Brimstone Prince

by Barbara J. Hancock

  * * *

  Lily went back to her room, no doubt creating gossip because of her new hellhound companion. Grim shadowed her without making a sound, but his materialized presence was enough to cause a stir.

  “I guess it would be too much to ask for you to stay invisible?” she asked under her breath. “I’m fine. Not even a chill bump to be seen.” If he had been able to speak, Grim might have pointed out that she avoided the walls and even the most innocuous shadows all the way back to her bedroom.

  When she arrived at her door, Grim took up his post again with a vigilant pose—ears up and forward, shoulders stiff. She had to admit his presence was reassuring for now. Later, he might interfere with her plans, but she would worry about that when the time came.

  Her room met her with peace and darkness. There was no bustle here. No party preparations. But she’d had a visitor while she was gone. The ball gown had been taken from the garment bag in the closet and spread across her bed. The bed was king-size and yet it still didn’t accommodate the voluptuous layers of organza that spilled over its edges. The diamanté gems featured heavily on the bodice and then were scattered with more subtlety on the skirts, but the sparkle was compelling. Lily stepped forward and lifted the dress gently. She watched the soft lamplight glimmer on the gems in the fabric as they reflected the light. The shimmer also revealed the deep midnight blue of the dress and the intricate weaving of hand-sewn silver threads holding the garment together.

  Sybil had outdone herself this time.

  She couldn’t have known about Lily’s fascination with the night sky over the Arizona desert. Yet the dress perfectly called forth the memory of flying through that sky with Michael beside her. She was both eager to try the dress on and loath to begin an evening that could only end in resolute sadness. But she would dance and dine with the Brimstone prince. She might spend hours in his arms tonight. No ordinary designer could have provided a dress worthy of her last night in hell.

  Chapter 23

  It took time to master the art of movement in his nearly paralyzed form, but Peter was nothing if not persistent. The increased activity outside his prison of the frieze helped. The more daemons that passed, the more he and the others trapped in the walls found themselves enlivened.

  The response was chaos, mostly. There was no method to the madness of movement around his frozen form, only shifting, swirling and screaming as he had when he’d first found himself trapped.

  Peter had been trained well by the Order. He spent hours reaching one hand out from the wall. Inch by inch he fought against whatever force had placed him in the purgatory of the palace walls. Once his hand reached forward into the shadows of the corridor, he worked to follow it with his arm. One goal drove him, as it had for many years. He would have Samuel’s daughter and her affinity for his own.

  * * *

  She found whisper-soft ivory undergarments folded on her pillow. The absence of a corset didn’t worry her. She was certain the dress would fit her perfectly. Sybil’s creations never needed help or adjustment. The strapless bra was light as air when she lifted it to place it against her skin and made of a material that was translucent, yet it conformed to her curves with the right amount of support. She couldn’t help glancing in the mirror as she pulled the equally translucent and airy thigh-high hose over her legs. After her night with Michael in the garden, the ensemble suggested numerous enticing possibilities. The idea of his calloused hands sliding against the silky hose...

  Lily turned from the dress before she allowed herself to be carried away with a sultry scenario that could never be. She didn’t need help with the ball gown. Sybil’s designs were always easy to manage no matter how luxurious they seemed. In spite of the numerous layers of organza, the dress was light and went over her head with ease.

  As she’d imagined, it settled on her slight curves like a second skin. Made for her by a seamstress more aware of her measurements than she was herself. Her arms were completely healed after several applications of the ointment Sybil had given her. They were no longer tender or pink. She stepped into the starry sandals and then allowed the skirts to fall to the floor. Their sweep was perfect. Not awkward or confining. They moved with her easily as she crossed the floor.

  It was time. The celebration would go until midnight and by that time Michael would have to make his decision. It was a poignant countdown with a foregone conclusion. He would agree to be king. It wasn’t in a D’Arcy to back down from a challenge, even if it warred with their very nature.

  Lily had to ensure that she wasn’t part of his decision—for or against—even though his choice would sever their connection forever.

  * * *

  His tuxedo was midnight blue with a sheen that reflected and refracted the candlelight as he moved. Lily watched him for long moments from the shadows. The snowy white of his silk shirt was the perfect contrast to the tie that matched the tuxedo save for the diamond chips that sparkled there like stars.

  Sybil had designed their clothes to be complementary. All of the guests including the D’Arcys would know that they were meant to be seen as a couple. Ezekiel’s orders? Or had the daemon seamstress taken it upon herself to play matchmaker with two people she had watched over since they were young?

  Lily couldn’t hide for long. Even in the crush and whirl of a ballroom filled with Loyalist daemons in their best finery, her starlit ball gown had been designed to shine. She’d only managed to go unnoticed this long because Grim had disappeared rather than escorting her with full hellhound ferocity into the ballroom. She had no idea where her vigilant watchdog had disappeared to, which added one more concern to her evening. She needed to know where he was in order to avoid him when she had to slip away.

