Brimstone Bride

by Barbara J. Hancock

  “Of course I know about the Burn. As the daemon king well knows. I have handled many babies as they dealt with the moment when their spark becomes a flame. You have nothing to fear,” Sybil said. “I may be a seamstress, not a nanny, but I have lived many centuries. Such a life doesn’t come without basic knowledge.”

  “This isn’t comparable to teething,” Victoria said. She leaned closer to the screen to try to read Sybil’s smooth face. “You’re downplaying the danger. Michael isn’t a daemon baby. He’s a half daemon. My blood also flows in his veins. Will that affect his ability to handle the ignition?”

  Sybil glanced over her shoulder and a hint of a smile tilted her lips at something that Michael had done. Victoria felt a pang when she realized she was missing a month of her young son’s life.

  “It’s possible that the Burn will be harder for him to endure. It’s also possible that it will be lessened by your blood. That the Burn will not be as strong. I’m with him every moment of every day. Grim is an even stricter nanny than I am. We watch. We wait. In all likelihood, if you were present when it occurred you wouldn’t be able to help him without risking immolation,” Sybil said. “I didn’t want to worry you. Do what you’ve gone there to do. Find your voice.”

  “The daemon king wants Michael to join him in hell. He sees Michael as his grandson and his heir,” Victoria whispered. She could hear her son laughing now. Apparently he’d decided the hellhound was more fun than the tiny toy cars.

  “I have no advice for you on that score. I, myself, have chosen to stay on Earth. L’Opera Severne is my home. It’s a new building, but it was built on the foundations of the old. I belong there. Perhaps Michael will have to decide where he belongs one day when he’s older, when the time is right,” Sybil said. “For now, you choose for him. Your intuition will guide you. You are his mother whether you are in the same room with him or a thousand miles away.”

  “Thank you, Sybil,” Victoria said. She ignored the sting of tears in her eyes and the squeeze around her heart. The daemon seamstress who was moonlighting as a nanny turned and reached down to pick Michael up for goodbyes. The squirming toddler placed the smear of a wet kiss on the screen and when Sybil chided him he calmed and placed his hand on the screen. Victoria placed her palm against his.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “Wuv you,” he replied.

  He didn’t look like he had a ticking time bomb of nuclear proportions flowing in his tiny veins, but Victoria was suddenly terrified that there were too many dangers for them to face. Without his father, she could rely only on herself to make the right decisions, to do what was necessary to save him from the Order and help him transition from a baby to a child.

  Long after the screen went dark, Victoria sat with her hand on the cooling glass.

  * * *

  The rest of the month passed in a blur. As the moon waxed so did her courage. It had to. Necessity propelled her beyond her fear. Days after her arrival, when she’d learned about the Firebird Gala, Victoria had called her sister. Katherine had sent the crimson ball gown, no questions asked. It had arrived by courier in a glossy white box and mounds of crisp tissue paper to protect the tulle and satin. Years ago, when Victoria had purchased it from a charity sale hosted by an Italian opera company, she’d not known when she’d ever wear it but she hadn’t been able to resist.

  Victoria lifted the dress from its bed of snowy paper. It was more vividly colored than she remembered, multihued with various shades of tulle panels in the voluminous skirt, which softened the brighter crimson, creating an ombré effect.

  The brightest shade of crimson was in the satin bodice and the formfitting underskirt that flowed straight to her heels. The underskirt showed through the lighter translucent tulle as a brilliant flash when the wearer moved. Victoria held the dress up to her body. She’d known. She’d remembered the glittering gold beading on the bodice that flared over each breast like flames. She wasn’t going to be a nightingale for Adam’s gala. She was going to be a firebird that no prince, no matter how dark, could keep in a cage.

  Adam had freed her in many ways. She’d felt passion again with his touch and his kisses. She’d even sung once more, very nearly destroying her entire mission with her song. But he wanted to keep her safe and the only way she could truly be free was to give Malachi what he wanted. To free his men and then she and Michael could be free of the Order forever.

