed her as a tall, dark-haired man strolled from between the trees that bordered the ruined chapel.

“Gadreel,” Sammael said, the word a warning.

Gadreel. An extraordinarily powerful demon, the fallen Angel of War. Her heart began to thunder, so hard she worried he could hear it.

The dark-haired demon’s lips lifted in a smile. “Sammael. So this is where you’ve gone off to. I suspected you were up to something, and here you are.”

“Congratulations,” Sammael said, not moving an inch. “Now leave.”

“So rude. What are you hiding, I wonder? Is it that book of yours?” He sidestepped Sammael and looked Elena over with a focused scrutiny that made her skin prickle—as if he were wondering how she might taste. “Ah,” he said. “Not a book after all, I see.”

“You most certainly do not.” Sammael’s voice vibrated with scorn.

“Come now, Sammael. Are you not even going to introduce us?”

Sammael toyed with the cuffs of his shirt, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Elena, meet my oldest enemy, Gadreel. Five thousand years at each other’s throats, and still he enjoys antagonizing me as if it is the first time.”

“The pleasure is mine,” the dark-haired demon said, as politely as if they sat in front of a fire, sharing cups of tea.

“I beg to differ,” Sammael said. “And you are leaving.”

“I don’t think so.” Gadreel strolled closer. “Really, Sammael, will you not even let her speak for herself? What dreadful company you must be.”

A snarl rumbled up from Sammael’s chest, making Elena shiver. “Step away.”

“So protective.” Gadreel’s eyes focused on Elena’s face where she peeked over Sammael’s shoulder. They were the rich color of delphiniums, surprisingly beautiful in his cold face. “Now you have me intrigued. What makes her so special?”

He stepped closer still, and Sammael snarled again. “Never think it. This one is mine.”

There was a ruthless tinge to Sammael’s voice, a hungry, fierce note Elena had never heard from him before. Perhaps it should have frightened her, but instead all she could think was that she’d waited all her life for someone to speak of her that way—as if she were the most important thing in their world. As if she mattered more than all else.

Gadreel’s lip curled. “ That one is a Vila, in case you haven’t noticed. You can have her, and welcome. What can she ever be but cannon fodder, or a warm place to stick your?—”

It was clear enough what he meant to say, but he never got the chance. Sammael launched himself at the other demon, baring his teeth. Gadreel’s eyes widened in surprise, a moment before he hit the forest floor with a thud that shook the saplings.

This, Elena thought as they wrestled, was what it felt like to have a Shadow fight for you. A person who was always willing to stand between you and danger—not that Sammael was precisely a person, but the point remained the same.

“Apologize,” Sammael growled, his teeth inches from Gadreel’s throat.

Gadreel laughed, a mocking sound that would have offended Elena’s pride if Sammael hadn’t sunk his venom-coated teeth into the other demon’s neck. Silver-blue blood flowed from the wound, dripping onto the leaves beneath them.

“Apologize,” Sammael said again, his tone conversational—which, Elena thought, made it all the more frightening. He might as well have been sitting next to her on the chapel’s moss-carpeted steps, discussing the finer points of magical manipulation.

A small, lazy smile lifted Gadreel’s lips. “If you insist. Far be it from me to disparage your latest plaything. Vila, I apologize sincerely for impugning your talents and reputation.”

“Her name,” Sammael said, pinning Gadreel down with a forearm across his bloodied throat, “is Elena.”

Gadreel coughed, prying the other demon’s arm away. “My, my. How the mighty have fallen.” He cut his eyes at Elena, still smiling. “Elena of the Vila, beloved of Sammael, may I offer you my most abject regrets.”

The apology didn’t sound particularly heartfelt, but Gadreel was a demon, after all. Aside from Sammael, they were all monsters. Perhaps Sammael was a monster as well—but he was her monster, and that made all the difference. “I accept,” Elena said, inclining her head.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Gadreel said, pressing a handful of leaves to his neck to stanch the blood. “The Venom of God, felled by a Vila. What do you plan to do with this lovely acquisition, Sammael?”

It was one thing for Sammael to claim her, sounding like he was proud to do it, and quite another for this strange demon to imply that she was Sammael’s property. “I’m standing right here,” Elena said.

“It seems I must apologize yet again. But I am sure you understand my curiosity. This is quite an unusual—arrangement.” Gadreel arched a dark eyebrow, gesturing at the two of them.

Sammael snorted in disgust. “I am not consorting with the Vila in the way you believe. Unlike some, my imagination extends beyond such pedestrian activities.”

Gadreel’s other eyebrow rose to join the first. “Do tell.”

“She is betrothed to Niko Alekhin. The Shadow of the Dimi you covet. And before you ask, I’ve heard all about it. Everyone has. The Scourge of the Demon Realms, vanquished by a witch and her dog. Somehow you left that out the last time we chatted.”

