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  “Ruth spoke back to me once, twenty years ago,” said Madam Moncrief with a sigh in her voice. “So I cut out her tongue. She has never spoken back since. Isn’t that right, Ruth?”

  Ruth nodded solemnly.

  “As I was saying.” Madam Moncrief turned back to Bael. “If you want my help, you’re going to have to pay me.”

  “How much?” said Bael.

  Madam Moncrief’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, I don’t want your money. I have plenty of money.”

  Shadows slid through Bael’s eyes. “Then what do you want?”

  “I want you,” said Madam Moncrief, tracing a finger along his chest.

  “No.”

  “Oh, not like that!” said Madam Moncrief with feigned indignation. “I would never jeopardize something as beautiful as a marriage. I merely wish to engage your company for a period of time.”

  “And in exchange, you will help us reclaim the Excalibur that the Drake stole?” asked Ursula.

  “Of course,” said Madam Moncrief. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at Bael. “So do we have a deal, demon?”

  Bael nodded.

  “Splendid,” said Madam Moncrief, snapping her fingers. “Ruth, you will show Bael to my boudoir.”

  Ursula’s stomach churned as Bael left with Ruth. What exactly was he going to do?

  Madam Moncrief returned to her chaise lounge, and she picked up a small book to read. “Bael has agreed to the deal. So that means you’re free to go,” she said without taking her eyes off the book.

  “Was I supposed to follow him?”

  Madam Moncrief sighed. “No, little sparrow. You may make your way to my salon. When Ruth returns, she will show you where to go.”

  As if on cue, Ruth appeared at the doorway.

  “Is Bael settled?” asked Madam Moncrief.

  Ruth nodded, her dark eyes wide.

  “Then please take the girl to the salon.” The madam handed her servant a small knife with a mother-of-pearl handle. “You have my permission to use this on her face if she tries to misbehave.”

  Ursula’s fire kindled. I really don’t like her.

  Ruth nodded, her expression blank, then turned to lead Ursula out of the room.

  Ursula followed Ruth down a dark, wooden hall. Without Bael, she felt suddenly vulnerable, and the skimpy outfit didn’t help. Or the fact that Madam Moncrief’s mute servant had just been directed to potentially stab her in the face. Still, in the dimly lit hallway, the shadows provided their own sense of security. Hellhound or not, Ursula always felt best in the shadows.

  At the end of the corridor, Ruth opened a door into a warmly lit room. It took Ursula a moment to figure out they’d wandered into a small, sparsely attended theater. On a stage, a raven-haired dancer wore a large feather boa and not much else. She swayed to the sensual music of a jazz combo. As the dancer slowly adjusted the position of the boa in time to the music, Ruth led Ursula to a seat upholstered in red velvet.

  Ursula sat carefully, so as to keep as much of herself covered by the lace of her skirt as possible. Plus, who the hell knew what bodily fluids stained these seats. When she looked up, Ruth had disappeared into the shadows.

  The music intensified, and the dancer threw her boa into the audience. With a dazzling smile that warmed Ursula’s chest, the dancer began spinning her tasseled breasts, the movements strangely hypnotic.

  Ursula smiled. I want to learn how to do that.

  The small crowd clapped appreciatively, and Ursula strained her eyes to try to get a better view of the audience. Unfortunately, it was hard to see with the single spotlight focused on the stage.

  Ursula swallowed as she realized that it was also impossible to know if Ruth had returned to Madam Moncrief’s chambers or if she was sitting directly behind her, ready to plunge the silver dagger into Ursula’s face if she moved from her seat.

  Chapter 17

  With a brilliant smile, the burlesque dancer gave her tassels a final twirl, then stepped out of the spotlight. On cue, the band stopped playing, and the lights blinked out, leaving Ursula in pitch darkness. All around her, whispers filled the air, until at last, the lights blinked back on again.

  A tiny man stood on a stool in the center of the stage. He couldn’t be more than three feet tall, dressed in a specially tailored three-piece suit and a top hat. Throwing out his chest, he shouted to the crowd in a surprisingly deep voice.

  “I hope you all enjoyed Fanny and her boa.” He winked broadly. “And who could forget her tassels!”

