Brimstone Prince

He was a daemon. He was the daemon king. He could care for her as a guardian more deeply than any mortal father and still he would use her to order the universe to his liking. Daemons were chess players with an eye for the long game—centuries long—and the game Ezekiel played held the balance of worlds in its outcome.

“You will help him retrieve Lucifer’s wings with no reservation, no equivocation. But you already knew I would ask this of you,” Ezekiel said.

She pulled her hand from his and turned away. Unfortunately, the tiny bedroom gave her no place to flee. Even if she’d had the whole palace at her disposal or the entire desert, there was no place she could go to escape the obligation to the daemon king. He’d saved them. He’d shielded them. Her mother had fallen madly in love with Ezekiel, and he’d never hurt Sophia even though he hadn’t loved her in the same way. Daemons loved long, and Ezekiel had loved Elizabeth D’Arcy and only her. Forever.

Elizabeth had been Michael’s human grandmother. Ezekiel’s love for her lived on in her children and grandchildren.

Yet the daemon king had been tender toward Sophia Santiago. The mighty warrior had treated her like a queen all the days of her life and he’d held her hand when she died. She’d known he didn’t return her love, but the pain of that had been softened by his protective care for her daughter.

Lily loved him for that even though she feared him for his devotion to the D’Arcys. She knew her place in the scheme of things. She’d always known. She was the daemon king’s ward, an obligation, no more, no less. It didn’t negate her debt. Her father had made a deal with the devil and now she would pay the price.

“I will,” Lily agreed.

Any freedom she’d contemplated turned to ash in Ezekiel’s presence. He was her guardian. He was the only father she’d known for a very long time. Her affection and her affinity bound her to him as surely if not more so than her real father’s daemon deal.

She would never be free. But it wasn’t stalking rogues that damned her. Or a deal struck between Samuel and Ezekiel years ago. It was Ezekiel’s scarred heart and the D’Arcys’ claim on it. She wasn’t immortal, but she was afraid she would strive to earn her place in his affections every day of her short life.

“It is done,” he said, and no throne was necessary to make his words a royal decree.

His legs began to dissipate as he turned to walk away. Lily fought the tears that filled her eyes. Not because she didn’t want him to see her cry, but because she couldn’t stand to see him untouched by her tears.

“And then I’ll come home,” Lily promised.

The daemon king was already nothing but smoke and yet he replied, “Of course. The palace was built for you eons ago, after all.”

* * *

After Ezekiel vanished—literally going up in smoke—Lily washed her face in the master bathroom sink and reset the ritual, this time with deadly seriousness. This time the elemental spirits cooperated immediately with no stormy hijinks. No doubt the spirits were as cowed as she was by the daemon king’s visitation.

Wind and Earth created a recognizable channel in the floor of the bedroom and water rose up to flow along its curves. Words came from Lily’s mouth, placed there by her ancestors’ ancient knowledge of heaven and earth.

“The Colorado River,” Lily whispered, but her voice was unfamiliar, colored by the spirits of all who had come before her. The path was revealed with no reservation, no equivocation. Her short-lived taste of freedom was over. She would never be free from the terrible weight of expectations from the only father she’d ever known. No matter what deals were struck and fulfilled, she was bound by her unrequited love for the daemon king. And to defy him more than she already had might mean losing him forever.

Chapter 5 (#u5232f25a-0f0a-577b-b7cc-37200b3f461a)

Spirit summoning made Grim nervous. The great ugly hellhound Michael loved stood stiff-legged and quivering as he stared at the adobe home for almost an hour while his master played.

Only the music kept Michael from responding a couple of times when he felt Lily’s call all the way to the boiling marrow in his bones. He played obsessively until sweat ran down his cheeks and his body trembled against the pull he resisted.

“You aren’t helping, you damned mutt,” he ground out between his teeth.

Grim whined, but only came to lie at his feet when Michael thought his hellhound might never turn toward him again. Only then did Michael allow his fingers to still on the strings. The sun had set. The nocturnal activity of the desert came to life around him. Scurryings and scrapings, scufflings and squeaks began to fill the air with soft sound.

“She’s done, isn’t she?” he asked. Grim chuffed and collapsed as if he’d run a million miles with the intensity of his watch. Michael understood. His muscles ached from tension when he uncurled from around his guitar and stood.

The sliding glass door opened and Lily stepped out into the deepening night. Lanterns at either side of the entrance illuminated the beautiful young woman, and Michael slowly lowered his instrument to the ground as he stared.

