Slowly, the girl circled her, the wound in her gut apparently forgotten.

More footfalls crunched over the snow, moving in a blur of motion to her left. A dark-haired man appeared by her side, fangs bared. They were trying to flank her. Shifting her weight, she slashed toward the man. In one fluid motion, Honjo ripped through his spinal column like a freshly sharpened butcher knife. She arced her sword right, slicing through the neck of the jawless girl. Two heads thumped to the ground.

“Good,” said Bael now at her side. He leaned down, punching through the man’s chest cavity to rip out his heart. Almost instantly, the body turned to ash, and he moved on the girl. Then he disappeared in a swirl of shadows.

Gripping Honjo, Ursula scanned her surroundings for movement, attuning her ears for footfalls. A clash of steel turned her head, and her gaze landed on Bael, locked into combat with a trio of men before the hospital’s gates.

His movements were swift as a storm wind, his sword gleaming like quicksilver. The fighting sped up, so fast she couldn’t track their movements. Blades flashed. A head thumped to the ground. Then, with a spinning slash, Bael separated two more heads from their necks.

As the bodies of the men crumbled, Ursula stared at Bael in disbelief. Even without his wings, he moved like a god. What would he be like with them?

After ripping out three more hearts, Bael turned to the derelict hospital, and Ursula gaped at the empty windows, trying not to think about what other demonic nightmares might make their homes within the decaying hospital.

“Don’t provoke my wrath, Fiore. Your little vamps are outmatched. Besides, I have no quarrel with you. I’m here for Abrax.”

“Who’s Fiore?” Ursula whispered.

“The leader of this pack of vampires.”

The dark form appeared at the window again.

“Abrax has promised me a place in Nyxobas’s inner council if I bring him your head.” Fiore’s voice was faintly accented and cold as tundra.

“You and I both know that’s not going to happen,” said Bael.

“He showed me your wings. Without them, you’re just as mortal as that mongrel you brought with you.”

He’s mortal? No wonder he was so desperate for his wings back.

Bael growled. “I will get them back. Why don’t you come down here and fight me, Fiore? If you win, your reward is the soul of a hellhound.”

“What?” Ursula raised her sword.

“He won’t win,” said Bael simply.

She glared at him. Pretty confident for a mutilated demon.

Fiore’s silhouette disappeared from the window. A moment later he reappeared by the entrance. Unlike the vampires they’d decapitated, he was a mass of pure muscle—only slightly smaller than Bael. A pair of katanas gleamed in his hands. A smaller vampire with cherubic blond curls stood by his side.