  The crowd clapped again as Fanny stepped back into the spotlight, a new boa wrapped around her talented bosom. She bowed deeply.

  “But,” the little man continued, “have I got a treat for you! Mistress Berezina will be putting on a special performance this evening.”

  The volume of the clapping doubled as a tall woman stepped into the light, her appearance totally intimidating. Mistress Berezina wore knee-high boots, a black leather corset, and matching knickers. Her ice-blonde hair had been pulled back tightly into a bun, her expression severe.

  Glaring at the audience, she stamped her foot hard on the stage floor. Ursula jumped as the boot heel clacked like a gunshot. Immediately, the spotlight expanded as the dwarf wheeled out a wooden rack. Artfully displayed were a variety of whips, ropes, and handcuffs.

  “I’ll be giving demonstration of whip,” she announced loudly, in a thick Russian accent.

  The dwarf disappeared into the darkness.

  Mistress Berezina stamped her foot again, the sound echoing through the now perfectly silent theater. The dwarf entered the light first, then behind him appeared a hulking man in a leather mask. Apart from the collar and the mask, the only thing he wore was a pair of black briefs. The dwarf directed the man by means of a steel chain attached to a tight-fitting collar. With a click of metal, the dwarf connected the chain to an iron bolt in the middle of the stage.

  Ursula’s eyes lingered over the hulking man’s deep, olive skin and muscled form as a cold understanding began to dawn in her mind. When she made out the medley of savage tattoos on his chest—a crescent moon and swirls of stars—it only confirmed her fears.

  Oh gods. Bael.

  Mistress Berezina gave the chain a sharp tug. “On your knees, enormous slave-man.”

  Bael obeyed, dropping to his knees. Ursula’s hand covered her mouth in disbelief.

  Mistress Berezina stared at him. “You have been very bad boy, large night demon.”

  Bael didn’t answer.

  Mistress Berezina jerked the chain. “Is true?”

  This time Bael tried to respond, but the mask made it impossible for him to speak clearly.

  “Do you know punishment for offending Madam Moncrief?”

  Bael mumbled something into the mask.

  “You don’t know?” said Mistress Berezina with feigned incredulity. “Then I show you, muscle man.”

  From the rack she selected a long riding crop. She smacked it hard against her leather boot.

  Ursula felt a mixture of fear, excitement, and an overwhelming urge to burst out laughing. It wasn’t that she was worried that Lady Berezina would hurt Bael. She’d seen the shadow demon endure a lot more than a few smacks from a riding crop. But she’d never seen him submit to anyone. Bael was always in charge, and here was this blonde woman looming over him, just so he could find out about Excalibur. Would he play his part, or would he lose it and throw Mistress Berezina into the crowd?

  The dominatrix extended the riding crop so it caught Bael under the chin.

  “Stand up to receive punishment, muscle demon man,” she said.

  Bael rose, now towering over her.

  Mistress Berezina spoke to the audience. “My technique is inflict pain but leaving no marks.” Like a serpent striking, she flicked the riding crop so it smacked Bael hard in the chest. “Did you feel that, large slave?”

  Bael didn’t move.

  She smacked him again. This time on the shoulder. Still Bael didn’t react.

 
; “I see we have stoic one,” said Mistress Berezina. “But let us test just how sensitive your large body is.”

  She smacked him hard across the chest with the full length of the riding crop. Bael didn’t move.

  Mistress Berezina frowned. “On your knees.”

  Bael knelt.

  “Shall I teach large demon a lesson in obedience?” she asked the audience. Without waiting for a response, she returned the riding crop to the rack, and selected a whip. Ursula grimaced as the mistress pulled out a cat o’ nine tails. She twirled it expertly in her hand, the leather whips making an ominous whirring noise.

  If Bael heard the sound, he didn’t react.

  Mistress Berezina paced across the stage, heels clacking off the floor, until she stood directly behind Bael. Without warning, she struck him hard on the shoulder. The sound of the whips slapping against his skin echoed loudly in the silent theater, and Ursula grimaced. My poor large demon man.

  Mistress Berezina struck him again, then three more times. With each strike, Ursula expected Bael to flinch, but he remained as still as a statue.

  Mistress Berezina held up the whip. “I was told the demon slave brought consort. Perhaps she can make him feel pain.”