  Out of the cage.

  She refused to believe that hiding in hell was the answer.

  She told herself all this as she dressed even though she wasn’t sure she believed it. When had she ever known the Order to be satisfied by what she gave them? They always wanted more. It might be that hiding in hell would be Michael’s only refuge.

  The ball gown fit a little more snuggly than it once had, but she couldn’t find fault with the nipped waist and full bust she saw in the mirror when she styled her hair. She smoothed her auburn tresses into a tight chignon so that the gold feather-shaped pins she placed on either side flared like a bird’s crest. Gilded feathers.

  Her one concession to the clandestine activities she planned later in the night was gold satin ballet slippers, flat and practical. Her skirts swept the ground and mostly hid her shoes anyway. She could deal with the reduced height and the choice, if it was noticed, might be seen as a choice made for dancing.

  In the mirror she seemed the opposite of a treacherous ninja in every way. Bold, bright, impractical. But beneath the tulle the crimson skirt had a high-cut slit for ease of movement. Her flat slippers should help her run quickly and silently when necessary. And once again the firebird keys were concealed in a small clutch, a glimmering gold one with red glass beads sewed in the shape of roses.

  Not exactly girded for battle though. She didn’t own a weapon. Victoria painted her lips her boldest shade of stain and then she turned away. She didn’t need to look closely at the expression in her eyes. They were wide, dark, and she’d had to use concealer for the shadows. Yes. She was afraid. Tonight, she would betray a man she thought she could have loved under different circumstances. There was nothing more terrifying than that...except Malachi and Brimstone threatening her child.

  That was the ice in her veins and the spur to her step as she made her way outside.

  * * *

  The quiet, ordinary, day-to-day operations of the winery didn’t prepare her for the crowd of guests that amassed for the birthday gala. The front doors of the main house were thrown wide and a line of vehicles delivering guests to the walkway at the end of the drive stretched far into the night, all the way to the highway.

  But the monthly event was well-organized so that this special yearly event only necessitated extra staff. The caterers brought in additional waiters and waitresses who flowed seamlessly from room to room with trays of sparkling champagne and pinot noir from a vintage that was only opened on Elena Turov’s birthday.

  In spite of the inconvenience her dress might cause later in the evening, Victoria was glad she’d worn it to honor the woman whose keys she carried in her clutch. This was the Firebird Gala. Nods to Elena’s favorite fairy tale were everywhere. Crimson, gold and green blazed in all the floral arrangements and twined with fairy lights over and in all the birdcages that had been moved and artfully arranged. Victoria stopped and stared in amazement at the translucent muslin screens that had also been arranged in each room, where they hung floor to ceiling as hidden projectors beamed the illustrations from Elena’s Russian fairy tale book like beautiful, ghostly memories. The firebird art was breathtaking among the flowers and cages.

  And then she saw Adam Turov. Of course he would be wearing a vintage-style tuxedo complete with a pristine white vest and tie beneath a sharply cut black jacket with tails. Against the crimson and gold, his black and white shone. His hair gleamed like his coat and his narrow-tapered trousers, but it was his blue eyes in the
glow of the fairy lights that stunned when his gaze fell on her.

  She stopped. She breathed deeply. She continued. All in the space of seconds, but it seemed to take an eternity to reach him. She’d stood up to the daemon king, but facing Adam was harder.

  “You’ll dance with me?” he asked.

  It could have been an order. He was royalty here. But instead he gave the words a slight lilt of an accented question on the end. It slayed her. That he would ask when dancing with him was all she ever wanted to do ’til death do them part...even if she was the cause of his death.

  “Yes,” she answered. Burying a forever pledge where it belonged. Deep and unexpressed because they didn’t have forever. They had a few hours before she betrayed him. Only that. It would have to be enough to last her a lifetime and him an eternity in flames.