Both pitch-dark eyebrows came down at once, like night falling. Gadreel hissed, a vicious sound that sent the prickling sensation of a thousand needles over Elena’s skin. “Your pet is betrothed to Dimi Ivanova’s Shadow?”

Of course, this man had heard of Katerina. Everywhere Elena went, Katerina had gotten there first. Everywhere and everything she thought was hers had to be shared with Katerina, too.

Elena thought of protesting that she wasn’t Sammael’s pet, but this wasn’t the time for argument. Gadreel’s teeth were bared, the bright blue of his eyes giving way to a solid, piercing green that eclipsed pupils, irises, and whites. He looked terrifying, and only the knowledge that Sammael would defend her if he attacked kept Elena from cowering back against one of the columns and trying to blend in with the climbing roses that twined around them, thorns and all.

Then realization dawned, crashing over her with an impact that knocked the breath from her lungs. “You,” she said when she could speak. “You led the raid on our village. The one that almost killed Alexei. That was you .”

As if it took great effort to do it, Gadreel’s head swiveled toward her. His unnaturally green eyes locked onto her face, holding her in his gaze the way a snake would hold a rabbit. It was all she could do not to flinch under their weight. “I know not who Alexei is,” he said, his voice rougher, deeper. “But yes, I led the raid. It was the Dimi I wanted. That night, she showed me she will be worth any wait.”

Rage welled in Elena, making her clench her fists. Was she to have no respite from Katerina, even here—in her safe place, the place where she was the one who shone? “Alexei is the Shadow your soldier stabbed ,” she said, gritting out each syllable. “He almost died.”

Gadreel tilted his head, as if considering. “Ah, I remember now. Not this one—” His shape morphed, appallingly, into Niko’s, then back again—“but this.” Again his body slipped its confines, transforming into Alexei’s shorter, stockier form before he shifted back into the shape of the dark-haired demon. “He was easy to damage. Not a loss. Now your Shadow, on the other hand—he would be an honor to kill.”

The now-familiar fury consumed Elena again. “If it’s Katerina you want, soon you’ll have to travel farther to find her. Your kind has loosed a plague upon our land. First the village of Drezna fell. Then, just nights ago, Satvala. Which doubtless you know; perhaps you were responsible.” You and Katerina, in league with the Darkness.

She shivered at the memory of waking up to the news that the village to the south of them had been destroyed, that Nadia and Oriel were likely dead. “The Kniaz demands her protection. He will Reap her at the next Blood Moon, and Niko is meant to travel with her to Rivki.” There was no need to reveal Elena’s additional plans to the demon, about how surely Baba would sever Katerina’s bond with Niko when she knew the truth.

Gadreel’s eyes narrowed. “Your pathetic excuse for a nobleman plans to remove her from Kalach?”

Too late, Elena realized that perhaps she’d given the demon information he was thirsty to acquire. She didn’t care what befell Katerina, but the last thing she wanted was to put Niko in danger. Time was running out, and she had little of it left to free her beloved from the Dimi’s clutches. She had no intention of traveling to Rivki Island married to a man who believed he loved another. Still less did she intend to free Niko, only to lose him.

“Good fortune to you reaching her—or harming my betrothed—in Rivki, Grigori snake,” she said, and spat at the demon. “I wish Niko had ripped your head off and mounted it on a pike in the village square. I would celebrate as the crows picked the flesh from your skull, and rejoice in the passing of a coward.”

Twin fires blazed up in Gadreel’s eyes. Elena could see herself reflected in them, a tiny figure engulfed in flames. Though his shape didn’t change, his humanity evaporated, peeling away to reveal the beast that lurked beneath his skin. “How dare you,” he said, and lunged.

There was no time to run. Elena cringed back against the column, forgetting in her terror about the knives that lay on the altar or the newfound knowledge of magic at her command. Her vision filled with the demon barreling toward her, teeth bared to strike.

Then Sammael stepped between them, blocking Gadreel’s way. He grabbed the other demon by the collar and shook him. “Get away from her,” he said, the words reverberating through the ruins of the chapel.

Gadreel snapped at him, teeth gleaming, but Sammael didn’t budge. “Leave,” he said again.

A growl rumbled up from Gadreel’s chest, low and threatening, before he pulled free, smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt. “Happy to,” he said, pronouncing the words with perfect, furious diction. “She is not worth the effort.” Giving Elena one last venomous glance, he spun and strode back into the trees.

Sammael turned at once to Elena. “Are you all right?”

She couldn’t help but notice the difference between Sammael’s concern for her welfare and the way Niko had treated her after the recent demon attacks. This, she thought, a warm feeling bubbling inside her, was how it felt to be someone’s priority. “I’m fine. Thank you for not letting him hurt me.”

