Her vision was worsening, and Celeste knew that if she didn’t get out of Tabor’s laboratory now, she would end up dead at the bottom of a canyon, just as he promised. She forced herself to her feet, knocking over stools and glass bottles as she did. She heard him cry out in alarm, but she kept moving, stumbled toward the exit, her terror acute.

Tabor sighed, trailing behind. “Come now, Miss Semyaza. Is this drama really necessary?”

She flung open the barn door. “Help!” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Someone help me!”

She remembered her dagger, still in the sheath on her forearm. She twisted her wrist, and it came to her hand. When Tabor grabbed her, she turned and swung the little blade with all her might. She heard him shout in pain as she sliced across his stomach. The momentum carried her forward, and she sprawled across the ground, the dagger flying from her spasming fingers.

She heard Tabor yelling, incoherent, his footsteps coming nearer. She crawled on hands and knees, desperately searching for the lost knife. Her hand touched something metallic, but before she could grasp it, Tabor’s booted foot came down on her fingers.

She screamed.

He reared back, a kick aimed at her face, a blow that would render her senseless.

She cowered, arms over her head.

The flap of wings roared through her ears, and brimstone filled her nose. Tabor shrieked in terror, and fire filled the night, so hot it burned blue. She caught a glimpse of a sword, black as the hour before dawn, and Tabor’s head went flying from his shoulders.

Her stomach turned.

And then Abraxas was there, pulling her into his arms.

“Tranquilla,” he soothed, his voice like deep water. “You’re safe now.”

“Poison,” she gasped. “He poisoned the tea.”

He cursed and sheathed his black blade across his back. He dug a long black fingernail into his palm, a hiss escaping his lips. He gently opened her mouth, and a drop of something that burned like fire touched her tongue. She struggled, afraid, but he soothed her with soft words and rubbed along her jaw and neck until she swallowed.

“Demon blood,” he whispered. “It will burn away any contamination.”

She wept silently, the shock finally rolling over her.

He stood, her limp form cradled in his arms, her cheek nestled in the curve of his neck. She smelled rosewood and amber, like in her dream.

“Hold on to me, Celeste,” he said as they took to the sky.

CHAPTER 14

Later Celeste would only remember bits and pieces of their mad flight down the mountain. The tumbling divinity-powered lights of Goetia below her, the bite of the black winds as they flew down Abaddon’s Hand, and the heat of Abraxas’s blood as it seared her from the inside.