Hell On Wheels

by Rhyll Biest

  ‘We use it to teach you how to fall.’

  ‘Huh, that’s the sanest thing you’ve said so far.’

  Adriel grinned before stepping away.

  Arvalis cleared her throat. ‘Okay, fresh meat. Dropping gently to one knee is the safest way for a beginner to stop, but only if you’re wearing your knee pads. You’ll smash your knees without knee pads, so don’t try that. Now, I want you to do a front lunge and let your knee rest on the hide. Be sure to come down on your knee very gently.’

  Valeda took a deep breath. The hide was thick and stopped her skates from shooting all over the place, and she didn’t find it as hard to do as she thought she would.

  ‘Well done.’ Arvalis smiled. ‘Now stand up but keep your knees bent.’

  Were they allowed to use their hands? Fuck it, she was using her hands. Triumphantly she stood.

  ‘Okay, now do it again, and again, until you are comfortable. As you get more comfortable, work on dropping to a knee and getting back up without putting your hands down.’

  One of the other beginners raised her hand. ‘Why can’t we put our hands down?’

  Arvalis smiled. ‘Would you like two hundred pounds of she-demon to roll over your fingers, Nagare?’

  The she-demon shook her head.

  ‘That’s right. Think about it. Fingers, wheels. Don’t put your hands down. Now practise.’ She clapped her hands and the three of them rehearsed dropping to their knees and standing again. Valeda had thought Adriel would lose interest and wander away but he stayed throughout the hour-long lesson, a dark presence keeping watch over her. And at the end of the lesson, when her muscles trembled from exhaustion and her skin was stiff with sweat, the Adriel Express took her back to the boulders and helped her to peel off her protective gear.

  It was as he knelt by her feet to slide her knee pads down, the brush of his fingers on her bare calves doing crazy things to her despite her exhaustion, that she realised the awful truth.

  She wanted him.

  Sweet Lilith.

  The deterioration of her mental wall must have finally driven her nuts.

  ***

  After a glance at Valeda’s face wiped blank with exhaustion, Adriel unlaced her skates for her.

  She allowed him to tug each skate free and gently peel her second layer of socks from her feet. Such tiny ankles. He could have circled them with his fingers. As he passed her the pair of sturdy boots she’d indicated were hers, he was surprised by a brooding, contemplative look in her eyes as she studied him.

  What was she thinking?

  He was enjoying the quiet, conflict-free moment—and the thrill of undressing his bride for the first time—when Fira skated over. The demoness took in Valeda’s exhausted appearance and smirked. ‘Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention, your thighs will be on fire for the next few weeks while you’re learning.’

  Adriel shot Fira a look. While he quite liked the thought of Valeda’s thighs on fire, he’d prefer it be due to reasons other than skating. ‘Fira, you’re dismissed.’

  The she-demon pouted before skating off. She was a saucy baggage that one. ‘Ready to go?’

  ‘I think I’d like to sit here for a bit and enjoy my post-skating panic attack, thanks.’

  She looked as calm as ever despite the sheen of sweet lending her marble skin a lustre. He sat down by her side. ‘Panic attack?’

  She frowned. ‘Mmm, wrong term. It’s less panic than a realisation of how much I need to learn.’

  ‘Some skills will come fairly easy, some won’t.’

  ‘What else do I need to learn? Do you know?’

  ‘Snow plows, t-stops, crossovers.’

  ‘Okay, stop.’ She leaned against him before stiffening and pulling away.

  ‘Lean against me, I won’t bite,’ he murmured. He felt her think about it before her warm weight pressed against him once more. ‘Like that.’

  They sat in silence for several minutes before she spoke. ‘What’s happening at the border?’

  ‘Lots of fighting and killing. Worried for me, my love?’

  ‘Not particularly.’ She yawned.

  ‘That’s my girl. How’s the chest? Feel okay?’

  She rubbed the spot where the spear had entered. ‘It’s fine, perfectly healed. Thank you.’

  ‘Good.’ He clapped her shoulder, picked up her skates and eyed her legs. ‘Want a piggyback?’

