Brimstone Prince

His hand slid from her jaw to the nape of her neck beneath her hair. When the move tilted her face up, she didn’t fight it. She should have. She should have pulled away. Stood. Put distance between them. There was no buffer here. Allowing the heat to build between them was suicide.

Her affinity was a beacon for Rogue daemons.

She both feared immolation and craved it. Feared it from Rogues. Craved it from Michael. When he leaned down to give her the burn she wordlessly begged for, on her knees and as supplicant as she could allow herself to be, the thought of Rogues was scorched away.

For the first time in her life she was free.

His lips were hot from Brimstone and dusky sweet from exquisite wine. They were also perfect. Full and masculine and so familiar she could close her eyes and explore with impunity. He gasped when she boldly traced their carved curves and swells with the tip of her tongue. Then he urged her closer until her stomach was pressed to the intimate swell of the erection between his legs. He curled down to deepen the kiss.

Suddenly, he was the royal. He would claim her. He would take control. She might be caught in a devil’s bargain that would lead him all the way to hell, but in this—kissing, touching, claiming—he had the upper hand.

Lily held tight to his muscled legs, but his heat called and she allowed her palms to press and slide. Closer and closer along his thighs to find him, and measure the length of his penis caught and contained away from her by his jeans.

He growled against her mouth and moved his hands to her shoulders to urge her back. She went with his urgings. She made room for him to leave the hearth and join her, on his knees. Now they were both supplicant. Both begging. Distantly, Lily heard Grim whine, but she could only focus on getting closer to Michael’s heat. All rational strategy was forgotten. Her vision of the Colorado River boiled away to nothing. The daemon king’s manipulations paled in comparison to the demands of her and Michael’s bodies.

Her sheet had fallen away.

She was naked for her Brimstone prince and when his lips left hers to trail down and claim her breasts with his mouth and hot, wet suction, she thought she would die. Her heart raced. Her lungs hitched. Her body burned.

Lily reached for him and even through his clothes his rising body heat transferred to her fingers. When she stroked her palms down from his shoulders to his bare arms, his skin was feverish to her touch. Impossibly hot. She brushed down the slightly roughened skin of his scars anyway. Learning, exploring and burning all the while.

But Grim’s whine erupted into growls and Michael pulled away before she had even begun to know him as well as her affinity drove her to. He rose and went toward the hellhound.

Once their bodies were separated, she could feel the Brimstone burn of the intruders that were causing Grim such concern. Rogues. Here. No doubt called by her affinity that sang with an almost audible hum in her body when Michael touched her.

“We’ve got trouble,” Michael said. He’d moved to the front window to place his hand on Grim’s head and look outside.

“More than you can possibly know,” Lily replied. She was already shrugging into her clothes, which were stiff and warm from drying by the fire. The fire’s heat paled in comparison to Michael’s Brimstone burn. She shivered at the loss of his touch in spite of the warmed clothes. Her fingers fumbled on the buttons while Michael turned from the window where he’d shrugged into his jacket to grab up his guitar. She hadn’t noticed it leaning by the hearth. It was such a part of him. Like a shadow that moved when he moved and stilled when he stilled. He placed his arm through the tooled leather strap and settled the instrument against his back, where it fit perfectly as if made to match his planes and curves.

“How many?” she continued. Her own pack settled against her back with a weight that had become familiar over the past few months. Her affinity didn’t tell her the odds. It was only a magnet that drew her toward daemons and their Brimstone blood. In the past, her father’s affinity had been used to hunt and destroy daemons until he’d decided to fight the violence and hate. He’d split with the hunters. And his decision had led to his death at their hands.

“Too many to fight. Too many to face. We’ll have to take the back way out,” Michael said.

As if Grim understood his master’s words, he turned from the window and ran toward the back of the earth-bermed home.

“I thought we were surrounded by dirt on three sides?” Lily said.

“I grew up on a vineyard estate. Playing in wine caves. Other kids had tree houses. I had tunnels and cellars. A maze of them beneath the vines. And I played hide-and-seek with a hellhound for fun,” Michael explained. “Hidden exits are a family tradition. I had this one installed shortly after I began using this place.”

He took her hand, and she let him pull her after Grim toward what seemed like a dead end at the back of the house where even the skylights failed to illuminate the shadows with moonlight. The fire still crackled and burned in the front room, but they stepped into chilled darkness that smelled of earth. She pulled her hand from Michael’s when they paused. Touching him caused her affinity to flare. There was no logic in being any more of a beacon for the Rogues than she already was.

Loud thumps came from the front of the house. Rogues were at the door. Maybe they had seen Grim at the window and they were reluctant to break through the glass where he might be waiting.

