King of Thieves

by Jane Kindred

  “Maybe we could help you look.” Khai raised his lantern and started walking away from the portal before Belphagor could warn him that his energy was intertwined with the web of the glamour until it was complete. The effect was that of one of the silicone-like threads stretching taut and snapping. It was almost audible.

  One of the demons instantly focused on Belphagor. “You. You’re the Prince of Tricks. This whole thing at The Cat was your setup, wasn’t it? You’re in cahoots with that Kezef to get rid of the competition.”

  He’d expected Phaleg’s name to come up, or Silk’s. But not Kezef. “How’s that?”

  “Don’t play stupid. Everyone knows Kezef wants to be the sole procurer of boy whores to the Academies. You throw in with him? Get him to tell us he was double-crossing you when you were really both double-crossing all of us?”

  Something about this didn’t fit with his understanding of the game, but there was no time to puzzle over it as the first demon tightened his grip around Anzhela’s arm and made a move for the portal.

  Belphagor stepped in front of him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Out of my way. You don’t own the terrestrial sphere.”

  “And we were getting along so marvelously.”

  The demon let go of Anzhela to take a swing at him, and Belphagor managed to dodge it with a quick inhalation, but the demon’s errant blow struck Khai and knocked the lantern from his hand, throwing them all into shadow. Just as Belphagor exhaled, another drover sprang forward and landed a punch in his wounded shoulder. The pain took the air out of him, rendering him incapable of the usual evasion.

  Before he could catch his breath, Anzhela darted in and seemed to punch the demon lightly in his side. “That’s for Masha,” she said and pulled her hand back to reveal a knife dripping with the demon’s blood. The demon stumbled onto one knee in shock while another backhanded her and tried to grab the knife, but Anzhela slashed at him and held her ground. “I’ll take you all,” she promised, but Belphagor wasn’t going to wait and see if she could.

  He steeled himself against the pain in his shoulder and tackled the demon before he could swing again. “Get Anzhela out of here,” he hissed at Khai, who seemed overwhelmed by the sudden violence. Khai shook himself and grabbed Anzhela’s hand against her protest, and Belphagor saw them run before he went down beneath the third demon’s fist.

  He hit the cobblestone and rolled onto his right side to cushion the blow, but this left the injured shoulder wide open. Belphagor nearly blacked out when one of the demons’ boots struck it dead on. His body blocked the grate, and the glamour was solid enough that he couldn’t see it right in front of him, so he knew they’d still have to struggle to find it so long as he remained conscious. But if he didn’t finish the last few layers of the spell, they would find it eventually—and if he couldn’t remain conscious, the entire glamour would unravel and fly apart.

  With a concentrated effort, he forced himself to breathe in deeply enough to affect the shift of his element and hold it long enough that the boot heading straight for him struck the stone curb full force. Judging by the yelp of pain the demon let out, he’d at least broken a toe. Belphagor breathed out once more, becoming solid, as the demon stumbled backward, and as he did so, another demon’s boot hit him in the gut. This, at least, put him in no danger of passing out. He was too busy vomiting.

  While he huddled on his hands and knees, watching his dinner run into a storm drain no one could see, someone grabbed him around the waist and swung him off the ground. He struck out at his accoster only to find himself looking straight into Vasily’s eyes.

  Belphagor blinked. “Are you holding me off the ground or have my feet gone numb?”

  “Off the ground,” came the loveliest growl he’d ever heard.

  “I suggest you put me down this instant and pretend this never happened, or neither of us will be able to walk for a week when I’m done meting out punishment.”

  “I’m confused. Do you want me to put you down or not put you down?”

  “Vasya.”

  Vasily grinned and loosened his grip, letting Belphagor regain a modicum of dignity as he dropped onto his feet—though the dignifying effect was somewhat mitigated by the demoness Natalya steadying him on his other side. A patrol of supernal soldiers had moved in around them to deal with the drovers, and Vasily and Natalya drew Belphagor out of the fray.

  “Wait.” He pulled backed. “The glamour isn’t finished.”