  A blinding light shone in Ursula’s eyes, and it took her a moment to realize the spotlight had been cast on her. As she blinked, the dwarf appeared by her side. He gripped her hand, pulling her from her seat. Oh gods. Please make this end.

  Ursula straightened her mask as she followed the dwarf down the aisle, up a short flight of steps, and onto the stage.

  “She’s pretty thing, isn’t she?” said Mistress Berezina.

  The crowd cheered its approval.

  Bael still knelt on the floor, rivulets of blood trickling down his back, and Ursula winced at the sight. The woman had aimed directly for the raw wounds where his wings had once been attached. Ursula’s muscles clenched with anger, but if Bael wanted to go ahead with this, it wasn’t her place to argue.

  Mistress Berezina raised her hands. “Do you think this little one can handle bullwhip?”

  As the crowd continued to cheer, Mistress Berezina reached for an enormous whip that lay coiled around one end of the rack like a giant snake. The dominatrix pressed it into Ursula’s hand with a stern expression. Then, she took Ursula’s wrist in an iron grip and pulled her closer to Bael.

  Mistress Berezina spoke softly into Ursula’s ear so the crowd couldn’t hear. “Madam Moncrief will have her satisfaction.” Her Russian accent had completely fallen away—now pure Londoner. Gripping Ursula’s shoulder, she glanced pointedly into a dark corner of the stage. Ruth stood there, a blank expression on her face, the sliver blade glinting in her hands.

  Okay, okay, okay. Ursula could take any of these women in a fight, but she’d come here for a purpose—to get Excalibur—and kicking people’s arses might not get her what she wanted. If they kicked the shit out of everyone, they’d only end up on a frigid street in nothing but their underwear. Minus the magic sword.

  Throwing back her shoulders, Ursula held out her hand and took the whip. It was heavy, but instantly she was aware that she’d used one before. Had Former Ursula—F.U.—been involved in some kind of Mount Acidale BDSM? That was one question she wouldn’t ask her family if she ever met them.

  She flicked the whip, and it uncoiled with a sharp snap.

  “We have natural,” Mistress Berezina declared.

  The crowd roared its approval.

  The spotlight beamed on Ursula, and she squinted in the bright light. She held the whip tightly, trying not to think of all the unseen people in the audience. Bael knelt on the floor, blood streaming down his back.

  “Sorry, Bael,” she muttered under her breath. She flicked the whip. It cracked as it wrapped around his torso.

  “Good! Now strike again. Harder!” shouted Mistress Berezina.

  Ursula flicked the whip, the crack as loud as a gunshot. The tip slapped into the center of Bael’s back, but he didn’t so much as flinch.

  “Again, small ginger woman!” yelled Mistress Berezina, stamping her foot.

  Ursula tried to aim the whip a little higher so she wouldn’t hit Bael in the same spot—but she aimed too high, and the whip wrapped around his neck.

  The crowd roared its approval.

  Ursula tried to pull back the whip, but it had wound around itself tightly and wouldn’t budge. Bael’s head pulled back, and the whip lifted up the bottom of his mask.

  Ursula grimaced. Bloody hell. I’m no good at this.

  Scowling, Mistress Berezina snatched the whip from her and flicked it in a sideways twisting motion. After the end unwound from Bael’s neck, she handed the whip back to Ursula. “Now you punish muscle demon man better.”

  Ursula cracked the whip, wincing as it struck Bael hard on one his wounds. He grunted. I’m sorry, muscle demon man.

  Mistress Berezina’s eyes blazed. “He felt that. Hit him again like that.”

  Ursula cracked the whip again. She’d tried to aim away from the open wound but only succeeded in striking the one on the opposite shoulder. The audience roared its approval, and Bael grunted again.

  “Again!” shouted the dominatrix.

  She grabbed Ursula’s hand, trying to force her to crack the whip again. Blood poured from Bael’s back.

  Ursula’s jaw clenched, anger rising in her like a volcanic eruption. Okay. That is enough. “No more.”

  The woman grabbed Ursula by the throat, squeezing hard. “I said hit again.”

  Ursula punched the woman’s arm out of the way. “I said no more. Do not touch me.”

