Brimstone Prince Read online

  She was waiting to fit Lily into a gown for the evening.

  When Lily arrived exhausted and injured, Sybil jumped into action. She wasn’t demonstrative with her affections, but she cared with every practicality she could proffer. With her long life and wealth of experience, her knowledge often approached the supernatural even when Brimstone and affinity weren’t involved.

  “Ezekiel risked much in allowing you to run away,” she said as she tended to Lily’s arms. The herbal ointment she smoothed gently over the burns on Lily’s arms had a medicinal scent, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

  “He has a plan,” Lily said. She sighed as her pain disappeared. Then she gasped when the redness on her arms began to fade.

  “Doesn’t he always?” Sybil replied. She placed the lid back on the ceramic pot that held the ointment. “He tries to manipulate the universe, never imagining that the universe might get the better of him.” Sybil set the ointment on Lily’s dressing table. “Several more applications and you won’t even know you were burned. I used the same remedy on Michael when he was a baby. But his burns were much worse. Even I couldn’t prevent the scarring or stop his pain. I helped. I eased. It was all I could do.”

  “It must have been very bad. He fights his Brimstone to this day,” Lily said. The burns on her arms no longer pained her and they had nearly faded away. Her skin was still tender, but it was smooth.

  “He’s the strongest man I’ve ever known, and I’ve known many strong men,” Sybil said. She followed the revelation with more practical concerns. “Now, I need to add soft sleeves to your gown for the evening.”

  * * *

  Lily bathed and dressed for dinner as if she was preparing for the gallows. Her every move was reluctant and slow, but also deliberate and careful. How could her makeup possibly matter? And yet she took extra time and effort to apply it flawlessly. She shadowed and shaded and contoured until she wore a perfect mask of the woman she’d like to be.

  Good enough to meet the D’Arcys.

  Her baroque wardrobe was filled with beautiful clothes supplied by Sybil, a nearly immortal seamstress with a gift that would rival that of any designer in the couture world. When she opened the elaborately carved mahogany doors, she saw a new addition hanging in a snowy white garment bag on a hook on the back of the door. She could tell by the way the garment bag was rounded out by the full skirt of the dress it contained that this must be a new dress for the birthday celebration tomorrow night. Looped over the hanger by their straps was a pair of high-heeled sandals that possibly gave some hint to what the bag contained. They were deep, dark blue but dusted by sparkling diamanté dust so that they shimmered with the slightest movement.

  Lily couldn’t resist. She dreaded the birthday celebration even more than she dreaded the dinner tonight, but Sybil was an amazing artist. She had to see what the daemon seamstress had created for an event that was supposed to be the most important this palace in hell had ever seen.

  She reached trembling fingers to unzip the bag and reveal the fabric beneath.

  The room was softly lit by several lamps, but when the navy chiffon was released from its confinement, it glittered as if it held the light of a thousand stars. Lily gasped and touched several of the tiny gems that illuminated the endless layers of sheer dark fabric.

  Sybil had made the dress out of the Arizona night sky, or so it seemed.

  Lily’s heart palpitated and her breath came quick as she remembered the escape she’d made with Michael when he’d said, “Run with me.” The feeling of weightlessness in the pit of her stomach and the exhilaration when they flew.

  It was difficult to zip the bag, but she forced herself to carefully press the dress back into its protective covering once more. Now anticipation warred with fear of what tomorrow night would bring. Paired with her nervousness for tonight it was almost too much to bear. She wanted to wear the dress for Michael and dreaded the appreciation that might turn to betrayal in his eyes once she confessed her part in Ezekiel’s scheme. Michael thought he was immune to her influence, but no one with Brimstone blood could be that strong.

  She hadn’t intended to be bait. She hadn’t intended to be a lure. She hadn’t intended to want to become his bride.

  But all of those had come to be just the same.