  Natalya frowned. “I thought it was a little too easy to find you. I don’t see the portal, but I can still feel it.” Belphagor turned to limp back toward the last point of his spell-working, but Natalya stopped him. “Where are you going?”

  “I have to finish. It’s bad enough if the drovers can still find it, but we can’t have the Supernal Army aware of the location.”

  “But where are you going?”

  Belphagor raised an eyebrow. “To finish working the spell.”

  Natalya gave him a peculiar look. “Were you manually pacing out the turns of the spiral?”

  “How else was I to do it?”

  “It’s magic, you silly demon. Draw it with your elemental energy.” Natalya lifted her hand and made a circular motion toward the general direction of the portal, and light seemed to follow her gesture, flowing out from her fingers in a glowing blue spiral through which the knitted web of the arcane tapestry was palely visible as glittering droplets on gossamer. The wrestling angels and demons seemed oblivious to it, though its threads pierced right through them and entangled them.

  “How come I can see that?” he breathed, awed by the beauty of it.

  “Because you made it. And it isn’t finished.” The bit where he’d stopped was like a frayed end on a skein of yarn. Natalya completed the ward he’d begun, and with another spiraling motion, drew the energy around her fingers like a spool, casting out once more and spinning, then once more spooling it close. “May the rift remain cloaked in darkness to all who seek it.” With the final words of the glamour, the glowing filaments drifted off her fingers and floated toward the ground, dissipating into the air.

  “Well, I feel a bit stupid,” Belphagor muttered. “Also…why are we standing out here at the boring end of the Demon District?”

  “Watching them get arrested, I think,” Vasily offered, jerking his head toward the miserable-looking demons in the custody of the angelic soldiers. From the end of the lane, a pair of Ophanim marched toward the group—if their odd combination of fluid and jolting motions as their cold fire shifted and phased could be called marching—accounting for the miserable expressions.

  Natalya shuddered. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I like that plan.” Belphagor took a limping step forward and cursed as his ankle wobbled beneath him. One of the damned drovers had stomped it pretty hard. He let out a yelp of surprise as Vasily swept him up in his arms like a child. “Damn you, Vasya, put me down!”

  Vasily ignored him, obviously feeling quite smug.

  “I mean it, malchik.” Belphagor’s voice took on a deep, warning tone. “You’ll pay dearly for this.”

  “I know,” said Vasily with an unstoppable grin.

  Dvadtsataya

  To Vasily’s relief, Khai and Anzhela were back at The Cat when they arrived. The details of who had been where kept getting fuzzy, but apparently, Khai had been with Belphagor helping him with the glamour when the drovers showed up with Anzhela. As battered as Belphagor was from his experiences, his obvious concern for Phaleg once he learned what had happened stung a bit. When he disappeared into a back room with Phaleg for several minutes, Vasily imagined the worst, but Silk’s jealousy was even more surprising.

  He and Vasily waited in the kitchen, not quite in the mood for the celebration going on in the parlor. “He thinks he can just manipulate everyone,” Silk complained. “It’s not as if I didn’t know Phaleg was carrying a torch for him, but I thought he was just as happy to suffer over its unrequitedness.
But if Belphagor’s in there…requiting it, what chance do I have?”

  “You’re pretty taken with him,” said Vasily, trying not to think about any “requiting”.

  Silk gaped at him. “Belphagor? Why in Heaven would I—? Oh.” Silk sighed, playing with the lapel of his jacket while he leaned back against the counter. “He’s an angel. How taken could I possibly be? It’s just… I don’t know. He’s so vulnerable when he’s surrendering control. So hungry to be owned.”

  “In other words, not a bit like me.”

  Silk gave him a little smile under lowered lashes. “Well, you are adorable when you’re being tormented, but you do lack a certain…humility.” Vasily laughed, and Silk’s smile became more confident. “And also, he’s an angel. There’s a certain inherent thrill in making an angel beg to take it up the ass.” Silk grinned. “Plus, he’s loaded. Remember when we talked about having sugar daddies?”

  “I remember you talked about it.”