  She gave him a startled look. ‘No, I can walk.’ She jumped to her feet and would have collapsed if he hadn’t hooked an arm around her shoulders in time.

  ‘Sure about that?’

  ‘I feel like an idiot.’ She clung to him, bow-legged.

  ‘C’mon, who’s going to be bold enough to comment if the Captain of Bloodshed and Slaughter decides to give his princess wife a piggyback?’ He turned his back to her, bending at the knees to lower himself to her height. For several heartbeats there was silence, then soft hands rested on his shoulders and even softer breasts pressed against his back. This was the best idea he’d had since, well, ever.

  He hooked his arms under her knees and straightened, bouncing on the balls of his feet to reposition her weight evenly. The movement also caused her breasts to jiggle against his back, their tantalising softness a pillowy torture through the fabric of his thin tunic, but that was entirely coincidental. A side benefit, purely accidental.

  Which didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy it for all it was worth.

  ‘Moloss, come.’ As he strode off, he felt Valeda’s knees tighten around his waist. Glancing down at one knee, he grinned. Even her kneecaps were tiny. The grin was wiped from his face as his gaze travelled higher to the smooth, bare thigh above it.

  The warm point between her thighs pressed against his back.

  When is she going to want me? Or, rather, when will she admit it?

  But it wasn’t just about sex; he also wanted her to trust him. Though sex would be nice too.

  He shifted her weight and felt her breasts rub against his back, ashamed of how thoroughly he enjoyed the sensation.

  But he did it a few more times before they reached the camp.

  As they passed by, several demons paused in the middle of what they were doing to stare, some open-mouthed. Like he could give a sweet, caramel-centred fuck what they thought when his wife’s legs were wrapped around his sides.

  ‘Everyone’s staring,’ she whispered in his ear, the warmth of her breath startling him. He was more accustomed to her freezing the air than heating it. Not that he was complaining.

  ‘They’re just jealous because they’re not getting a piggyback ride.’

  She smothered a laugh against his neck, her soft lips grazing him, and his entire body lit up as he imagined a thousand other places those lips could be. His heart gave an excited extra beat, which he could have sworn was echoed by the thrumming pulse at the back of Valeda’s knees hooked over his arms. It confused him that she still had a pulse without a heart in her chest, but then a lot of things about her confused him.

  ‘Corner coming up, hang on tight.’

  She took her hands from his shoulders and wrapped her slim arms around his neck. And wriggled against him.

  Shit. An ache hammered deep in his belly. ‘Nearly there.’ And what was he going to do once they reached the tent? He knew what he wanted to do, but she probably had no clue what she was doing to him, pressing her small body against his, squirming against him. Or maybe she did, and she was trying to drive him crazy.

  They reached the tent. He glanced at Moloss. ‘Stay.’

  The hellhound gave him a huffy look.

  ‘Sorry, buddy.’ He ducked through the tent opening and once inside freed Valeda’s knees so she could slide to the ground.

  Her knees buckled and she slid sideways, her grip around his neck the only thing keeping her from falling.

  He met her surprised navy eyes as she clung to him, unsure what had happened. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got you.’

  She gave him a sheepish smile but her eyes als
o darted to his lips. Ahhh. So his ice princess was not as immune to physical desire as she liked to pretend. Just another defensive arrow in her quiver of aloofness, all designed to sustain the illusion of complete and utter self-sufficiency.

  He picked her up and deposited her on her bed, running an exploratory hand down her quadricep. She stiffened but didn’t stop him. There was interest but also hesitancy in her face. Would she allow herself to pursue that interest or would she let fear shut it down?

  He gave her a choice. ‘Your thigh muscles are stiff as boards. I can heal them with my mojo or rub them with liniment, your choice.’

  She hesitated, her gaze shifting upwards as if recalling something. ‘Save your energy for those wounded in battle. I’ll take the liniment. Please.’

  He nodded then reached for a pack with a compartment of minor medical supplies. He grabbed his flask as well. ‘Drink this, hydration is important.’