  Once the ball gown was zipped back into the garment bag where its presence would torment her now that she’d seen it and touched it, Lily reached for the more simple dress Sybil had intended her to wear to dinner.

  Of course, in Ezekiel’s palace no one dressed simply.

  Sybil had created all of her dresses. Even the less elaborate ones. But one had new soft sleeves that Sybil had added while Lily bathed. The pale blush sheath ended high above her knees, but it featured a trailing overskirt that fluttered when she walked because it was composed of hundreds of jagged silk pieces. Under each piece a patch of darker organza added texture. The overskirt tickled her legs softly and highlighted their sleek, fit lines with every step as her skin showed against the pastel material. The bodice was satin. It was form-fitted and smooth. It hugged her breasts with a neckline that seemed to suggest she had a curvier figure than she actually possessed. The new blush sleeves were the softest organza. They were lighter than air and full so they didn’t press against the tender skin of her healing arms.

  Simple for hell. High style for anywhere else. And not nearly suitable armor for her first encounter with the D’Arcys who had haunted her since she was a child.

  Lily chose shoes that matched the bodice of the dress—smooth satin—in a slightly darker hue. Then she paused to look at herself in a floor-length mirror her mother had brought from Santa Fe. Against her dark hair and eyes, the light colors of her clothes and makeup shone. In fact, against the whole room her outfit nearly seemed to glow, as it would wherever she went in the palace tonight.

  She probably should have worn something black and nondescript. She should have opted to blend into the background and give the D’Arcys center stage. But for some reason the very thought of that made her square her shoulders and lift her chin. The lamplight caught her eyes, and they glittered in the mirror with a dark determination she suddenly embraced.

  This was her home—for now.

  She would never be queen of the castle, but tonight she was the hostess. She wouldn’t be a wallflower even if she was only the daemon king’s ward.

  Sybil knew her. The dress had pockets hidden beneath its silk patches. Perfect for her flute and her warrior angel. Lily put her oldest treasures within easy reach before she headed out the door.

  * * *

  Michael accompanied Ezekiel to the dining room. A glance from his grandfather to his bare neck seemed to suggest he had been expected to wear a tie, but nothing was said. His suit rivaled any of the designer clothes in his closet at the vineyard so he was fairly certain, tie or not, he would do his mother proud.

  Of course, it wasn’t his mother he thought of first when he entered the large room made cozy by the candelabras that lit only the table and left all else in shadows—except Lily Santiago. She was in soft pale silk. The rest of her was anything but muted. Her dark chestnut hair gleamed. Her chocolate eyes glittered. Her skin so perfectly contrasted the fluttering dress she wore that when she moved, her long legs drew his attention time and time again. Her outfit glowed in the shadowed room, but it was Lily herself who shone.

  She was talking to his mother.

  He flinched with guilt when he realized he hadn’t noticed anyone else in the room for several minutes. He’d been totally transfixed by Lily. She laughed at something his mother had said. And then Victoria D’Arcy Turov saw her son.

  Only a man related to her wouldn’t have seen her first in a crowded room. She was still a stunning diva even though she no longer graced the opera stage. She proudly wore the sparkling dust of silvery streaks in her scarlet hair. And as usual
, she wore matching red for her dress and shoes.

  “Michael,” she said with the husky voice she now used to sing contemporary popular music. She’d injured her throat when she’d saved him as a baby from an opera house fire. It hadn’t been the last time she’d saved him. They were both scarred from his first burn when he’d almost combusted before the affinity they shared had helped him to control it.

  “Victoria, I’m so glad you’ve all come,” Ezekiel said.

  Did everyone notice that his mother faltered ever so slightly when the daemon king spoke her name? Did anyone else see his stepfather, Adam Turov, move to place his hand supportively against his wife’s back? Or that seconds later his aunt, Katherine D’Arcy Severne and her husband, also came to stand beside Victoria as if they were presenting a united front to a threat that had just entered the room? Is that how they would all treat him once he was king? Would accepting the crown burn the last of his humanity away?

