Brimstone Prince Read online

  Her relief lasted only as long as it took for her to realize her father’s sword was missing. It hadn’t been returned to the sheath that rested between her shoulder blades beneath her shirt and it wasn’t in the specially altered side pocket of her backpack that ran the length of the bag. Only the top of the hilt showed when it was in her backpack, but she was used to the weight and balance of the bag when the sword was hidden within it. Her father’s sword was gone.

  Slowly, Lily stood. The pack dropped at her feet as she flexed her arms out at her sides. The daemon prince’s fingers stilled on his strings. He watched her rise. He met her accusing gaze. The flickering fire made mysteries of his dark-rimmed eyes. She couldn’t read them or guess what his intentions might be.

  Daemons couldn’t be trusted. Surely, a daemon prince least of all.

  “I need your help. Normally, I rely on Grim to guide me to Rogues over pathways that aren’t fully a part of this world. But he’s a hellhound and he can’t guide me to where I need to go this time,” Michael said.

  He shifted to place his guitar on the ground beside him and then rose so gracefully that he seemed to be standing before her between one blink and the next. His movements echoed with the grace of the rhythm and blues he played as did his voice. But there was another quality to his voice—a smokiness that hinted at pain. Lily swallowed because his grace and his pain were alluring. She had heard of him. Of course she had. She knew he was the heir to the throne of hell and she knew he wasn’t happy about it. She was suddenly afraid that she knew why the daemon king had allowed her to run away. The music of this daemon prince was as seductive as the fire in his veins. Her affinity must have brought him to her. Had the daemon king planned it that way?

  “I’ve been searching for a guide. Someone who can help me retrieve my grandfather’s crown. It isn’t an actual crown, but a symbol of his right to rule the hell dimension. He sacrificed it years ago to save my father’s life. It’s my duty to get it—them—back,” Michael said.

  “Them?” Lily asked. It was extremely dangerous to have a conversation with a daemon, but she had no choice. She wasn’t leaving without her father’s sword. She firmed her spine as if he was coming at her with weapons instead of words. Because daemons used words as weapons.

  He’d stepped closer and closer to her as he spoke. His face bathed in the light from the dancing flames was hypnotic in its familiarity and the startling newness of seeing it animated, alive, life-size and so achingly appealing.

  “Lucifer’s wings. When Rogues like the ones that just attacked us revolted, they cut them from his dead body and coated them in molten bronze. They hung above the Rogue Council until the council was defeated and driven from hell by my grandfather. He’s the king now. The wings rightfully belong to him,” Michael explained. “The only problem is that they’re currently in heaven.”

  “Bronzed wings singed black by Brimstone,” Lily whispered. She’d seen them once or twice or a million times as a child, but the daemon king, Ezekiel, looked nothing like her doll. A daemon who looked exactly like her kachina searching for black wings caused an eerie awareness of destiny to prickle along her skin.

  “Yes. I must retrieve them from heaven and deliver them to my grandfather in hell. It’s complicated...but doing so will complete a bargain between us,” Michael said.

  “Lucifer’s wings are in heaven,” Lily repeated. She could easily imagine the kachina doll in her pack with its dark wings and Michael’s face.

  “The elemental spirits you call might be able to guide us to find them,” Michael said as if he was certain of her abilities. More certain than she. He had no idea how unpredictable spirits could be. And he had no idea that she had her own obligation to his grandfather.

  “It’s possible. It’s also possible they’ll refuse to help you. Sealing a portal to hell is one thing. Stealing from heaven another. Where is my sword?” Lily asked.

  He had stopped very near her. The fire now backlit his features until they were entirely in shadow. Her chin lifted in response to his height and his nearness, but she could no better read his eyes in shadows than she could in firelight. In a way, she’d known him all her life, but in much more tangible ways he was mysterious, a threat to her and to her duty and possibly even her soul. He obviously denied his Brimstone blood. He refused to live in hell and his heat was tamped down so that someone without her level of affinity might not even detect it but his controlled burn seduced in ways that a more rampant fire never had. It was a distant intrigue to her senses. One she had to work to resist.