  She took it from him and drank deeply. The sight of her lips wrapped around the neck of the flask and her throat working as she sucked down the water was almost too much for him. By the time she handed the flask back to him, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, he’d departed Lustville and was well on his way to Hardness Central.

  ‘Can you rub the back of my neck? I think I hurt something when I fell. You might need to take this off.’ She tapped the collar around her neck.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I’m going to trust you to do the right thing. Don’t disappoint me.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Her navy gaze searched his.

  He fumbled with his belt before producing the key and inserting it into the lock of the collar, his hands brushing against her warm throat. Lilith, she smelled so good he wanted to bury his face in her neck and lick the sweat there from her.

  Opening a pot of liniment provided distraction, and he scooped out a thick dollop onto his palm. He glanced at her and received a shock. Her lips were parted, her gaze fixed on his hands with an unmistakable look of curiosity and anticipation.

  ‘Ready for Mister Busy-hands?’

  She laughed. ‘Do you have any idea how wrong that sounds? Anyway, I can do it myself if you give me the stuff.’

  The minty scent of the liniment filled the tent but beneath it he detected an undertone: the scent of freshly fallen snow. ‘Not a chance,’ he murmured. He took a second to warm the liniment between his hands before stroking her toned left leg, rubbing the liniment deep with firm strokes from ankle to knee, then knee to thigh. He was bastard enough to enjoy the catch of her breath as his hands skimmed the tops of her leg, her delicate nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly. His blood thickened at the thought of their bodies tangling, her small white hands on his body, her cool voice urging him on, urging him to do things she’d barely known she wanted.

  He swept his hands the other way, taking in the shape and contours of her knees, her calves, her ankles, and the incongruity of his swarthy, rough hand against her smooth, pale skin. As he started on her foot, she groaned and her head fell back—looking exactly as he imagined she might during the throes of explosive sex.

  ‘Feet hurt, huh?’ His voice emerged scratchy.

  ‘Like a bitch.’

  He grinned and worked his way up her calf. As he reached her knee he flashed back to that moment during the piggyback ride when he’d felt the pulse humming behind it. Then his hand was sliding up her thigh, reaching towards, but not quite touching, the point between her legs. With her head thrown back and her eyes closed, that intense look of concentration on her face, he imagined that was what she’d look like if … well. He had to swallow a groan.

  ‘Okay, turn over.’

  Her eyes flew open and she gave him a long look before rolling over. Her tunic hitched up with the movement and for a moment, as she lay on her front, the cleft of her buttocks peeked out. A bead of sweat popped on his brow and trickled down his cheek.

  Oh, sweet centaur snizz, he was lost.

  ***

  Valeda smiled to herself. There was something deliciously taboo about exposing herself to him, feeling the heat of his gaze on her backside nearly burning her tender skin.

  And those hands, oh, those hands. They were so big and strong and relentlessly working her, soothing her muscles but winding her up at the same time, a sweet, low ache between her legs replacing the cramps in her thighs.

  Perhaps his hands would wander, perhaps one would slide higher and discover …

  When he took his hands away with a brisk ‘all done’, she could have cried.

  She sat up and watched his back as he thoroughly cleaned his hands of liniment in the small washbasin set on a stump. She could have sworn she felt excitement in his hands, a light tremble as he rubbed her flesh. That she’d roused him.

  Had it just been her imagination?

  His broad back offered no clues, nor did the shoulderblades shifting beneath his tunic as he washed with the thoroughness of a surgeon preparing for an operation.

  Was he … stalling? Why?

  He turned and studied her, silver eyes intent.

  She tilted her head and imagined what it would be like to kiss him, to hear his breath come in harsh pants, the slick sound of their kisses filling the tent and her tongue sliding over his. Her lips parted, swelling at the idea.

  ‘You never told me, why did you give up your heart? Why couldn’t you trade something else for Lore’s gift?’

  Oh, no, no, no, his timing sucked. The issue was a major mood killer. She was so not going there.

  He studied her. ‘What happened?’

  She stood, pleased when her legs supported her. Avoiding his eyes, she pulled the hem of her tunic lower. ‘Can’t a she-demon just prefer not to have a heart?’