  “Now that Ezekiel and Michael are here, we can all take our seats and dinner will be served,” Lily said. The whole room looked to Samuel Santiago’s daughter and seemed to release a long, pent-up sigh. Because Lily smiled as if this were a normal dinner party and not a dinner party in hell. She glowed with humanity in her inhuman home.

  She led the way to the table, which just happened to bring her near him. Even as his mother hugged him and kissed his cheek in hello and his aunt did the same, even as his uncle and stepfather shook his hand, Michael was entirely focused on Lily. She brushed by him. He felt the soft tickling silk of her tattered skirt against the leg of his pants. He breathed in and tasted the slightest ozone hint of rain that always seemed to hover around her like a delicate perfume.

  Without thinking, he reached to take her hand. He needed to stop her from walking away. But it was a mistake because when he touched her bare skin, everyone in the room held their breath again. He spoke into the stillness rather than let her go.

  “You’ve met my family... Victoria and Adam. Kat and John,” he said. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement he’d already confirmed with his own eyes. But for some reason introductions he hadn’t seen weren’t enough. He needed to introduce Lily to his family. “This is Lily. Lily Santiago. She helped me retrieve Lucifer’s wings.”

  As always when their skin came into contact with each other’s, the heat had flared in his blood and the seductive song of Lily’s affinity surrounded their slight connection with an almost perceptible aura. Lily looked from his hand on hers up to his face. He spoke to his family, but he didn’t look at them. He looked deep into Lily’s eyes instead.

  “Samuel’s daughter is my ward,” Ezekiel interjected. He was oh so casual. He didn’t have a casual bone in his body and everyone in the room knew it.

  “So...you used her to help you retrieve the wings,” Adam Turov said. He wasn’t looking at Michael when he spoke. He also didn’t question. He looked right at the daemon king as if his statement was an accusation.

  Michael’s hand tightened slightly on Lily’s and her eyes widened. It was true. Of course it was true. His stepfather wasn’t a daemon but he’d lived a very long time. He perceived things that younger people never would. His long life had given him an almost psychic-like ability to notice and absorb everything about his surroundings, including everything about the people in them.

  Lily licked her lips and, damn him, he wanted to kiss her even in that moment when her nervousness gave her away. She had helped him in order to help Ezekiel. He should have known it all along. Everyone in the room was aware that the daemon king moved them like chess pieces in an elaborate game only he understood. And of course his grandfather would try to use Lily’s affinity to seduce him to the throne.

  “Something smells delicious,” Victoria said. Her voice was brittle. He could hear her displeasure in every sharp shard. But she knew better than anyone that hell wasn’t the place to displease the daemon king by attacking his ward. Besides, like Lily, she’d been manipulated by the daemon king more than once in her life.

  “Ezekiel always lays a sumptuous feast,” John Severne said. His cultured French accent was more melodic than a modern one would have been, influenced more closely by Old World tones. Like Adam Turov, he’d once sold his soul, and the Brimstone in his blood had given him a longer-than-mortal life. He’d lived in his family’s opera house in Baton Rouge as the city grew up around it, and though a new one had been rebuilt in place of the old one that had burned to the ground, l’Opéra Severne and its master were still haunted by days and nights gone by. “The devil’s charms are seductive and sweet.”

  Michael knew it was meant as a warning for him. Even if everyone in the room sympathized with Lily, they would still want him to be careful. He loosened his fingers and allowed Lily to pull away. She lowered her eyes until her lashes created shadows on her cheeks, which seemed suddenly pale. Her hands went to her skirt and she swept it aside to sit in a chair beside the head of the table. Her place. Near Ezekiel. Of course.

  What had it been like to lose her real father and find herself in hell? She hadn’t had a choice. And once her mother had died she’d been left with no one but Ezekiel.

