Brimstone Prince

by Barbara J. Hancock

  “There isn’t much time. Lucifer’s wings await a new...master,” Ezekiel said.

  Michael straightened. He nodded to his grandfather. Lily could feel him slipping away even as he still held her.

  “No. There has to be another way,” she protested.

  “My whole life has led to this moment. My legacy is my own to face,” Michael said. He held her hands against his chest. She could feel the steady beat of his Brimstone-fueled heart. The crowd was already breaking apart and heading toward the throne room. Michael moved with them. She had to let him go. Although they left the room together at first, the press of people interfered and too soon their hands loosened. Then she lost her hold on his fingers.

  Ezekiel led the way. She and Michael followed. They were no longer touching, but still close. The rest of the crowd surrounded them in a press of finery and tipsy enthusiasm. But in spite of the soft noise the guests made, Lily could hear the strange moaning and shuffling coming closer behind the crowd of Loyalists. And, even worse, the walls were alive with the grasping hands of the damned as they tried to break free. The heat of all the Brimstone around her that had risen from fear and fury scorched her skin.

  Then there was a scream. One of the guests had made the mistake of looking behind them in the long, dark corridor that led to the throne room. Bad enough that the walls were lined with grasping and grabbing arms and hands, but the Rogues and their human slaves who had managed to fully manifest from the walls were a gruesome sight as they lurched and crawled and clawed their way toward the Loyalist daemons. Lily cried out when she saw them. At her sound of distress, Michael stopped and pushed through the mass of panicking subjects to her side to grasp her hand again.

  His assumption of the throne was no longer a leisurely process with the pomp and circumstance of a ritualized occasion. It was now a desperate bid to save their people from harm.

  Lily could see the D’Arcys and their mates herding the Loyalists away from the Rogue threat. She saw Victoria reach to stop Adam Turov from using the double small swords he’d drawn from hidden scabbards beneath his tuxedo jacket on his back. The merciful gesture caused tears to prick her eyes. The half-stone, half-flesh creatures that had escaped the walls were more monsters than men, but this manifestation shouldn’t be their last act before Oblivion no matter how much evil had fueled it.

  Ezekiel reached the massive double doors to the throne room first and he flung them open as if they were made of air. His people poured in after him and dispersed along the edges of the room, keeping a safe distance from the walls. The carvings were alive with movement here, but they hadn’t been able to break free. Perhaps the residual power in the great bronzed wings that waited on the throne had held them in the walls.

  Instinctively, the crowd had left a wide path for its future king from the open doorway to the throne. The daemon king had hurried forward and he waited for Michael. He stood behind the wings, ready to place them on his grandson’s shoulders.

  There was no time for goodbye. There was no time to reveal the entirety of Ezekiel’s scheme to Michael before he claimed the throne. The lurching Rogues had already closed the gap. They were feet away from grabbing the slower Loyalists who hadn’t yet made it through the double doors.

  “Go. I know what to do,” Lily said.

  Michael touched her face. It was a stolen moment they didn’t have. But only that. No more. His hand slipped away and he turned to hurry toward the wings he’d never wanted to wear.

  Lily reached into her pocket. Adam Turov was ready with his swords and Grim had suddenly materialized beside his former master, John Severne. They had fought against daemons, side by side, for a hundred years before Severne had given Grim to Michael because he was a tiny baby who needed protection from the Order of Samuel.

  Every item of clothing she owned had been made with pockets to accommodate her flute and her warrior angel at her request. Her ball gown for tonight was no exception. She pulled out her flute and brought it to her lips. She turned away from the sight of Michael stepping up on the dais that held the throne.

  He would be lost to her.

  But their relationship had been doomed from the start.

  Lily began to play. She courted death, but she forced fear from her thoughts. She played her mother’s Hopi lullaby. She played and she released the hold on all the affinity she held in her heart. The Rogues shambled to a stop after the first few notes. Their hands went to their ears. They fell to their knees. Victoria and Kat prevented their husbands from attacking the pitiful creatures that began to crawl toward the pure love that Lily channeled.