  “I’ll give you your sword and help you close the portals you promised your mother you would close. You’ll lead me to Lucifer’s wings,” Michael proposed.

  Gone was the almost lyrical quality to his speech. He had spoken in a loud, clear voice as if a proclamation had been made.

  Lily’s chest tightened. The air had gone thick and still around her. The dancing flames slowed. Her mother had warned her. Daemon deals were dangerous. They’d lived in hell for years because of a deal her father had forged with the daemon king before he died. But Lily couldn’t turn away. She was held in place by the universe pausing around her as it waited for her to accept or reject this daemon prince’s plea.

  Because it was a plea. She could feel the tension in the man before her. He didn’t touch her, but he stood so close that his Brimstone heat caused her cheeks to flush. He’d said that retrieving the wings would cement a bargain between him and the daemon king. In her bag, the kachina doll had black wings that had been carved hundreds of years ago by a Hopi ancestor she’d never known.

  Michael D’Arcy Turov should have wings.

  Lily knew it. The dolls in her bag were wrapped and silent. She didn’t summon any spirit for guidance. It was her heart that whispered the truth.

  “I’m Lily Santiago. Give me back my father’s sword and I’ll guide you to Lucifer’s wings,” she agreed.

  The flickering flames halted. Sparks above them hung suspended in the air. Her lungs froze. Her heart paused, but after a moment of panic everything resumed as it should. The fire flickered. She breathed. Her heart pounded. And Michael Turov, the daemon prince, turned away. But not before she saw the flash of triumph in his suddenly illuminated eyes.

  Chapter 2

  Hell had no stars. The sky above the palace was as thick and impenetrable as velvet. There was no moon. No planets. Only a nothingness of an atmospheric blanket that existed to separate a lower dimension from another. One had to rise up to the outer earth to see the stars, moon and sun. In hell, day was divided from night by the passage of time and by a slight violet haze that distinguished the coming of dawn and a deeper purple hue that signified the fall into dusk.

  The hell dimension was beautiful—different, dark—but beautiful. Ezekiel often wondered that anyone could find it frightening or ugly.

  Of course, the purple haze illuminating the carnage of battlefields was hideous. A sight he would never forget. And for a daemon king, “never” was a very long time.

  He had been a warrior king during a time when war was inevitable. But it was time for a shift. Hell needed different leadership. Even a warrior king could dream of peace.

  He stood on his own private balcony looking up at the velvet sky of hell’s night and instead of thinking about war he thought about children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He thought about Samuel Santiago and the deal they’d made. For a human, Santiago had been surprisingly capable of planning for the future. Ezekiel had cared for them separately—Lily and Michael, but he’d watched them grow and he’d waited for the right time for them to meet. His grandson was almost twenty-one. It was time, but that didn’t stop Ezekiel from worrying about his ward outside the palace walls for the first time. Her affinity had always taken his utmost ability to dampen in the palace, but he’d had to keep her presence mostly hidden until the time was right. />
  Rogues would be drawn to her. She was in terrible danger. Ezekiel fisted his hands and placed them on the cold stone rail in front of him. A daemon king had to take risks sometimes. Bold moves had to be braved. Even if it meant he risked losing them both. To Rogue daemons, to each other, or, worst of all, to a betrayal of all he held dear. Michael was only half daemon. Lily was human. Yet the fate of hell was in their hands.

  Ezekiel stood for hours watching the black velvet sky lighten to purple. The passage of time was tricky in the hell dimension. They had yet to completely understand and master it. He had manipulated time to bring Lily and Michael together as peers. Time in the palace didn’t stand still. It was only infinitesimally slowed. Lily had actually been born first, but she’d needed to wait for Michael. Now, they were together. Santiago and D’Arcy. Kindling waiting for a spark. Things would proceed quickly. Yet it seemed an eternity passed as he watched and waited.

  * * *

  Lily cleaned and polished the sword with the same reverence she’d shown the kachinas. Her entire world had been one wing of a dark Gothic palace for many years. There was plenty of time to devote to ritual and habit when your world was one of confinement. Her mother had filled their days with art and music as well as exercise and training. Lily continued the practice after her mother had died.