  He took her hand. ‘Can you get it back? Your heart?’

  She stiffened as their eyes met. He wanted to dismantle her, to change her by making her into the perfect partner, an ornament at his side. ‘If I cared to.’

  ‘A demon without a heart can never truly love another. Don’t you want to find a mate? Breed?’

  Love was a trap she could never escape and it had already nearly claimed her life once. ‘No, not particularly.’ She liked her heart right where it was—far away. ‘No. There’s never a good time to have a heart in Hell. Or any dimension, for that matter. I never want it back.’

  ‘Ever?’

  Frozen sorrow crept in to steal away the warmth his hands had created. He didn’t understand the most important thing about her—that she was a prisoner, all her ambitions and dreams fuelled by her need to escape. She stared at the hide of the tent wall. The amount of demon power required to become an archdemon generally killed off a heart. Which was a good thing, because archdemons were too powerful to be ruled by emotion. That was what she wanted, to one day be free from love. Free from control. But she had to survive long enough to become an archdemon and to earn the extra power from Lore.

  She blinked as Adriel’s hand tightened uncomfortably around hers. Hard ochre had flooded his silver eyes. ‘Adriel.’

  ‘What?’ A growl rumbled through his usual voice.

  ‘It’s happening again, that thing with your eyes.’

  ‘Shit.’ He freed her hand and took a step away from her as her eyes widened at the black veins branching up his neck and down his arms. What was happening to him? And did he know how to stop it?

  ‘Should I get a healer?’

  ‘No, stay.’ He opened his eyes and the full blaze of his molten eyes hit her—fearsome, predatory—and yet they were filled with a strange vulnerability. ‘Unless you’re afraid.’

  ‘Afraid?’

  ‘Of me.’ He turned away, shuddered and stretched his neck, sinewy tendons shifting beneath his bronze skin with its road map of black. He dropped to sit on a straw pallet, steadying himself with a hand. When he reopened his eyes they glowed brighter than the topside sun. ‘I’m not sure what these changes mean, whether they make me dangerous or not. All I know is that I can’t control them.’

 
She blinked. Uncertainty. His voice was full of it, something she’d never heard before. She liked him better for it. Before she knew what she was doing she’d sat by him and taken his hand in hers. ‘I’m not afraid. A princess of Hell is never afraid.’

  The gold in his eyes receded and silver contentment flooded in. Fascinated by the tidal change, it took her a while to notice that the gaze she’d been studying so intently was focused on her lips.

  And, Lilith help her, she wanted him too. Yes, he was fierce, terrible even, and the curse made him dangerous, but he needed her help almost as much as she needed his.

  He played with her hand. ‘You’ll stay with me?’

  She met his intense silver gaze. ‘To the end. But only without the collar.’

  When he nodded she raised a hand to his jaw. His eyes closed at the touch before he nuzzled her hand. It was such a peculiarly vulnerable sight—the Captain of Bloodshed and Slaughter, so enormous and fearsome, his head bowed and eyes lowered before her as he savoured her touch.

  When he reopened his eyes, the intensity in his flat, smoky stare invited her to take a dip in disaster.

  She wanted to, she did.

  A flurry of barking shook the tent as heavy boots approached.

  She pulled back.

  ‘Captain?’ A strong voice penetrated the tent. Missy? ‘Sorry to interrupt, but General Hakan needs to speak with you right away.’

  He looked at her, a wry smile twisting his lips. ‘Of course he does.’ He raised his voice. ‘I’ll be out in a second.’ He kissed her on the crown of the head. ‘Hold that thought, princess.’

  Chapter 11

  The cramps in her legs woke Valeda.

  She groaned. Just standing was going to kill her.

  A glance at Adriel’s side of the tent confirmed he’d not yet returned. Good. She’d let him get far too close and distance was better, always safer. While she had every intention of honouring her agreement to stay by his side, she also needed to retain her head firmly on her shoulders and not make a goose of herself.

  Like she almost had.

  Lilith, at over four centuries old, and most of those centuries spent topside in Lore’s service, one would think her beyond the need for sex, that most primitive of itches, and the need for connection.