King of Thieves: Demons of Elysium, Book 2

by Jane Kindred

  “What? No. Vasya… I’m confused. You said you didn’t want to be my boy anymore, so I thought—”

  “Of course I want to be your fucking boy!” Tears were streaming down his cheeks. Humiliating, stupid tears. Belphagor stood swiftly, and then pitched to the side with a gasp, barely missing striking his head on the side table when Vasily caught him. “You are not fine.” Belphagor’s weight rested heavily against him, and Vasily eased him back onto the cot.

  “I suppose I’ve looked better, but you needn’t insult me.” Belphagor leaned back against the pillows, his brow white. “Maybe the bullet hit a little more solidly than I thought.” He closed his eyes and breathed out. “Did I hear right? You want to be my boy?” The quiet words were full of hope and fear.

  Vasily wiped his cuff across his eyes, fear for Belphagor instead of fear of him making his hand tremble. “Da, ser,” he whispered. “Pozhaluista.”

  “Sladostnyi malchik.” Belphagor exhaled the words with all the love and desire they’d ever held, and Vasily nearly started crying again.

  “When you’re better,” Vasily promised, tucking the covers around him.

  Belphagor nodded, eyes still closed. “When I’m feeling up to putting you over my knee and giving your sweet, bare ass a thrashing you won’t forget, until you beg to be my boy again—and then spending the whole night reminding you what that means.”

  Vasily nibbled his lip, every bit of him melting except one crucial part that was doing the opposite.

  “I think I’m going to have to rest now,” Belphagor murmured.

  “I should stay until Khai comes back.” Vasily knelt beside the bed once more and rested his head lightly on Belphagor’s chest, careful not to aggravate the wound.

  Belphagor stroked his temple. “Have Khai tell you the rest.” His hand slowed, fingers against the trail of dark paint at the corner of Vasily’s eye. “Wear this for me sometime. And nothing else.”

  Vosemnadtsataya

  Vasily was gone when he awoke. Khai assured him that he’d filled Vasily in—on everything he needed to know. All the pieces were in place. With Armen disgraced, Belphagor’s standing in Raqia had improved considerably and no one would suspect his involvement with the sting about to unfold. Phaleg had set the bait. Now all that remained was to drop the trap on the rats. Help in that regard came from an unexpected direction.

  Khai returned from getting breakfast for them the next morning with a stony expression. “There’s someone asking to see you in the bar. I told him to fuck off.”

  Belphagor pushed himself up against the pillows. “Who?”

  “Kezef.”

  A jet of pure rage pulsed through him at the sound of the name. Grabbing the edge of the nightstand as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, Belphagor pushed himself onto his feet. “Help me get dressed.”

  Khai’s hands braced his hips. “What for?”

  “So I can kill the fucking incubus with my bare hands.”

  “Your bare hands. You mean including the one at the end of the arm you can hardly move.”

  “I can move it.” Belphagor gritted his teeth as he demonstrated. “It just hurts like fuck when I do.”

  “Belphagor—”

  “Give me a shirt, dammit.”

  “You know, I’m only posing as your boy.”

  “I swear, I’ll beat you like you are—except without any of the pleasure—if you don’t give me a damned shirt.”

  With a sigh, Khai picked up the shirt draped over the back of Belphagor’s chair and helped him into it, buttoning it for him when Belphagor couldn’t manage the fine motor skill to do it himself. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Thanks for the input.”

  “Are you going to challenge him to a duel too?” Khai bent to tie his boots after Belphagor pulled them on one-handed. “Actually, now that I think of it, that’s not a bad idea. Except you should insult him publicly so you can get him to challenge you, and then you can set the date. Give yourself a week to recover—”

  “He doesn’t deserve a duel.” Belphagor grabbed his jacket and slung it over his shoulder, not bothering to have Khai help make him any more presentable, and headed out with Khai at his heels.

