The Price of Brimstone

by Allie Gail

  But four straight shots of bourbon are taking their toll.

  I'm too slow.

  Before I can withdraw far enough out of reach, the manacled wrists fly past my head with lightning-fast speed, wrapping the chain around my neck, trapping me in a tight and inescapable stranglehold. Instinctively, my fingers try in vain to pry loose the cold iron links.

  But it's too late.

  And I now realize with crystal clarity that my naïveté is about to prove fatal.

  With a feral smile, he brings his beautiful face close to mine. His breath, soft and sweet, is a friendly yet ominous reminder against my cheek.

  “Time's up, love.”

  You know how they say that when you're about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes?

  That's bullshit. Maybe it's resignation, maybe it's the alcohol haze, or maybe it's just shock, but my mind has checked out. There's nothing there. Zilch. Nada. I can't think, and maybe that's a blessing because it wouldn't matter even if I could. Knowing what's about to happen would serve no purpose other than to drive home the terror.

  Funny thing is, I'm not afraid. Not really. Fear is an emotion and right now all I feel is a black hole of nothing.

  The only thing I do know for certain is that I fucked up in a big way.

  And then the chain unexpectedly loosens, and he cradles my head between his hands, gently caressing my hair with his thumbs as he presses his soft, warm lips against mine and oh my God, what is happening here? What is he doing? What the hell is he DOING?

  My body responds instantly, flickering to life on a burst of adrenaline, electricity zapping in all directions like a live wire in a hurricane. I've been kissed before, but never like this. Nothing like this. I don't know if it's the feel of his mouth devouring mine, the sinfully seductive taste of him, or just the primitive reaction my body has to whatever the hell he's doing with his tongue right now, but nothing has prepared me for this.

  Because this...

  This is surreal.

  It's fire and ice. The darkness that lives inside all of us. The sweet temptation of everything forbidden. It's the illusion of reality, an erotic dream with no boundaries or consequences. The unnamable fears and desires that make you cry out in the night. A promise of something both wrong and oh, so right.

  The feeling lasts for only a few fleeting seconds, but the impact is undeniable.

  Releasing me, Loc drops his hands with a metallic clank of chains, and I look up into the darkening twilight of indigo eyes. They gaze at me with an intensity that stills my heart. And I swear on everything I've ever known that even though he isn't laying a finger on me right now, I can still feel his touch.

  I've never been more afraid, more conflicted, or more exhilarated in my life.

  When I am finally able to speak, the only thing I can think to ask is, “What...uh, what was that for?”

  “I thought you could use it.” His eyes gleam down at me mischievously.

  I am tongue-tied. I don't even know what to say. How to process what just happened.

  He kissed me. The half-demon aberration, the creature who was supposed to be a soulless beast, who had every chance in the world to settle his score with Russell by mutilating or even killing me...

  Did not.

  Instead, he repaid kindness with mercy.

  Compassion with tenderness.

  Everything I thought I knew is being rewritten before my eyes. The more I learn about Price, the more I wonder how much of what I've been taught is utter crap. I have to ask myself – how much did my father really know about cambions? By his own admission, he'd never seen one. How much of his knowledge was misinformation passed down from his predecessors, those with preconceived notions about something they knew nothing about?

  Then again, it is entirely possible that Loc is simply toying with me. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Slowly returning to my senses, I back away from him before either of us can manage to make this situation any more awkward than it already is.

  He watches, standing motionless like a wax effigy of some Hollywood celebrity, as I wordlessly put everything back in order. I'm done. I've had all the fun I can handle for one night. Time to wrap this up. It's nearly 4 a.m., I'm tired, woozy from the alcohol, and more than a little confused about what I'm supposed to be feeling right now.

  What is it I'm supposed to be feeling right now?

  I try to avoid looking directly at him as I collect the glasses and half-empty bottle of bourbon. There are no parting words tonight, not from me. I'm afraid to open my mouth – afraid of what I'll say. He has to know how much his kiss affected me, but that doesn't mean I have to make it blatantly obvious. I still have my pride.