  Silk didn’t seem to notice he’d spoken, his eyes focused in the air beyond him on the fantasy he was building. “I can’t imagine anything more perfect than being kept by an angel—that I get to fuck.”

  A loud throat-clearing from the doorway made them both turn with a guilty start. Belphagor’s face was set in a hard expression. “You don’t toy with him,” he snapped.

  Silk put his hands in his pockets, his pose contrite, though his tone when he replied radiated defiance. “I wasn’t going to toy with him. I was going to fuck him. Or didn’t you get all that?”

  “Fuck him all you like. But if you fuck with him, you’ll have me to answer to.” Belphagor’s demeanor softened. “He did admit he rather enjoyed being at the mercy of two demons at once. Seems to have a bit of an abduction fantasy, no doubt owing to the stories upon which angels raise their children. If you and Khai ever decide to fulfill that for him together and need a few extra hands, I’m sure I can negotiate something with my malchik.” The look he threw Vasily made any retort impossible.

  It was past midnight when they headed to the Brimstone after escorting Anzhela and the boys back to the apartment. It seemed a given that Vasily would return home with Belphagor while Khai stayed behind, content to spend some more time at the Stone Horse with Silk. Phaleg, sporting a small bandage on his head but professing to be none the worse for wear, looked terrified and thrilled as he accompanied them.

  “That worked out well.” Belphagor leaned into Vasily for support after threatening him with particularly unsexy violence if Vasily dared attempt to pick him up again. “I had a talk with Phaleg to make certain Silk was respecting his boundaries. Turns out he has very few.” He smiled to himself, recalling the time he’d fisted the angel while glamoured as Beatrix, with the angel’s comrades right outside the door he was fisting him against.

  “Is he in love with Silk?”

  “I don’t know.” Belphagor concentrated on not putting too much weight on the ankle. “Are you?”

  Vasily stopped in his tracks. “In love with Silk? Of course not.” He fished in the pack of his belongings he’d gathered at the apartment, and held out something made of red string—the collar he’d worn at the Fletchery. “I belong to you, Beli. Always.”

  His heart swelled at the endearment. “Seems like you haven’t called me that in ages.” Belphagor fingered the knotted collar. “I don’t understand why you kept this. When I sent it with your things, I was kind of being a dick. I figured it was something between you and Silk.”

  “Feel the knot at the center.”

  Bemused, Belphagor smoothed his thumb along the large, central decoration, and then drew back in surprise. Something had poked him, almost hard enough to draw blood. He pried at the knot with his thumbnail, and the tip of a steel spike popped out of it. He drew the jewelry out and held it in his palm.

  For a moment, he couldn’t speak. “I thought you threw it away.”

  “Threw it away?” The furious, low-register growl made his skin tingle. “You’re such an asshole.”

  Belphagor smiled and closed his hand around the steel. “I really am.”

  Back in their room, Belphagor put the steel bar on the vanity for later. He wanted to savor the moment he re-marked his boy, and right now he was in no condition to give Vasily what he deserved.

  “Lie down and let me look at that bandage,” Vasily ordered, demonstrating just how not in condition he was.

  Belphagor hobbled to the cot and eased himself back against the pillows, letting Vasily fuss over him. “I’m going to do horrible, horrible things to you,” he promised. “Starting with the punishment for picking me up. Twice.” He winced as Vasily slid his shirt down his shoulder to inspect the bandage. “I think I’ll keep you naked in my bed and fuck you for a week.”

  “That’s not punishment.”

  “I know. I just really want to fuck you.” He hooked his other arm around Vasily’s neck and pulled him closer to give him a kiss, savoring it slowly, the heat and softness of those lips too long denied him. “I want to fuck your mouth,” he whispered against them. “And then I want to fuck your ass. And then your mouth again.” He kissed that sweet mouth more forcefully, his own heat rising, until he had to pull away for air. “And then I want to fuck your ass for a really—long—time. Until you don’t even want me to fuck it anymore. Except you do. And when I try to pull out, you beg me to keep going. And then I’ll fuck you until you don’t even know what you want.”