  Michael saw her before she had braced herself sufficiently to step from the shadows. Had he been watching and waiting for her to appear? He turned fully toward her and walked several paces her way, but then he stopped. When their eyes met, she’d been pulled forward as if by a string attached somewhere deep in her chest. He stopped when she came into the glow of the candlelight and he wasn’t the only one. All around the room, guests paused in what they were doing to turn toward her with audible sighs of admiration. Lily froze and looked down at herself, drawn by a soft glow she hadn’t expected. In her dark bedroom, the dress had sparkled. In the candlelit grand ballroom of Ezekiel’s palace, it shone.

  There was more sparkle than she’d seen sewn into the fabric of her skirts. Layers upon layers of soft midnight illusion held millions of tiny multifaceted gems and they all seemed positioned perfectly to catch the light. The crowd began to clap softly. Sybil deserved the applause and the quiet murmur of surprised admiration that flowed around the room.

  Lily, however, was torn. The look in Michael’s eyes was unfamiliar to her. He didn’t join the applause. He only stared as if he’d been struck. The candlelight was equally brilliant if more subtle on his tuxedo. He gleamed darkly. He was the shadow—the shining night sky—to her galaxy.

  “Take him a glass of champagne, love. I warrant his mouth has gone dry,” the daemon king said. He’d come up beside her and he lifted one of her hands with his and pressed a long-stemmed crystal glass full of golden liquid against her fingers. She grasped when he let it go so it wouldn’t fall. He backed away and was swallowed again by the crowd, a crowd that seemed to swirl around her and Michael at a slight distance as if the rising affinity created a force field between them that kept the blur of others away.

  Her feet weren’t rooted to the ground. She discovered she could take a step toward him and then another. He only stood and watched her approach. He didn’t help her narrow the gap. He didn’t smile. His face was unreadable. His hazel eyes leaped with candlelight, movement and then the glitter of her dress.

  She held the glass out to him when she came as near as she dared.

  “Happy birthday,” she said to brea
k the silence—and the tension. She hadn’t realized her breath had been held until he blinked. The slow lowering and raising of his lids freed her to expand her lungs. He reached for the glass and brought it back to his lips in a sudden move that startled her as if he’d unfrozen when she spoke. He tilted his head back and drained the sparkling champagne in several long swallows. Lily watched the workings of his throat as the liquid went down. He placed the empty glass on a passing tray and scooped another in a smooth move that surprised because his attention was still fully on her. He offered the fresh glass of champagne to her.

  “You’re stunning tonight. I fear Sybil might have to retire. She’ll never equal this. For you or anyone,” Michael said.

  Lily took the glass from his fingers, carefully, so as not to draw the room’s attention again if they touched. She hoped he didn’t notice that the golden fluid shimmered with movement as she raised the glass to her lips. She sipped its chilled sweetness, but it didn’t cool her. Michael’s Brimstone caused perspiration to form on her upper lip. The room was full of Loyalist daemons, but they were distant warmth compared to the man beside her. Ezekiel? Possibly. He often buffered her affinity. He might be as responsible for the bubble around them as they were themselves.

  “It reminds me of the desert sky,” Lily said. She’d torn her gaze away from his. It was too easy to grow dizzy from the kaleidoscope of reflections in their depths. Or the emotions she couldn’t read. “Do you remember asking me to run away with you? The sky that night?”

  “I remember every moment with you,” Michael said. “Especially the stars...and the sunlit lilies crushed beneath us.”

  Lily’s attention flew back up to his face. She licked her lips and tasted perspiration and champagne.

  “You avoided my touch when you took the glass. But Lily, this is my birthday and I have to touch you. Say you’ll dance with me and damn the consequences,” Michael said.

  “I’m here to dance,” Lily said. “All night long.”

  This time, she drained the champagne. The effervescent bubbles in her nose matched the ones in her stomach. He took the glass as she lowered it and placed it on another tray. Then he took her hand. Ezekiel’s buffering or not, when they touched the whole room seemed to pause again. Lily could feel the perusal of hundreds of gazes. She glanced around as she followed the tall figure of the half-daemon prince to the dance floor. Most of the faces were a blur—except for a lady in red who was, of course, Victoria D’Arcy. Her arched brow and wild crown of scarlet curls were vivid against the rest. By her side stood the daemon king. He, too, stood out against all others—tall, dark, lean and ever watchful.

  Lily looked away from them both.

  They were the first on the dance floor. The black marble shone stark as obsidian except for the slight tracings of white that might have been mistaken for wavering seams of natural discoloration in the stone if it weren’t for their intricate spiderweb patterns.

  Michael didn’t wait for her to come into the circle of his arms. He pulled her onto the dance floor and then turned to meet the momentum he’d caused. She was pressed flush against his broad chest with her skirts crushed and his hands splayed on the curve of her back. It wasn’t a waltz position. It was an embrace. One she didn’t fight. Instead, she wrapped her arms up to cup his neck. She gloried in the heat of his skin and the silky texture of his hair against the back of her fingers. The glow of three immense chandeliers in the high cathedral ceiling of the room created a halo around his head. His face was cast into shadow. He was angelic and mysterious in that moment even without wings, but he was also solid beneath her hands and sturdy against her body. The kiss happened without thought or pause. He leaned to accept an invitation she had instinctively made with a tilted chin and open lips. In spite of the shadows and the halo of light, the press of his lips was salty and real. As was the hot, moist thrust of his tongue. Desire arced from his teasing probe to her nipples and the flesh between her legs that was still tender from the night before. Remembered pleasure heightened the current thrill of his touch. His hands kneaded low on her waist. Champagne and wood smoke blended in the sweet soft and rough textures she explored with the quest of her own tongue.