  Kezef stood at the bar, facing away from it, elbows and long forearms braced against it with his hands hanging over the edge in a stance that said he was completely at ease. He turned his head at Belphagor’s approach and appraised him with a look that told Belphagor just how nonthreatening Kezef found him at the moment. He glanced over Belphagor’s shoulder at Khai. “I’ve seen you before. But you were younger.” His eyes went back to Belphagor’s. “Just like your fiery boy was.”

  Kezef would wipe the floor with him if he tried to fight him now. As much as he wanted to, killing Kezef barehanded would have to wait. But the implied threat behind his casual statement couldn’t be ignored. Not after Belphagor had finally put Armen’s rumors to rest. He jerked his head at a nearby booth, and Kezef pushed away from the bar with an easy manner that conveyed his nonchalance.

  Before he followed, the demon signaled to the barmaid. “A bottle of mead for my friends.” He waited for her to bring it before he sauntered to the booth with the bottle and mugs in hand and took his seat. “You needn’t worry that I’ll spoil your game, Prince of Tricks,” he said as he poured the mead. “So long as you include me in it.”

  Belphagor leaned over the table. “Listen to me carefully. At the moment, as I’m sure you’re quite aware, I’m incapable of throttling you right here at the table as I’d like. But I promise you a thrashing the likes of which even you have never dealt once this shoulder has healed.”

  “I understand your need to posture, Belphagor. I really do.” He pushed a mug toward him. “And perhaps at some future date, I’ll give you the opportunity to put your strop where your mouth is—that is your specialty, isn’t it? The strop? But at the moment, you need me.”

  Belphagor’s words nearly exploded out of him. “What the bloody hell do I need you for?”

  Kezef gave him an insufferable smile. “Well, let me lay out for you what I know, and then you tell me. I know you’re planning something that will ruin the livelihoods of a certain group of Raqia entrepreneurs who deal in unsullied goods. I know your scheme involves an angel who has the ear of the principality. And I know you’ve championed a number of…shall we say, alumni of a certain currently defunct establishment. Really, quite a coup that was. I have to hand it to you. If the good demons of Raqia had any idea it was you who had singlehandedly shut that establishment down after being a patron of it yourself and yet managed to get Armen Nekirevich, of all demons, to eat his words after he’d blabbed them to half of Heaven, and that you now owned those very alumni—well, things would be very interesting in Raqia indeed.”

  “So you’re here to blackmail me.”

  The demon laughed, a pleasant, genuine laugh, and drank his mead unhurriedly, setting down the mug when he’d finished. “How would that serve me? I was a patron there myself. Things would be awkward to say the least.”

  “Then what the hell do you want?”

  “You’re so unimaginative. It’s disappointing. I want to participate in your little endeavor.”

  Belphagor sat back with a sharp laugh of his own, all the sharper because the sudden motion had twisted the healing flesh around his wound. He glanced out of the booth to make sure no one was in earshot. The bar was nearly empty. “You want to help me shut down the Celestial Silk Road.”

  “Precisely.”

  “And why would you want to do that, when you’ve been so clearly enjoying its spoils?”

  “As a matter of fact, I find the whole business rather dull and somewhat distasteful. It was something different to do for a while, but I got very little pleasure out of purchasing innocence. What I prefer to partake of is the spoiled. Those who’ve been used, know what they’re good for and can be made to grovel to prove it.” Kezef held his gaze unflinchingly. “Like your boy.”

>   Belphagor nearly lunged across the table, wound be damned, but Khai held him back. “I’ll make you pay for every stripe you gave him,” Belphagor snarled. “And every stripe you gave Silk.”

  “Have a thing for the pretty ones too, do you? Silk is an interesting creature. He’ll do anything for the right price.”

  Pushing Khai’s arm away, Belphagor straightened and forced himself to ignore the discomfort as he let his chest rise with a deep breath. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Kezef folded his long arms on the table and leaned in. “It means you don’t own him as thoroughly as you think you do.”

  “I don’t own him at all.”

  “Come now. Word is you bought him for a substantial price in the world of Man only to set him up here as your procurer, keeping him in comforts in exchange for his unquestioning obedience.”