  There was risk that they would tear her apart when they reached her. They still moaned and groaned in protest and clawed at the marble beneath them. They gibbered and cried and howled with occasional tortured screams.

  But Lily played.

  And Michael accepted Lucifer’s wings. The instant the wings were placed on his shoulders, Lily could feel their power. She continued to play the song that had brought the Rogues to their knees, but when Michael’s heat outshone all other daemons present, she turned. He stood before the throne with Lucifer’s wings on his shoulders. The empty suit of armor beside the throne was dwarfed by his presence. Every Loyalist including Ezekiel had dropped to one knee. Lily’s legs went numb and she fell to her knees as well.

  But she played.

  Behind Michael a great shadow had grown on the wall. It was as large as a dragon, but shaped like a man. Its wings spread wide while she watched and suddenly it wasn’t only her song influencing the Rogues. A chill had spread over the whole crowd, but from that chill the power of Michael’s Brimstone rose up. It was magnified by Lucifer’s wings. It joined with the aura of her affinity and called the Rogues toward the shadow on the wall.

  They all climbed to their feet and moved forward as a herd. She continued to play, but though they came closer to her, too close, so close that she could smell the corruption of tainted Brimstone, their herd parted around her body. Only one paused. She recognized him from the attack at the Grand Canyon. He was the most gruesomely malformed of them all. More stone than man. The black striations of marble pitted and striped his flesh in uneven jagged slashes.

  “D-daughter of S-Samuel. M-mine,” he croaked. With horror, she recognized the monk from the bridge. Like Reynard, he must have sold his soul to the Rogues. He’d lost his life sometime since she’d seen him last and he’d wound up in the walls of the palace just like his Rogue allies. His hands reached for her, but suddenly Grim was there. He stood between her and the creature. He growled a warning even a monster could understand. And the thing shuffled back from the fearsome hellhound. It moved around Lily as she forced herself to continue to play. Her affinity and Michael’s worked together as the Loyalists watched on bended knee.

  Only when the first Rogue walked straight into the shadow on the wall did Lily understand that her warrior angel was helping them return the creatures back to their prison in the frieze. They seemed almost relieved, with each one hurrying faster to join its brethren back in an all-marble state.

  “Our affinity is a blessing and a curse. We disturbed them. We called them forth,” Katherine D’Arcy said. She had come to stand beside Lily where she knelt. Lily allowed her flute to fall from her lips only after the last Rogue reentered the wall. She was completely drained.

  Victoria joined her sister and together they helped Lily up from the floor. She welcomed the support. Her affinity had waxed so strong and then waned. The sight of Michael coming toward her crowned as the new daemon king was almost too much for her to bear alone.

  She had been part of Ezekiel’s plan all along. Michael had been lured to hell in spite of her better intentions. Her only recourse was to give him a choice now that his deal with Ezekiel was done. If she left the palace, he would be free to step aside. His assurances weren’t enough. She had to be sure that he wouldn’t
be held here against his will by her affinity.

  “This is wrong. I don’t know how I could have prevented it, but I feel its wrongness to my bones,” Victoria said. Her throaty voice shook and her grip on Lily’s arm trembled.

  “I feel it, too. It’s as if the affinity is out of tune,” Kat said quietly.

  Was her despair magnified by this wrongness in the affinity they spoke of? Lily wasn’t sure. The music that normally filled her was overcome by a breaking heart. She pulled away from the other two women and stood as tall as she could manage to meet the new daemon king. Michael was burning bright. His Brimstone blood fully embraced for the first time.

  But she searched his eyes and found the uncertainty in the affinity that they all felt. He was his mother’s son, too.

  “Ezekiel used me to entice you to the throne. It was his plan all along. He knew that you wouldn’t be able to deliver the wings and walk away. He counted on my affinity to bind you,” Lily said. “I’m sorry. I tried to warn you.”