Michael pushed aside a large cloth that hung on the earthen wall. She’d thought it was a Navajo blanket, but up close, even in the shadows she could see it was a woven tapestry of European origin. She reached up to touch the figure of a bird created with bright crimson plumage at the center of the piece.

“It’s a Russian firebird,” Michael explained. “That folktale has special significance to the Turov family.” But he was already disappearing into the gaping hole he’d uncovered behind the tapestry. Lily followed as the sound of breaking glass came from the bedroom behind them. The skylight. One of the Rogues had decided to come through the roof.

She followed the prince through murky subterranean shadows. Grim had stopped in front of them. Michael pushed past his hellhound and she went with him. She couldn’t be sure in the dark, but she thought the large creature was guarding their retreat.

The tunnel narrowed and dropped, taking them deeper underground. Her hands rose instinctively as they hurried along. She could barely see. She had to feel her way. Her fingers trailed across packed earth. Claustrophobia threatened. She tried to breathe normally but her respiration was hurried. In and out with every quickened step.

“Only a little farther,” Michael said. His deep voice was contained by the small space around them. The weight of the earth trapped the sound, making his melodious accent muffled and strange.

“What about Grim?” she asked. And suddenly her voice echoed as they exited the tunnel into a more cavernous space.

“Grim doesn’t need a car to escape,” Michael said.

And that’s when Lily saw the gleam of chrome and glass and steel.

The vintage muscle car was black, or she might have seen it right away. Once her eyes had adjusted to the difference in the quality of light between the tunnel and the cavern, the car’s striking curves and angles reproved her inability to see and appreciate right away. Rogues were only a few hundred feet behind them. A hellhound prepared to defend their retreat. But Lily still paused as Michael opened the driver-side door and tossed his guitar in the back seat.

Beside the car, Michael was also all striking curves and angles. The leather of his jacket gleamed. His teeth flashed in a quick, savage smile at her surprise.

“Run with me?” he asked.

She didn’t need to be urged twice. There was no time to contemplate daemon deals, guilt or loyalty. In seconds she had ripped open the passenger door and tossed her pack in the back beside his guitar. They both sank into the buttery cream upholstery at the same time. Before she could close her door, growls and screams erupted from the tunnel. Lily almost got out of the car. Grim was in trouble. Michael reached to stop her.

“He’s got this,” he said. He had already closed his door. Now he reached across her body to pull the passenger-side door closed with a decisive thud. “He’s much older and wiser than we are. He knows what to do.” Even with the doors closed, the ferocious sounds of fighting penetrated the confines of the vehicle. “He’s just buying us time.”

Lily wasn’t so certain. She’d never heard such horrible screams and she’d grown up in hell. If the ugly beast died at the hands of the Rogues she had lured with her affinity, she would never forgive herself.

“Buckle up and hang on,” Michael said.

The car roared to life beneath them and Lily did as she was told. She’d never ridden in a sports car before, much less one that looked as deadly as this one.

“Also a Firebird, by the way. 1968. My father says it was a very good year,” Michael said. He shifted the car into Reverse and they roared backward with no further explanation.

Lily yelped and grabbed for the dashboard. She expected to hear the crunch and slam of destruction as the car rammed into the solid earth wall behind them. But instead they whooshed from zero to sixty along another tunnel. This time the tunnel rose up instead of down. She was glad she forced her eyes open when they flew out into the night, because for long seconds the vehicle seemed suspended in starlight surrounded by the endless midnight blue of the desert sky.

When they slammed down into a road carved into the sand, adrenaline soothed the jarring of her body and soul. Sure, she bit her lip and tasted blood, but it was worth the moments of flight.

“Grim?” Lily shouted above the engine’s roar.

“He’s with us. Look,” Michael said.

Lily looked out the window to see a blur of smoke and ember eyes running alongside the car.

* * *

He would have had her in front of the fire. The flickering flames reflected in the warm brown of her eyes had only matched the flames beneath his skin. She wasn’t frightened by his heat. And that gave him permission to burn.

The flavor of familiar wine had changed against her tongue. It had become sweeter, richer and more intoxicating. Especially when she had explored his mouth with sensual, darting flicks that sent desire hotter than Brimstone straight to his...

They were running for their lives and he was lost in the physical sensations of what might have been if they could have continued to indulge.

He’d been careful to take no liberties when he’d stripped off her wet clothes. Oh, he’d noticed her lush beauty. He wasn’t blind. But his primary drive had been to help and protect her. When she’d knelt between his legs, his drive had shifted.

She’d welcomed his touch. She’d welcomed his mouth on her perfect breasts. He held himself as still as possible as the memory rocked him with shudders behind the wheel.