  “Clearly, you don’t know Silk as well as you think you do if you believe he’d give anyone his unquestioning obedience.”

  “That’s precisely my point. You and I know he will not, and yet you’ve invested a great deal of crystal in him. I spoke to him last night at your interesting new venture, and having no loyalty to you, only to your crystal, he readily divulged information to me when I augmented the facets with some of my own.”

  “Bullshit. Silk wouldn’t have given you the time of day after what you did to him.”

  “He was perfectly happy to give my crystal the time of day. How else would I know that you have an angelic soldier poised to expose the ringleaders of this ‘silk road’ as we speak? Interesting name, by the way. Did you name it after the slippery little demon?”

  “I didn’t name it at all. Its creators did, after a purely earthly trade route.” Belphagor chewed on the end of his thumb. Kezef had taken the bait. He just hoped he hadn’t made an error in trusting the young demon. Enough facets might have loosened Silk’s tongue more than Belphagor had bargained for. “Be that as it may, what reason could you possibly have for wanting to help expose the trade?”

  “As I said, I prefer defiling and debasing the deserving to tormenting frightened virgins. This trade damages us all, sending our own—who, if they are to be used, ought to be used here—to an inferior plane. Imagine if their owners in the world of Man discovered their unique abilities and chose to breed them to strengthen their own stock?”

  “So you’d prefer that trading in the virtue of young demons be limited to the celestial sphere.”

  Kezef shrugged and leaned back. “They will be sold. It’s the law of Heaven that demons may sell what offspring they choose. What you or I think about the practice is of little consequence. My objection is to the proliferation of underage slaves being sold as novelties—and particularly to the involvement of angels in that trade. Think what you will about my proclivities—no matter how similar they may be to your own, despite your superior air—but I’m fully behind your endeavor.”

  Belphagor didn’t buy for a minute that Kezef gave a damn about the young demons caught up in the trade, but even a cretin like him could be useful. “And just how do you propose to assist my efforts to halt this trade?”

  “Your angelic agent is poised to do business with one of the peddlers today, is he not? On the pretext of purchasing a virgin?”

  “Maybe.”

  “If you ask me, it’s an extraordinarily bad idea to let the angel handle it.”

  “I don’t believe I did ask you.”

  Kezef ignored him. “What do you plan to do once he’s made the deal? Is he just going to skip off to the palace with his purchased whore and inform the principality that some very bad men are selling demons in Raqia?”

  For all Belphagor knew, Kezef might be one of the brokers himself. He wasn’t about to confirm anything further. “Why don’t you tell me what you would do? I’d love to hear your plan.”

  Kezef smiled. “As a matter of fact, I’ve given it a great deal of thought. If your goal is to use the supernal connection to shut down the trade, I would think ensnaring the drovers and patrons themselves would be more effective. Allow me to accompany your angelic agent as a means of legitimizing his presence in Raqia business. I’ll negotiate with the broker to arrange a private salon for my contacts at the Fletchery and engage drovers for the purpose of transporting the goods to their buyers’ preferred locations after they’ve made their selections. The drovers will take the boys, with the patrons expecting to leave sometime afterward so as not to be seen with them. Have the supernal authorities waiting just down the road to ambush them, and they can take in the whole lot of them with no harm to the merchandise.” Kezef’s expression was smug. “Assuming your agent can provide the venue—and you can provide the merchandise.”

  Belphagor curled his hand tightly around his mug. “And what proof would we have of the sale of underage demons to the patrons?”

  “The proof of the intent to commit the crime will be in the exchange of facets. By celestial law, the crime itself need not occur. Your agent—and any of his employees who happen to be present to entertain the drovers while they wait—will be witnesses to it.”

  As much as it galled him to agree to any sort of collaboration with Kezef, the success of this venture might depend on it. “I still don’t see why I need you to accomplish any of this. What makes you think I couldn’t just as easily go along to be the ‘legitimizing presence’?”

  “I suppose you might, despite your injury. But you’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to present yourself as a player in a rather different game.” Kezef glanced at Khai. “You’ve replaced one truckling demon tart with another—”

  Khai leapt to his feet. “Fuck you, you pathetic pervert.”