  “There are prayers scribed on my sword...it didn’t hurt you to touch them?” she asked.

  Michael still stood near her after he’d given her back her father’s sword. She tried to ignore the intensity of his gaze, but it carried an almost tangible heat that flushed her cheeks.

  “My mother was human. My father was a daemon. I’m only half-damned. Your sword is uncomfortable for me to touch, but not impossible,” Michael said. “Your father was a daemon killer?”

  “Yes,” Lily responded. “Until he decided he wasn’t a killer after all.”

  “But you decided you would kill in his stead?” Michael asked.

  Lily noticed him take a step toward her, but she wasn’t sure he noticed himself. There was nothing she could do about the affinity for daemons in her blood. The daemon king was the only being she knew who could dampen her call. It was a vulnerable feeling to be fully herself in the New Mexico desert, but it was liberating as well. She would deal, come what may.

  But when Michael took another step toward her she couldn’t help that her heartbeat quickened.

  His Brimstone was a pleasant burn even if it shouldn’t be.

  “I defend myself and my work,” she answered. Then she sheathed her father’s sword at her back and rose slowly to meet his advance. Only at that point did he realize he’d moved toward her. He stopped. He blinked. His hands fisted at his sides.

  “Is it your command of the elements that calls me? Your command of fire?” Michael asked.

  “My kachinas are packed away,” Lily reminded him.

  “Then what? I have control over the Brimstone in my blood. I gained control as a child and I’ve never lost it. I’ve always credited the music for keeping it in check. My music soothes it. Or so I thought,” Michael said. He’d taken two more steps. He was directly in front of her now. She had to lift her chin to look up into his eyes. They glittered in the firelight. He didn’t have to tell her that his Brimstone was burning nearly out of control. She could feel it. The heat came off of him in waves and nothing could have stopped her from taking the last step between them.

  Her affinity had blossomed up and out. Her body hummed with it. No song necessary at all. She took that step and Michael sucked in a deep breath in response as her breasts touched his chest.

  “Daemons are drawn to me. It’s something bequeathed by my father’s blood,” Lily confessed.

  “Samuel’s Kiss bequeathed an affinity to my mother and her sister through their mother. A dying man saved my grandmother. Gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but he gifted her something else with those life-saving breaths,” Michael said. “She passed it to her children, and my mother passed it to me.”

  Lily hummed out loud when his hands came up to cup the sides of her face. Moisture filled her eyes. She’d never known her father was responsible for gifting the D’Arcys with affinity. Ezekiel had never told her. Michael’s human grandmother. The passage of time in the hell dimension didn’t match with the passage of time on earth.

  “My father’s name was Samuel,” she breathed out.

  “How is this possible? Samuel died before my mother was born,” Michael said. His mouth was so close to hers that his warm breath caused her lips to tingle.

  “I don’t know,” Lily lied just as Michael leaned to press his lips to hers.

  The moisture in her eyes wasn’t for the loss of her father. He’d already been gone a long time. She’d shed all the tears she could shed for him years ago. Her eyes filled because she knew in that instant that she’d been right about the daemon king’s manipulations. Michael wasn’t some random prince she’d met in the desert night. He was the reason she’d been allowed to leave the palace. And it didn’t matter that his likeness was nestled with her kachina dolls in a dusty backpack on the sand.

  He wasn’t meant for her. Her destiny might be twined with his but not for reasons of the heart. He was meant for the throne. And the daemon king expected her to help him force Michael to accept it. His Brimstone blood made him vulnerable to her powerful affinity and that made him vulnerable to the daemon king’s manipulations, if she didn’t resist them herself.

  His lips were full and warm against hers. She didn’t reject the intimacy of his moist, hot tongue. She opened for him. She eagerly met his tongue with flicks of her own. She pressed into his muscular body and his arms fell from her face to her back, where they smoothed and molded the curves of her body to fit against him. She had been forced to find haven in hell, but she tasted heaven on Michael’s lips. It was a paradise flavored with salty tears.