  A pop of shearing steel sounded in the theater as Bael ripped his chain from the bolt on the floor.

  At the same time, Mistress Berezina tore the whip from Ursula’s hands and lashed out with it. The end wrapped tightly around Bael’s throat, like the coils of a serpent. She tried to pull him down, but Bael grabbed the whip with his hands and jerked it roughly. Mistress Berezina sprawled hard on the stage floor, and Bael ripped off his hood.

  Ursula ran to him, reaching for the whip that still wrapped around his neck. She helped him uncoil it.

  “Are you all right?” Bael asked.

  “I’m fine,” said Ursula.

  Bael held her close. She could smell sandalwood and feel the heat that radiated from his bare chest. His breath was hot on her neck.

  “Bael, your back—”

  He leaned down, pressing his lips against hers in a searing kiss—a hot desire, like burning coals that needed to be extinguished. Dimly, she could hear the crowd cheering wildly. But as quickly as it had begun, the kiss was over, and Bael pulled away.

  Then the spotlight went out.

  Chapter 18

  From the darkness came a familiar voice.

  “Bravo!” said Madam Moncrief. “You two put on quite a show.”

  As Ursula’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she made out Madam Moncrief’s form.

  “My fiancée was not part of the deal,” said Bael. “You had no right to bring her on stage.”

  “No, but it will be the talk of the town,” said Madam Moncrief. “The people loved it.”

  Given the crowd’s frantic cheering, she wasn’t wrong about that. Doesn’t change the fact that she’s an arsehole though.

  Bael’s gray eyes pierced the darkness. “Enough time-wasting. Now it is time for you to follow through on your end of the bargain. Where is Lucius?”

  Madam Moncrief sighed, just as the lanterns began to glow with orange light once more. “I could have made you famous. But, as you wish. Ruth, take them to the Royal Suite.”

  “The king has a suite here?” asked Ursula.

  Madam Moncrief laughed, her voice tinkling. “No, that’s just what we call it. It’s the largest private room. But you’ll need to change. You look like you just visited a slaughterhouse. Ruth will return you to my boudoir. You can clean up there.”

  Ruth beckoned them forward with her mother-of-pearl blade, which she seemed
a little too fond of.

  They followed her back through the smoky warren of corridors, into a large room decorated with colorful silks. A tuxedo had been laid out on a pink, fluffy bed.

  Ursula frowned at the wounds on Bael’s back. “Can you get some bandages, please?”

  Ruth nodded, then slipped out of the room.

  “Does it hurt?”

  Bael grunted. “I’ve had worse.”

  Ursula moved closer, studying his skin. Blood oozed from the pair of wounds Abrax had left when he stole Bael’s wings. And over those scars, welts where the whip had struck him.

  “Sorry about the whole whipping thing.”

  Before Bael could reply, Ruth opened the door and handed Ursula a roll of gauze.

  Using one of Madam Moncrief’s pink towels, Ursula wiped the blood from Bael’s wounds as gently as she could, while Bael stood perfectly still. When his back was clean, she bound the wounds tightly with gauze, stretching her arms to reach all the way around his enormous chest. Ruth stared on, dagger in her hand.

  Psycho.

  “Thank you, Ursula,” said Bael.

  Ruth opened her eyes wide, pointing at the tuxedo on the bed. She made no move to turn around or leave the room while Bael changed, instead staring at him, wide-eyed. He disappeared into the hall. Ruth and Ursula stared at each other in silence.

  A minute later, Bael reappeared dressed in his tuxedo and lion mask. “Take us to the Drake.”

  Ruth led them up a long, creaking flight of stairs to a small landing. Ursula was sure her delicate heels would snap at any minute, sending her tumbling down the stairs. A large door stood at the top, emblazoned with a golden crest that featured a topless woman. Ah. The Royal Suite. Classy.

  Ursula adjusted her mask as Ruth knocked on the door. After a few moments, a giant man opened the door.

  The hair rose on the back of Ursula’s neck. And we’re on the right track. She recognized him from the dragon’s lair—he was the dragon shifter who’d been in charge of keeping an eye on the captive supermodels. Some dragons hoarded gold. Other dragons hoarded women like they were possessions. Lucius happened to like both.