  “I knew what I was getting into as soon as I discovered you were my grandfather’s ward. He plays us all as chess pieces in an elaborate but deadly serious game,” Michael said. “All of us. How can I hold it against you?”

  In spite of the crowd, he lifted his hand to touch her face. The power of the wings he wore zinged into her skin and penetrated all the way to her heart. But its warmth didn’t heal. It only highlighted her pain.

  “I’m here for you, Lily. Affinity or not. I’m here for you,” Michael said. “You can’t live at peace outside of the hell dimension, so I’ll make my home here with you.”

  It was a confession that cut her to the core because it was a truth she’d suspected all along. He had accepted the throne because of her. It didn’t matter if the affinity had influenced him or if he was capable of feeling pity for her without the affinity’s call.

  “I won’t keep you here,” Lily said.

  Somehow she managed to turn away from his soft touch. In front of an audience of thousands of eyes including the eyes in the walls, Lily walked away.

  Chapter 25

  The second the walls consumed the horde; Michael felt Lucifer’s wings release him. They still sat on his shoulders, but they were no longer connected to him as they had been in the first few moments when he’d used them to help Lily. The rejection was physically jarring. It slammed against him and took his breath, but he ignored the pain. He would overcome it. He would learn to wear the wings. For Lily.

  The jubilant crowd tried to close in around their new king, but Michael pressed through the hundreds of daemons to follow Lily. The power in Lucifer’s wings helped to part the sea of figures all around him without any direction from him at all. She had looked devastated. Her skin had been cool to his touch for the first time. And she wasn’t steady on her feet. She’d used too much of her affinity to direct the horde back into the walls. Even with his help, she had used so much power that she’d stood in a glorious halo of energy. Her shining black hair had swept around her face blown by a wind he couldn’t see. And Lily had played to save them all.

  She’d played to save him from the throne. She thought she’d failed. He had to convince her that he was happy to be the new daemon king as long as she was by his side.

  The wings didn’t sit well on his shoulders. And he felt like something was wrong. But one thing drove him down the dark hallway... Lily was oh so right.

  * * *

  The walls were strangely still and silent around her as she dizzily made her way back to her rooms. It was only her light head that made them waver in and out of focus. She wasn’t prepared to faint in front of an audience. Fortunately, she made it away from the throne room and the crowd before she found herself on her knees once more. Her legs simply collapsed beneath her. She couldn’t go on. It was physical weakness caused by her effort to control the Rogue horde, but it filled her with shame because it matched her emotional state too well.

  She was defeated—in and out.

  Normally, she would hide her pain and fear, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. She wilted to the floor with only her tightly clenched fists against the black marble indicating her desire to rise. The rest of her refused to follow her iron will’s command. Except her tear ducts. They listened. Her eyes burned, but she refused to allow one salty drop to fall. She swallowed, repeatedly, and the unshed moisture settled in a hot knot in the middle of her chest.

  She couldn’t even protest when strong arms lifted her up from the floor and crushed her tightly against a familiar chest.

  “You controlled those Rogues with every ounce of affinity you possess. You didn’t even falter. I’ve never been so terrified. They swarmed around you like a pack of ravenous zombies. And you didn’t blink,” Michael said. She was able to lift her hands and hold his broad shoulders, but her grip was weak. He kept her from falling with his steely arms. The skirt of her dress trailed down to create a starry train behind them. His voice was a deep masculine vibrato against her, reassuring even as it pained her to know there was no permanent reassurance to be found.

  Lucifer’s wings swept artfully down his back, familiar and strange. She’d seen them. She’d touched them. She’d allowed their power to flow through her. Now they should be a part of Michael, seamlessly joined to the power he possessed because of his Brimstone blood and the affinity he’d inherited from his mother.