  And then the music started.

  Other couples joined them on the dance floor at a slight distance, but close enough to disturb their intimacy. Michael lifted his lips from hers and after a slight protest of tightened fingers on the back of his nape, Lily let him. Tonight was for dancing before it was for goodbye.

  “Later,” Michael murmured above her ear. She didn’t contradict him. There would be no later for them if he accepted the throne before midnight. His deal with Ezekiel would be done and her only recourse to not be a part of it would be to run away. Her heartbeat quickened as if she was already in flight. She didn’t need the adrenaline to tell her by freeing Michael she would be risking death.

  She would be the walking dead without him anyway. If Rogues hunted her down outside the hell dimension, she would fight and then accept the consequences. It would be the least she could do for the man she...

  Her eyes were closed and her cheek was pressed to Michael’s chest. His loosening hold and a pause in his steps disturbed her thoughts. She raised her head and opened her eyes to see the daemon king behind Michael’s shoulder. Her dance partner released her and stepped away with one final squeeze of her hand. Michael passed her to Ezekiel and only then did she know that her guardian had cut in.

  “Shall we dance, Lily?” Ezekiel asked. As usual his words had myriad meanings. They’d been dancing around her affinity and his plans for his grandson all along.

  “For a little while longer,” Lily answered. She accepted his hand in place of Michael’s. As far as she remembered, she’d never touched his hand before. It was calloused and scarred, nicked from a thousand battles. It was also perfectly formed, with long, elegant fingers and symmetrical lines. He held her hand gently, as a gentleman, not a warrior. And his smile was dark, but fatherly in the candlelight.

  “I’m sorry there haven’t been more celebrations such as this in your life. You obviously enjoy it,” Ezekiel said.

  It was true. Even with the tension of the night building to an inevitable heartache, she had enjoyed the music and the movement with Michael and she enjoyed Ezekiel’s grace. The dark shadows of the palace had come alive with colorful guests, laughter, flowers and a tangible excitement she wasn’t immune to even though its cause would prove tragic to her heart.

  “We’ve been at war with Rogues. Not the best time for parties,” Lily said. She’d had her flute for music, and the lessons with her mother had been happy times full of dance and song.

  “If we don’t dance, then what are we fighting for?” Ezekiel countered. He was slightly taller than Michael and leaner. He was full daemon and an Ancient One at that. His otherworldly features, so angular and perfect in spite of his scars, had been created in heaven itself. He had followed Lucifer when he’d fallen. He’d been one of the original seekers of autonomy in another world.

  She looked up at him and examined his face. For the first time she noticed a pinched quality around his eyes as if his nearly immortal life of intrigue and fighting was beginning to take its toll. She couldn’t help it. Her hands tightened on his shoulder and against his fingers.

  “Michael will be a good king. You weren’t wrong about that. You were only wrong in trying to use me to guarantee his acceptance of the throne,” Lily said.

  “He doesn’t care. He would give up heaven and earth for you,” Ezekiel said. A full orchestra of daemonic musicians played the waltz that fed their movements. Lily only had to hold on to the daemon king and he did the rest—effortlessly graceful and fluid as he whirled her around the floor. Her head grew light and her breathing was rapid, but she didn’t let go.

  Not yet.

  “I care. I would have him give up nothing. And especially not for me,” Li
ly said.

  “I have to admit, I wondered. If he would even be here tonight. If he would live up to his heritage. His real father was extraordinary and even now he is tireless in his watch,” Ezekiel said.

  Lily nearly stumbled over her own feet at Ezekiel’s words. Had he known about her warrior angel? She had always carried it everywhere with no thought to hiding it from the daemon king. Had he known long before she did that the doll was a likeness of Michael’s father and that her abilities might call whatever was left of his soul to life?

  “Victoria says he still exists as a frigid shadow who watches over her and Michael,” Lily said. Her words were breathless and soft from the exertion of the dance in an athletic partner’s arms and from fear. What other beings did Ezekiel manipulate for his own ends?

  “He was a Guardian. That unique calling didn’t leave him when he fell to earth or when he became a lover and a father and a friend. Though I would say Victoria might be surprised whom he considers his charge,” Ezekiel said. “Michael is the son of a Guardian. He has proven to me that his blood runs true by his care and concern for you.”

  “And you will reward him with a throne he doesn’t want,” Lily said. He was impossibly hard against her hands. Like immovable stone that lived and breathed and danced. “I won’t help you force him to be king.”

  “I never imagined you would, Lily Santiago. Your blood also runs true. It has been the great joy of my life to see you learn and grow into your own heritage. Your affinity is the purest I’ve seen outside of heaven,” Ezekiel said.