  A chamber orchestra played for the crush of dancers in the largest room in the house. Furniture had been removed and the French doors to the terrace were opened. Several couples danced out in the dark where garden lanterns were dwarfed by the full moon’s light. She wasn’t surprised when Adam pulled her into his arms and swept her gracefully and easily onto the terrace where they could become anonymous shadows.

  She could no longer see his eyes, but she could feel his Brimstone heat. She couldn’t help it. She leaned into the warmth, enjoying every degree, her own body heat rising in response.

  The song the orchestra played was a familiar one. A love song from a time before she was born. No surprise that Adam’s taste in music would be as long-lived as himself. But this song had stood the test of time and even she had heard it often enough to know the lyrics.

  The words came easily to her lips and she sang them softly into his broad, lean shoulder for him, only for him, lyrics full of longing.

  “You’re torturing me on purpose. Why? Do you want me to carry you off like a barbarian? I’m a man not of this time. Don’t tempt me to throw modern, civilized behavior away,” Adam warned.

  He was the warrior talking to her in a tuxedo disguise. She shivered in response, thrilled and also afraid. She did test his control. They couldn’t be together but his desire for her was an irresistible mystery. How much did he want her? How powerful was their connection?

  She whispered the lyrics against his neck, then across his lean jaw, his cheek and into his questing mouth. His lips found hers in the dark. His tongue shushed her song, but not the deep-throated hum of pleasure their dueling tongues inspired.

  He urged her deeper into the shadows with his body. She didn’t resist. She also wanted the privacy of the rose-covered corner of the house. He pressed her against the wall and she welcomed the weight and pressure of his muscular form by wrapping her bare arms around his neck. His hands moved from dancing positions to grasp her waist as he deepened the kiss.

  His mouth devoured her hum and the Brimstone aura only she could see with her affinity suffused them in its glow. She’d tempted him to this with her song. She’d tested his control. Now she rode the loss of it in waves of heat and pleasure. She tasted the sweet salt from Adam’s upper lip on her tongue. She suckled his lower lip between her teeth.

  But they weren’t alone.

  The music stopped and dancers came and went from the terrace. Shadows and roses weren’t enough to hide them. Night air chilled and dew fell on her skin. Brimstone heat created the slightest steam as the dew evaporated away.

  Adam broke away and moved his face until his lips pressed into her hair above her ear. His breath tickled the lobe and down onto her neck. Hot. Heated from their kiss and his Brimstone curse.

  “You know what I must do tonight. I can’t be distracted from it. The daemon king will have his due. But... Victoria...stay away. I won’t let him have you too, even if it means standing against his Loyalist army. You don’t belong in hell. We can’t be together, but I won’t allow him to urge you into darkness. You have a right to choose the light,” Adam said.

  His deep voice was accented by an innocent boyhood he’d left behind long ago. No one had saved him. Poor Elena. How she must have tried. Just as Victoria would try to save Michael.

  “Ezekiel means only to save me. He doesn’t realize I intend to save myself,” Victoria said.

  She gripped Adam’s arms as she said it, not intending to hint at her intentions, but willing him to somehow understand.

  “You don’t have to fight Malachi alone. You don’t have to hide from him in a hell dimension either,” Adam said. “Once I fulfill my duty to the daemon king tonight, I’ll help you protect Michael. I swear it on my life.”

  Another door had opened and suddenly they were bathed in lamplight. Adam raised a hand to cup her cheek and, self-control be damned, she leaned into the warmth. His gaze tracked over her face, but she closed her eyes before he could read the secrets that dwelled in their depths.

  “Stay away. Don’t make it easy for him to take you. Let me do my job. Then I can help you,” Adam said.

  She didn’t nod. She didn’t agree. She didn’t lie. Someone staggered near them, probably tipsy from too much wine, and Adam stepped away. He offered the crook of his arm and she accepted. They walked back into the crowded party and he left her by a table filled with pretty desserts. She accepted a glass from a passing tray and sipped.

  Adam moved away to be swallowed by the crush and the crowd, but she saw him, head and shoulders taller than the rest when he turned and looked back at her.