“I would never. You are mine to protect.” He drew himself up to his full height, nostrils flaring as if to be sure Gadreel had gone. Satisfied, he mounted the steps to the altar, stopping below the column where Elena stood.

“I should have tried to protect myself.” Shame colored her voice. “I have magic now. I could have tried.”

“Against Gadreel?” Sammael sounded incredulous. “Not and lived. Believe me when I tell you it is best he knows nothing about your gifts. Let him think what he wants about us; let him underestimate you. It is to your advantage you acted as you did.”

Elena shivered. “Couldn’t you have stopped him, if he wished to kill me?”

“Perhaps,” Sammael said, coming to stand in front of her, “and perhaps not. He was not truly resisting me when I bit him, and again, when I stopped him from attacking you. It was a test, to see how much you meant to me—the lengths I would go to protect you. One which I failed miserably.”

“How so?” Elena gave him a small, tentative smile. “Here I stand.”

“From your perspective, it was a success. You are not dead, after all.” He smiled back at her. “But from mine—he sees now that you matter to me. You have become a weapon in a war that has raged since before your kind walked the earth. He will use you against me, if he can.”

Elena tried to keep the fear from her voice. She’d known she courted danger when she entered into this bargain. To save Niko, she had to be brave. “Why do you two hate each other so much?”

He shrugged, looking weary. “It is an old rivalry. Nothing with which you need to concern yourself.”

From the closed look on his face, Elena knew he was unlikely to tell her anything else. She switched tactics, letting her smile widen. “Thank you for protecting me. And for keeping my secret.”

“It is my secret as well,” he said, gathering the knives from the altar floor. “As advantageous as it is for you to gain the power you need to free your Shadow, it is beneficial for me to have access to that power as well—as I am sure you must realize.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she felt foolish. She had never thought about what Sammael would gain from helping her—but of course, he was right. What she’d done was tantamount to delivering a Dimi into the hands of a demon. Of volunteering to become a Grigori’s weapon. The blood drained from her face.

“Ah,” he said, watching her. “You haven’t. Sometimes I think you are the most innocent creature I have ever met.”

“I’m not innocent!”

“Oh, but you are.” He set down the knives, came down the altar steps, and took her hands in his—the first time he had ever touched her in such a fashion. His fingertips were rough, his skin cold. “I mean no insult, Elena. You are pure of heart. Even this—consorting with a demon—you do to protect the one you love. It is….a revelation to me.”

Elena was more than pure of heart. She was a Vila with a singular mission, to restore balance to their way of life and reclaim the man she was destined to wed. She’d never felt anything like the icy sensation of Sammael’s magic slipping through her veins, the surge of strength when she’d lifted those blades into the air and pointed one at his throat. It was a wonderful, dangerous thrill to feel so powerful, to hold magic in her hands that a Vila had never dreamed of commanding. All in the name of driving back the Darkness that threatened to devour both Niko and Iriska whole.

Elena closed her eyes, gripping his hands in hers, and concentrated on reaching outward with her mind, the way he’d taught her. She drew on the currents of air that rippled through the grass as energy flowed from Sammael’s hands into hers. A breeze began to blow, sweeping small sticks with it. They lashed against her legs as the breeze grew into a wind. When she opened her eyes, the tall grass bent to the ground, the leaves shuddering in the trees. The birds called in alarm as a branch above them broke free, hurtling to the ground with a thump.

Sammael’s mouth fell open in amazement, the most unguarded expression she had ever seen on his face. “That—” he said, sounding stunned. “Can you do it again?”

She focused, summoning the breeze to lift the branch. It flew end over end up the steps, falling amongst the knives as the wind picked up speed once more.

Sammael’s hands clenched tight on hers, his eyes bright. “An effort worthy of a Dimi, my Vila,” he said.

An idea began to form in Elena’s mind, shimmering at the edges as it took shape, ripe with possibility. She dropped Sammael’s hands, stepping away. “What Gadreel did, taking Niko’s shape and then Alexei’s…you can do that too, yes?”

The brightness in his dark eyes dulled, replaced with caution. “Yes. Although I would not offend you by assuming the forms of those you care about. Gadreel does not consider such actions might be offensive, or cause pain. Truly, before I met you, it would not have occurred to me either. I assure you that I?—”

She waved a hand, dismissing his apologies. “Can you only assume human form, Sammael? Or could you—for instance—take the shape of a black dog?”

“You mean,” he said, cocking his head, “could I truly impersonate a Shadow?”

Wordless, Elena nodded. And just as silently, never taking his eyes from hers, Sammael transformed. One moment, he was the red-haired, smooth-shaven man she had come to know; the next, he stood on all fours, covered in lush black fur, his tail waving back and forth in greeting.

He padded toward her and leaned against her, making a low, comforting sound deep in his chest. She twined her fingers into his fur; it was warm, and alive as any Shadow’s.

An effort worthy of a Dimi, my Vila.

Elena began to smile.