  Yet her affinity revealed that the wings didn’t sit well on Michael’s shoulders. It was as if someone had tried to place two magnets together on opposite poles. He wore them, but they hadn’t become a part of him...yet.

  In time, surely, they would. He was the daemon king. He had accepted the throne.

  Even in her weakened state, Lily made the effort not the touch the wings. It was difficult. If Michael and the wings somehow repelled each other, Lily found her own affinity drawn to the blackened bronze with a force she could hardly withstand. She trembled against it and Michael held her closer.

  The heat of his skin comforted and tormented at the same time.

  “You need to get away from the walls and the crowd. Your affinity has been bombarded by Brimstone all night long. I’m sorry if I’m hurting you. I’ll leave you alone as soon as I get you to a safe place,” Michael said.

  “It’s the wings. They’re tormenting me with a call I don’t understand,” Lily murmured. Her head whirled. She couldn’t even note which direction they traveled or how long they walked. It wasn’t until Michael placed her carefully on a soft bed she didn’t recognize that she realized he must have used Grim to help them leave the palace.

  “This is Nightingale Vineyards. Probably the safest place you could be besides the palace. My stepfather has an army of daemon hunters who guard this place out of gratitude and loyalty. You can rest and recover here,” Michael said. “I’ll arrange for some food and drink.”

  He left the room and Lily lay in the blissful silence. Only her curiosity caused her to fight sleep. The slightest hint of freshly struck matchsticks filled the air along with scents of polished wood and leather. She blinked against her exhaustion and pushed herself up on her elbows so she could see where Michael had brought her.

  It was a luxurious bedroom with heavy masculine furnishings and richly colored textiles on pillows, curtains and bed linens. But it was also worn in the way that only a room that belonged to someone could be. There was a leather jacket thrown over an armchair by the fireplace. The bedside table was cluttered with magazines, books and guitar picks.

  He’d brought her home to protect her.

  This was his bedroom. The scent of matchsticks was his scent. One she’d grown used to in the time that she’d known him. It was appealing and sultry and uniquely Michael. It rose on his skin from his Brimstone blood. Because even when he’d denied his heritage and tamped it down, the burn was a part of him.

  Michael came back in th
e room with a tray full of food. She glimpsed fruit, thin slices of beef and cheese, and a bottle of wine. He swept the bedside table’s detritus to the side and placed the food within her reach.

  “I managed to raid the kitchen without disturbing anyone. Which is a feat in this house, believe me. Especially when you’re decked out with a pair of bronzed wings,” Michael said.

  “You should be in the palace. Not pilfering snacks for me,” Lily said. She’d already reached for several bites. Michael didn’t look any less regal for his consideration. She was certain she’d been right about this being his bedroom. Especially because she’d noticed an empty guitar stand in the corner. But he seemed too big for it now. A tall, magnificent winged creature that cast a beautiful angelic shadow on the wall.

  He reached for the wine and released the cork with practiced moves he must have perfected from years of observation and practice. He filled two glasses with the dark pinot noir.

  “Champagne is nice, but this is more fitting. Aged twenty-one years. Will you share a glass with me before I go?” Michael said.

  Lily nodded, but froze when Michael responded by shrugging out of Lucifer’s wings. He set them aside and flexed his shoulders before he reached to hand a glass to her. Lily closed her eyes against the longing that swept over her senses. The pull of the wings was nearly as strong as the pull of Michael’s Brimstone once the wings weren’t in the way.

  “Should I leave now?” Michael asked. She must have looked as if she was ready to swoon. But it was pleasure, not weakness, that threatened to claim her.

  “No. Stay,” Lily said with her eyes still closed. She felt him move closer. She breathed deeply of his matchstick scent. It was both sharp and warm in her nose. Slowly, she lifted her lids to find him standing over her with the glasses in his hands. She reached up and he gave her one of the glasses as he sipped from the other. Maybe his mouth had gone as dry as hers. She should urge him to go. This was nothing but prolonging the torture of goodbye. “Stay,” she repeated.