  The seat meant for him was on Ezekiel’s opposite side, across from Lily, but Adam Turov moved forward to take it, earning a look of reproof from the daemon king himself. Victoria sat beside her husband. That left three more seats. He should have taken any but the one beside Lily. They were all warning him with their eyes and actions to keep his distance from his grandfather’s ward. He should have listened, but didn’t. He pulled the chair out and sat next to her, so close that he could smell her rain-kissed skin. Adam frowned, but Michael ignored it. He’d seen her hands linger on her skirt where two small bulges on either side were mostly hidden beneath fluttering silk. She had her doll and her flute and she touched them for courage. She wasn’t as comfortable in hell with his family as she seemed. The telling gesture made him want to sit by her in spite of Ezekiel’s schemes. Or maybe because of them. Lily was being used. Ezekiel’s plans would consume her and she might just allow it. She loved the daemon king. Michael’s chest burned with anger that Ezekiel would use her vulnerability against her. Everyone seemed shocked when he took his seat. They all paused, even Ezekiel. But then the daemon king’s face relaxed into a lazy, crooked smile.

  “Please. Be seated, Katherine and Severne. Let us begin,” Ezekiel said.

  “Yes. Let’s,” Michael said. Suddenly, he knew his control was enough. The daemon king’s scheme would fail because he wasn’t ruled by the Brimstone in his blood. He had spent his life controlling it so that no one around him would be hurt. He’d protected his friends, his family and his lovers. Even Lily who tempted his fire unlike anyone ever had. He’d had his scars to remind him what his daemon blood was capable of. He’d never let it hurt anyone again. When and if he accepted the throne, it wouldn’t be because of Lily’s affinity. He would never use her the way others wanted to use her. She deserved better and he would damn well give her what she deserved.

  He was cold as ice by the time the first course was served.

  * * *

  Lily escaped the parlor off the dining room shortly after the party had retired there to drink after-dinner cocktails. She had wanted to be bold and brave and claim her place at her guardian’s table among the people he actually loved. Instead, she’d ended up feeling that she’d been placed squarely on the side of the devil against them all.

  They didn’t love Ezekiel.

  He was a hard being to love. She and her mother had always known it. But it was harsh irony that the D’Arcys didn’t care for the creature who placed them before everyone else in his life. It made her useless quest to gain his affection even more tragic.

  And Michael.

  He had looked at her through the eyes of his family and found her wanting. They hadn’t openly challenged her or Ezekiel, but she’d seen the caution in their e
yes. She had yet to make her full confession, but she could see the truth dawning in him. She had grown up in hell seeking the approval of the daemon king himself. He was the only father she’d ever known. What did it matter that her real father had been a veritable saint? Hell was her sanctuary. She deserved any taint it had left on her heart.

  “You’re a quick little thing,” a throaty voice said from out of the darkness of the corridor she traversed.

  Victoria D’Arcy stepped from the shadows. The silver streaks in her hair glinted in the torchlight of the sconces placed sporadically to illuminate the palace hallways. Lily could see anger in the tight lines of her face. She was still beautiful, maybe even more beautiful than she’d been when she was younger now that she had a lifetime of emotion swirling in her eyes.

  “You left before we could talk,” Victoria continued.

  Lily had stopped. She stood and waited for Michael’s mother to draw closer. In this light, her dress looked nearly black.

  “I wouldn’t have known what to say,” Lily said. She had agreed to help Ezekiel lure Victoria’s son to the throne of hell. She hadn’t agreed to bind him to the throne. That’s where she would draw the line. She wouldn’t bargain herself to make him a king. In fact, she would risk her life to keep him from making a forced decision.

  But Victoria couldn’t know that yet. Lily would tell no one that she planned to run away. She couldn’t risk Michael trying to stop her. It would be too easy to succumb to his persuasion.

  “You came here as a child? You’ve lived here since you were small surrounded by these chaotic walls?” Victoria asked. She nodded toward the walls that surrounded them and the figures Lily had learned to avoid looking at directly.