  She would be damned if she did and damned if she didn’t.

  Her father had made a deal with the daemon king to protect her. For Lily, it had been fifteen years ago. On earth more time had passed. Enough for a Brimstone prince to be born and grow to his majority. And now Lily could guess what price she might have to pay for Ezekiel’s protection.

  * * *

  The hellhound saved them. He leaped through the fire, scattering embers and sparks and coals in his wake as a ferocious growl erupted from his chest. They broke apart and he landed between them on stiff legs with his back hunched high.

  “What the hell, Grim?” Michael protested.

  “No. He’s right. We can’t burn so bright. It’s time to go,” Lily said. She was already finishing the job Grim had started, kicking apart the fire and burying the coals with desert sand.

  “We don’t know which direction to take yet,” Michael protested.

  “Away. First we go away and then I’ll take the time to determine specifics,” Lily said. “Rogues always find me. You found me. More will come. Especially if I don’t tamp the affinity down.” She stomped on the buried fire as if to physically illustrate her point. Then she stilled and closed her eyes. She actually knew when he took a step toward her. Lily raised her hands and held them up to ward him away.

  He might have gone to her side anyway except Grim was staring out into the desert night growling at the darkness. Something was out there stalking them. Probably more than one thing.

  “Right. Come on,” Michael said.

  It took only seconds to grab their things. His guitar. Her bag. Grim growled louder, deep in his chest, an obvious warning to whatever approached. Lily glanced one more time at her dented SUV, but it was too far away. Michael had climbed onto his motorcycle. It was a decision of the moment to hop on behind him and wrap her arms around his chest. He didn’t seem surprised. The machine roared to life beneath them as daemons appeared from the shadows.

  Michael wasted no
more time. He pointed the motorcycle to the road and goosed the accelerator. Lily held on tight as they narrowly escaped dozens of daemons they couldn’t have possibly defeated even with Grim’s help. The hellhound must have been able to count. Lily saw him materialize on the road beside them, already running full speed, his legs a blur of shifting smoke.

  They drove until dawn, which arrived in a burst of russet hues from umber to golden orange, but in the hours of road-eating travel Lily failed to figure out how she could break it to Michael Turov that he’d just rescued the woman who would be forced to seal his hellish fate.

  Chapter 3

  Michael instinctively headed to the nearest redoubt he knew. Lily needed a protected place to perform her ritual and he would need to switch the motorcycle for a vehicle that could hold supplies for two. When he’d started touring the Southwest, he’d decided to travel light, but he’d also wanted safe places to crash in between gigs and inevitable clashes with Rogues. He’d found the perfect place already built by a wealthy survivalist with an environmentalist streak outside of Phoenix, Arizona.

  He pulled the motorcycle into a drive that had been created with packed earth and crushed gravel as reddish brown as the surrounding sand. He felt Lily become more alert behind him after the mind-numbing miles they’d traveled. The sun was rising, but the earth-sheltered home built into the ground of the Sonoran Desert would be a cool respite. Especially if they went to separate rooms. A glittering expanse of glass greeted them, but between the layers of glass were blinds that automatically opened and closed when necessary to keep the temperature of the home consistent. The thick cement construction was hidden by earth and the roof was covered with desert grass with only strategically placed skylights to indicate the home beneath the ground.

  Like an ordinary dog, his beloved Grim waited at the sliding glass front door. The hellhound could have morphed through in a swirl of smoky shadow. Instead, he watched and waited for them to climb off the motorcycle and walk to his side. Michael watched as Lily approached the massive, ugly creature carefully, but without trepidation. Hellhounds were rare. He wasn’t surprised she’d never seen one. He only knew of one other in existence besides Grim. His cousin, Sam, had been given a hellhound puppy when he was a baby. There was much to admire in Lily’s attitude toward the beast that was as tall as her chest. When she actually reached to place her hand lightly on the top of Grim’s head as if a hell-spawned dog was nothing to fear, Michael stopped and stared.