  Somewhere around here, surely, I still have pieces of my pride.

  I'm in the process of trying to open the door without dropping anything when his voice floats up to me, like dandelions in the wind. I might have known I wouldn't make it out of here without him adding one last thing to the tumultuous mix in my head.

  “I'm not the monster you think I am. Try to remember that, won't you?”

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter Thirteen

  “It's about time!”

  I'm practically mobbed at the front door by Max and an impatient Russ, who grabs the bags out of my arms and makes off with them. I drop my purse on the couch and raise an eyebrow at Max. Grinning, he drapes an arm over my shoulders and leads me into the kitchen, where my brother is already unloading the contents of the bags onto the counter like a kid emptying a Christmas stocking.

  “Did you get everything?” Russ demands, unscrewing the cap off the cloves to sniff inside. “Whew! That's strong.”

  “Yes, I got everything.”

  “No shit? Even the foxglove?”

  “Uh-huh. The purple plant right there. What are you doing home already?” Considering it's only four o'clock, he should still be at work.

  “I took off a little early. We have our own work to do.” His eyes are bright with excitement as he inspects the foxglove's blossoms. I know he's seeing light at the end of the tunnel, and I hope with every fiber of my being that what we're about to learn isn't something that will break his heart. I'd rather this didn't work at all than find out that Skylar and Owen have been dead this whole time.

  “Would you mind grabbing that bracelet for me?” Max asks. “As far as I can tell, we have everything we need except for the pearls. Once we have those, I think we can get started.”

  “I'm wearing it.” I hold up my arm and present my wrist. Normally the elegant pearl bracelet is something I save for special occasions, but I figured I might as well wear it one last time.

  “Ah. Very pretty.” Fumbling with the tiny clasp, he unfastens it from my arm. “And you're a hundred percent sure they're real?”

  “According to the jewelers, they are.”

  He dangles the bracelet in front of his face, inspecting it closely with a furrowed brow. “I'm probably just being overcautious here, but it's possible the silver in the clasp could counteract the effects of the other ingredients. I hate to break it, but I'd rather not take the chance. Sorry. I'll have them restrung for you later, okay?”

  I wave off his offer. “Don't worry about it. I figured I wouldn't be getting it back.”

  “If we're gonna do this, we gotta do it right.” Even Russ has the decency to look chagrined. I wonder if it's really the bracelet they're feeling bad about, or the fact that they're about to have to gank some of my blood.

  Max busies himself plucking the lily and foxglove blossoms off their stems. I watch in sober silence as Russ unwraps the white pillar candle and sets it in the middle of a wooden bowl. Then, shooting me an apologetic glance, he snaps my bracelet and drops in the pearls. They roll about in all directions until Max covers them with the flowers.

  “What happens if this doesn't work?” I ask, breathing in the spicy scent of cloves as Max adds them to the mix. The smell reminds me of Gabby's pumpkin pie.

  “L
et's just deal with this one problem at a time.”

  “But what if you find out he doesn't even know where they are? You aren't going to kill him, are you?”

  “If there's a way, then you better believe it,” Russ announces, his expression hard as nails.

  “Hey.” Max frowns at him. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves here.”

  “You wanna just set him free and hope he doesn't show up in the middle of some dark night to slit your throat? I don't know about you, but I don't intend to go through the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”

  “You'd kill him even if he had nothing to do with it?” I feel nauseous just thinking about it. I don't want to see him die. Especially if he isn't guilty.

  I suffered a lot more than scraped knees at the hand of my mother.

  Maybe even if he is.

  “Don't be a chump, Jude. Of course he had something to do with it. He had everything to do with it! He's a fuckin' demon – it's what they do.”

  “Half demon,” I correct him.

  “Half, whole – you think it makes any difference? What are you anyway, his defense attorney? I would think you of all people would want to see this cockroach exterminated.”