  She was a traitor. She met his gaze. She lifted her glass in a wordless toast. For Michael. Adam turned away and she swallowed the bitter taste of treachery that tainted her sip of wine.

  A waiter passed and she placed her glass on his tray. She wouldn’t pollute the rest of the lush liquid with her intentions.

  Not when she had no course but to proceed.

  Heart pounding, nerves not even slightly eased by the one sip of wine, Victoria followed Adam into the moonlit night.

  Chapter 13

  It was the first time she’d seen the garden in the full moon’s light. She couldn’t decide if it was a wonderland or a shadowy mazelike nightmare. All of the hedges and bushes seemed to have morphed. They danced grotesquely as bluish strings of clouds moved across the giant glowing orb in the sky—blocking, filtering and revealing the moonlight in strange ways over a nightscape of greenery that seemed to cavort as midnight approached.

  Okay. So her nerves jittered beneath her skin and she was projecting that mood onto the world around her.

  Victoria paused. She took a deep breath and pressed her hands into her abdomen to find the strength she always counted on at her core to carry her through a performance. She could do this. She would do this. For Michael. Her nerves settled as her hands met firm flesh. Maybe not as firm as she once was, but definitely there and solid and ready to go.

  Shadows still danced caused by moonlight and clouds as she continued on, but her own jitters had eased. She lifted her skirts to aid her movement and was sure she looked like Cinderella searching for a lost glass slipper, but her heart was feeling as ninja-warrior-spy as necessary to get this job done. The firebird keys were ready in the clutch that hung from a delicate chain looped around her wrist.

  Her plan was to hurry to the utility shed and hijack an ATV, then drive herself to the abandoned wine cave she’d found the night she’d had dinner with Adam. The night he’d killed a Rogue daemon to protect her. She hadn’t been able to fully explore the cave that she had found to be wired for interior light, but she was certain the well-maintained doorway and the electricity weren’t a coincidence.

  As she traversed the garden with her skirts lifted off the dewy ground, her attention was drawn away from the utility shed in the distance. There. Off to her right toward the potting shed a soft flash of white moved in her peripheral vision. Could she have mistaken Adam’s destination? When he’d left the party, she’d been certain h
e was on the way to the utility shed and the wine cave she’d found.

  She strained her eyes to see where the flash of white had gone, but there was no other movement and the wash of moonbeams on the garden made a clear evaluation of what she might have seen impossible.

  Instincts prickled where jitters had given way and Victoria decided to follow the slight tingle of affinity, urging her toward where she thought the white had been. Nothing else moved in the garden. The terrace was on the other side of the house. Here no lanterns beckoned strollers or dancers. There were no softly illuminated benches where assignations could take place. None of the vine-covered arbors were bright enough to serve as backdrops for photographs.

  All was quiet when she reached the pottery shed. No light trickled between the leaves from inside. She stood indecisive for a few moments while her heartbeat calmed after her rush down the path to this spot. If she wasted more time chasing a will-o’-the-wisp in the garden, Adam may very well deliver his prisoners before she was able to set them free. But her affinity was urging her down the path in the opposite direction she’d need to go to borrow an ATV.

  She’d been a spy for less than a month, but she’d known her affinity to be reliably persistent her entire life, even when she tried to ignore it.

  At its urging, she hurried down the path toward the grassy former vegetable garden and the cellar she’d avoided since the daemon king had made his offer in its dusty depths. There. Again. She saw the glimmer of white. She stopped. There were ornamental bushes and trees between her and the flash of light-colored fabric. She supposed it could have been a glimpse of Adam’s white shirt, but the flash had been whiter than she thought he’d been wearing.

  She didn’t want to run into Ezekiel in the garden as midnight approached. Her affinity worried her—she didn’t feel a song bubbling up in her throat the way she did when Adam was nearby. But neither did she feel the scorch of the daemon king’s fire. She made the decision to hurry forward. By the time she made it to the utility shed, impeded by her skirts, it would be too late to follow Adam to the wine caves.