She was soaked. Her hair and clothes plastered to her petite body. Steam began to rise from her as the cool night air hit her curves. But it was her haunted gaze that captured his attention. Her eyes were dark in the lantern light. Their brown irises deepened to a dusky midnight. And they were rimmed with red as if the water on her face was...tears.

He didn’t think. He didn’t hold himself back. As Grim bristled and let out a sound that was half growl, half whine, Michael strode forward to meet Lily and he was there to catch her when she stumbled forward into his arms.

“My God, woman. That wasn’t a marathon. It must have been a crucible,” he said. The sound of his own voice shook him as much as her appearance. He was hoarse. All the tension of the day spilling from his lips.

She was pale and clammy against him and her body shivered.

“I might need more than a protein bar this time,” she said. Her teeth clicked together as she spoke.

Lily didn’t resist when he gathered her up in his arms. She was limp. What had he done? Was his freedom worth hurting an innocent woman? The Brimstone in his blood burned him with shame. He’d done this to the daughter of a veritable saint with his selfish demands. Maybe he deserved to sit on the throne of hell. He was no better than his grandfather. Ezekiel’s attention could focus on a goal with no consideration for those he burned out in the process. His mother had warned him about that since he was a small boy.

“Come on, Grim. I’ve got a job for you,” Michael said.

* * *

She’d sipped a cup of soup before she was fully conscious enough to realize it. She came awake to a full stomach and the fiery heat of a massive hellhound snuggled against her side. When her eyes opened, Grim’s glowing red irises blinked at her as if to say, “I’m a useful monster, aren’t I? By the way, I know your secrets even if my master doesn’t.”

Then she noticed she was bundled in a clean, dry sheet and nothing else.

“Um. Little help?” she asked, muffled beneath sulfuric fur.

“Grim, that’s good. You don’t have to smother her with your devilish charm,” Michael said.

The hellhound heating pad slowly got up, stretched and moved away. Lily blinked against the sudden light that glared from the fireplace once the hellhound wasn’t shielding her from its glow. Michael sat on the hearth. He sipped dark wine from a glass. She noticed the sip first. The slow, savoring movement of his mouth on the rim of the crystal and the glistening moisture of the crushed fruit on his lips. The flick of his tongue. The intimacy of his throat as he swallowed.

Then she noticed the tape on his fingers. Every pad was bandaged, and the white of the bandages was stained with blood.

“Your hands,” Lily said. She gripped the sheet around herself and rose to her knees. She and the hellhound had been lying in front of the fire so the move brought her to Michael’s legs.

He didn’t move away. He simply placed his glass to the side and waited to see what she would do. Lily held the sheet across her chest with one arm and reached for one of his hands with the other. He didn’t resist. She looked from his taped fingers up to his shuttered eyes.

“I played to drown out your call,” Michael said.

Her hair had dried in a riot of waterfall waves around her face and shoulders. She didn’t have enough hands to hold her sheet and his hand and push back her hair. As if he noticed her quandary, he reached up with his free hand to softly brush waves back from her face. But he paused in the middle of the move when his hand glanced against her cheek. He released her hair to cup her jaw as if he couldn’t merely perform a practical move when he was distracted by touching her instead.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Not for Lucifer’s wings. Not for me. Ever again,” Michael said.

“You hurt yourself for me,” Lily reminded him. The hand on her face was bandaged, too. She couldn’t imagine the intensity of his playing if it had hurt the hand that held the neck of his guitar.

“Purely selfish. I was protecting myself,” he said.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was probably only the daemon king’s presence that had dampened the Brimstone pull and the affinity’s call between them so that he could resist. She didn’t want to mention Ezekiel. Not while Michael’s hand was on her face. Not while his warm gaze searched hers. It was the daemon king’s manifestation that had drained her to the point of collapse. Summoning the devil himself took a lot out of a girl. Especially a girl with an affinity for Brimstone already strained by kisses from the future Prince of Darkness.

“Where are my clothes?” she asked instead.

“On the chair behind you. They were cold and damp,” Michael explained.

“I’m warm now,” Lily said. She was on her knees between his jean-clad legs. Warm was an understatement. The fire behind him was meaningless. The fire in his blood called to her and the daemon king was long gone.

Heat rose in her cheeks and spread down to her chest. His gaze tracked the movement as her skin flushed. Or did the track of his gaze cause the flush with its intensity? The sheet was a pristine contrast to the way her skin revealed her way-less-than-pristine thoughts.