  It's clear what he's referring to. And as much as I understand his need for vengeance, I don't see how killing the messenger is going to do anyone any good.

  “You can't blame Price for what happened to Mom and Dad,” I argue. “I'd like to see someone strung up for that as much as you, but not when he wasn't the one responsible.”

  Russ leans against the counter and levels me with an icy stare. “Oh, really? Not the one responsible. And you know this...how?”

  Shit. My mind races to come up with a plausible excuse to cover my blunder. “Well, isn't it obvious? Cambions are tied to their own earthbound bodies. They can't possess people the way demons can. How could it have been him?”

  My explanation makes perfect sense, but for whatever reason he still isn't buying it. “Something you wanna tell me, Jude?”

  “About what?”

  Max comes walking back into the kitchen at that moment, the spell book in one hand and what looks like a hypodermic syringe in the other. I hadn't even noticed that he'd left.

  “Did you let her into the basement?” Russ confronts him accusingly.

  “What?” Dropping the book on the counter, Max gives him a bewildered look. “No, of course not. How could I? I didn't even have the key – you had it. Why would you think that?”

  Without answering, Russ turns his attention back to me. “Judith, I'm only gonna ask you this once. Be straight with me. Have you been sneaking down there to talk to that fuckrag?”

  I cross my arms, glaring at him with righteous indignation while lying through my teeth. “And how exactly would I manage that? You think I can walk through walls? Squeeze in through a twelve-inch window, maybe? Do you even know what you sound like right now? Don't be such a paranoid dick. I gotta say, it's not flattering.”

  “Am I missing something?” Max's gaze shifts back and forth between the two of us.

  “No. Russell is just being his usual charming self.” I feel like a jerk, misleading them this way, but I'm in too deep to come clean now. Besides, if this doesn't work, there's always the possibility that Loc will keep his word and confide in me. I have to keep Plan B open as an option.

  “Well, if you two are done, what say we get this show on the road. The sooner we get started, the sooner it'll be over with.” Max pops the cap off the end of the syringe, and it's all I can do not to flinch.

  “Where'd you get that?” I stall.

  “Work. Have a seat and hold out your arm for me, please.”

  “Oh, great. I hate needles.” I plop down on a chair and reluctantly offer my arm, wincing at the sight of the sharp, gleaming tip.

  “Don't look at it, babe.” Crouching by my side, he rubs the crook of my arm gently, feeling for a vein. “Look over at the wall or something. Just a tiny pinch – you'll barely feel a thing. I do this all the time, remember?”

  Babe? Whether he intended that as a distraction or not, it works. I'm so busy pondering the connotations of this new pet name that I hardly feel the sting of the needle. Since when did I evolve from kiddo to babe? Hm...food for thought.

  I keep my gaze averted until the needle has been inserted, then turn my head to watch as the tube quickly fills. This part doesn't bother me. The sight of blood is no big deal. It's just needles...ugh. Not sure why, but they freak me out. Maybe it's a childhood thing. When I was four I roundhouse-kicked a doctor for trying to give me a booster shot. Got him right in the face. He ended up with a bloody nose and Mom was mortified.

  I cringe once again as Max removes the syringe from my arm and deftly applies a Band-Aid.

  “There we go. All done.” He pats my knee affectionately before straightening. “Thank you for your most generous contribution.”

  “Yeah...let's not make a habit of it.” I rub my arm to drive home the point. Actually, I'm only half kidding. If Max were to show up here tomorrow requesting another blood donation, I probably wouldn't say no.

  “Thanks, Jude.” Russ offers me a tentative smile. He's apparently feeling bad for biting my head off and is now trying to make amends.

  “No problem,” I reply cheerfully. Big lummox. I love him to the moon and back, even if we do bicker like cats and dogs. I just wish he wasn't so bossy all the time. “So what's next?”

  “I guess that's it.” Max gives my brother a questioning look. “You ready?”