  Vasily moaned against another hard, possessing kiss, eyes glittering with fire.

  Reluctantly, Belphagor let his hand slip from Vasily’s neck. “And I wish I could do that right now, sweet boy, but everything fucking hurts. I’m sorry, malchik.”

  “That’s okay.” The gravelly voice was hiding disappointment. Vasily sat back for a moment, his gaze lowering to the prominent bulge in Belphagor’s pants. “Does your cock hurt?”

  Belphagor smirked. “In a delightfully different way, yes.”

  The heat in the firespirit eyes intensified. “Are you still punishing me for that morning?”

  “That morning?”

  “When I wouldn’t suck it for you.”

  “Oh. That morning.” He’d forgotten he’d forbidden Vasily to pleasure him orally before all of the foolishness with the Fletchery began. “No, I’m not punishing you for that.”

  “Good.” Vasily surprised him by ripping open the buttons on Belphagor’s pants. “Because I’m going to suck the hell out of it right now.”

  Belphagor forgot all about the pain in his shoulder and his ankle, and the bruised places where he’d been punched and kicked, as the heat of Vasily’s mouth engulfed his cock. Vasily tugged the pants down so he could get closer and buried his face in Belphagor’s groin, his moans of pure pleasure as he sucked nearly making Belphagor come before he’d had a chance to enjoy it. He held off as long as he could, groaning loudly as he resisted, watching the fiery locks bob in his lap while Vasily played with his heat until Belphagor couldn’t take another second. With one hand gripping Vasily’s queue, he let go, almost howling with relief as Vasily devoured him.

  Somehow, they managed to find room on the bed for both of them to curl up together without Belphagor being in undue pain. Spooning Vasily, Belphagor relished the kindling scent of him, chin against his shoulder, while enjoying the simple pleasure of nibbling at his ear.

  “Do you want to come now?” He let the soft breath of the question sigh out across the skin that ought to be decorated with two steel spikes, raising gooseflesh on it. “Or will you wait?”

  Vasily breathed in deeply, his chest rising and falling beneath Belphagor’s hand where it was slung over his shoulder. “I can wait.”

  Another minute passed before Belphagor spoke again. “We should probably talk.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know I hurt you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Vasya.”

  Vasily sighed and took Belphagor’s hand, clasping it to his chest. “When we…the way we are together�
�even if sometimes there are others you decide to include—it’s because it makes us both hot.”

  Belphagor’s chest felt tight, waiting for what he knew was coming. “Yes.”

  “Well, that wasn’t hot. Sending me there. Not telling me what was going on. You scared me. Made me feel unsafe. I’d do anything for you, Beli. If you needed me to do something like that again…I’d do it. If you told me what was happening, why you needed me to do it.”

  “Vasya—”

  “I’m your boy.” His voice was a low rasp that said he was anything but a boy. “Not your slave or your lackey. You own me. Always. But not like that.”

  “I’m sorry.” He could barely get the words out. “I know. I will never, ever treat you like that again.” Belphagor pressed his cheek against Vasily’s shoulder. “I didn’t think it would go that way. But it doesn’t matter. I was wrong. I’m so used to doing everything on my own, my stupid decisions only affecting me. And ultimately, I guess I didn’t trust you enough to tell you everything. So it’s no wonder you feel you can’t trust me.”

  Vasily pulled his arm tighter against him, when he’d feared he’d push him away. “There’s something I didn’t trust you with either that made it worse.” Belphagor’s heart skipped nervously, but he waited. “When I was on the street, when I was a kid—I ran with this boy for a while. He was older. Took care of me. I trusted him completely. He asked me to do a job for him one day, a delivery, but it turned out—he was selling me. I was the delivery. I waited for him to come back for me, and he never came.”

  Belphagor tightened his arms around Vasily, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. He knew exactly what that was like—waiting for the only one he trusted and cared for in the world to come save him, to take him away from the darkness of an unending nightmare, and then realizing he was alone. The one he waited for would never come. “Sladostnyi malchik.” The words meant so much more than Vasily would ever understand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You didn’t know.”