  “Mikhail.” Belphagor put a firm hand on his arm to pull him back down to his seat. Khai sat with a reluctant glare, and Belphagor turned back to Kezef. “Fuck you, you pathetic pervert. If you think I’m going to sit here while you insult my boys, you’re quite mistaken. Come on, Khai.” He scooted out of the booth and held out his arm to the younger demon as he followed, ignoring the twinge the motion inspired.

  “You’re absurdly sensitive about your submissives.” Kezef held up both hands in surrender. “I’ll refrain from unnecessary insults, but I strongly suggest you consider my offer of assistance. I have the trust of the Fletchery contacts, and you do not. And I could just as easily spoil your game with a word.”

  And here it was. Belphagor had to work to keep from punching the smug look off Kezef’s face. “And just what do you get out of offering your assistance, besides your alleged interest in putting the trade out of business?”

  Kezef’s affable smile returned. “Why, some of those facets you’ve been so free with of late. Again, not everyone is aware of who the real owner of The Cat and the Stone Horse is, and I’m happy to keep that knowledge to myself. As long as we both understand each other.”

  “I thought you weren’t here to blackmail me.”

  “Call it what you will. I merely said it wouldn’t serve me to divulge information about your connection to the Fletchery. And if I only wanted to blackmail you, I’d simply demand the facets here and now. Instead, I’m offering my help and telling you the price.”

  “And that price is?”

  “Five hundred facets.”

  Khai’s breath sucked in with an audible gasp.

  Belphagor appraised Kezef wordlessly for a moment. It was an outrageous demand. Extortion, pure and simple. His eyebrow twitched. “Fair enough. Khai will take you to the rendezvous and brief Phaleg.”

  Khai gaped at him. “You’re not going to give him that much crystal?”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  Khai narrowed his eyes in a resigned glower of disapproval that would have done Vasily proud. “You’re the boss.”

  When Khai returned to the Brimstone, he stared down at Belphagor with his hands on his hips. “If I’d known you were throwing crystal away, I’d have asked a damned sight more for my part.”

  “Just making the best of a ba
d situation. Everything else go according to plan?”

  Khai grinned. “Facets changed hands. Promises were made. The salon has been arranged. Now it’s up to Silk and the boys.”

  Devyatnadtsataya

  “I’m not sure I like this idea.” Vasily leaned against the doorway to the dressing area with his arms folded, watching Silk and Anzhela get ready.

  “I’ll have my girls to watch out for me,” said Anzhela, braiding her hair at the vanity. “And the boys will have Silk.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. No offense, Silk, but you’re not exactly built to fight off a bunch of angry angels and demons if something goes wrong. I should be going.”

  Silk rolled his eyes, rubbing the pomade Belphagor had bought him through his hair. “You’d scare them off before we even got close.” He met Vasily’s eyes in the mirror and blew him a kiss. “You’re scaring me right now, you lovely brute. Look at him, Anzhi. All fired up.” He gave a little shiver. “I swear, painting his eyes was pure genius.”

  “I’ll give you fired up,” Vasily growled.

  “Oh my. Save it for later, my succulent plum. I’ll—”

  “Silk.” Vasily cut him off before he could finish the thought. “The boys are in the next room.”

  “It’s not as if they’ve never heard dirty talk before.”

  “I don’t care. They don’t need to hear it between us.”

  Silk finished off his tie and put on his jacket, turning around with a mock pout. “Fine. Maybe I’ll just leave you to simmer all night on your own. But for now, it’s show time.” He stepped up to Vasily and put his arms around his neck. “You’ll take good care of my Horse for me, won’t you? Don’t just stand around and glare at patrons. We want them to feel welcome.”

  “I’m not the only one who’s going to be there.”

  “But you are the star attraction, Ruby. Don’t sell yourself short. Demons and angels are falling all over themselves hoping to get close to you. The mystique is good, but we don’t want to frighten them off entirely.”