  “I was born ready, man. Let's do this.” Fishing the key out of the front pocket of his jeans, Russ saunters over to the basement door and clumsily unlocks the padlock with his good hand. He returns to scoop up the book, along with a box of matches and a canteen, while Max collects the wooden bowl and blood-filled syringe.

  I'm just about to ask Russ what the canteen is for when he unexpectedly says, “Wish us luck.”

  Wait. Wish them luck?

  Um – excuse me? Were they seriously planning to exclude me from this after everything I've done to make it possible? Hell to the no, I don't think so!

  “Wish you luck?” I cross my arms and eye him defiantly. “Oh, honey, you're nuttier than a squirrel turd if you think I'm missing this!”

  The two of them exchange glances and I brace myself, fully expecting Russ to pull his domineering I'm-in-charge-here-so-you-do-what-I-say act. But he surprises me.

  “All right,” he agrees, almost too easily. “You can observe. But that's all. No interfering and no getting in the way. You let us handle this. Capiche?”

  I give him a silent thumbs-up and trail behind as they make their way solemnly down the stairs.

  The dormant butterflies stir to life the instant I catch sight of Loc. Even though I'm the last one in our little procession, his eyes light on me first, and the briefest ghost of a smile flits across his lips.

  I wonder if he knows what I'm thinking. That I can still remember what those lips taste like. The way they felt pressed against mine. Like the gentle caress of warm velvet. Even with the sedative effect of the bourbon, I still tangled the sheets in the wee hours of the morning, the memory of his touch a constant ache that even my fingers couldn't ease.

  Distracted though I am, it strikes me that he doesn't appear at all concerned.

  “Hail, hail, the gang's all here,” he drawls, turning his head to gaze at my brother with a bored expression.

  “I thought there were rats down here,” Russ sneers. “Did ya miss me, rodent?”

  “Immensely. I treasure the time we spend together.”

  “Don't get used to it.” Slamming the book down on the table, so hard a cloud of dust puffs into the air, he takes the syringe from Max and rolls it between his fingers smugly. “We're calling in an exterminator. Getting sick of the stink of vermin down here.”

  Closing his eyes, Loc draws in a deep, savoring breath. My heart almost stops when he pauses to look me up and down with a sly smile. “Mmm...cherry
. My favorite flavor. However did you know?”

  If looks could kill, the volcanic eruption in my brother's eyes would have incinerated the entire room.

  “How's the hand?” Loc continues, clearly doing his best to trigger a reaction. “I do hope it's not the one you use for wanking. Ah well, no worries. I'm sure your Latin lover here would be more than happy to assist you in that capacity. Door swings both ways...isn't that right, sweet cheeks?”

  “Hey.” Max snaps his fingers several times to get Russell's attention. “Dude. Focus.” He is deliberately ignoring Loc, which I have to admit is the smartest tactic. It's appalling how easily Russ plays into his hands. Hard to keep your cool when your temper is out of control. Mom used to tell him he should've been born a redhead.

  Reluctantly, I tear my gaze away from the hypnotic pull of azure eyes and instead concentrate on what Max is doing. First he lights the candle in the center of the bowl. Then he opens the canteen to pour in what appears to be water.

  “What's that?” I ask, ever curious.

  “Holy water.”

  “Where'd you get holy water?”

  Russ shoots me a sidelong look. “Church. Duh.”

  I'm not even going to ask.

  The dusky purple and white blossoms rise to the surface, floating gracefully in a circle as the fragrant scent of clove wafts into the air. The candle's flame flickers orange and blue, reflecting off the water like a mirror image. The tiny pearls roll back and forth in a rhythmic dance. I can't help but think that it all looks rather pretty. Until Max takes the syringe and infuses my blood into the water, turning it a murky, swirling red. Then it just looks eerie.

  Quite suddenly, Loc seems to change his tune. His eyes narrow, jaw setting in anger. “You're wasting your time with this...this...vile concoction!”

  Russ bends forward, cupping an ear with one hand. “What's that? Sorry. I didn't quite hear you.”

  “I said I'll feed your liver to my dog while you watch, you walking corpse!”