Brimstone Seduction

by Barbara J. Hancock

  She began to gauge the daemons’ allegiance. Six circled warily around the room. She could see minute indications that they coordinated their movements. There were seven more seated at various tables. She stopped counting. She’d identified more than enough. And all the poor humans inadvertently sat on a powder keg that could explode at any time. Real danger rode the glittering riverboat while she had indulged in her fascination with Severne.

  “Did Victoria stumble into their sights? Did she take the wrong side?” Kat asked.

  She no longer enjoyed toying with the attraction she and Severne felt for each other. Playfulness disappeared, replaced by fear.

  “There is no wrong or right when every side is damned,” Severne said.

  He turned her away from the crowd. He filled her vision. Severne was a tall, dark, unreadable being who probably held her sister’s life in his hands. She faced away from Severne, toward the river.

  “You aren’t here to bother them. You’re here to enjoy yourself with me. Laugh. Smile. Prepare to be kissed,” he said. “If you won’t do it to protect yourself, you need to do it for the other human passengers. The only way to protect the people on this boat is to be harmlessly infatuated with me. I’m not sure how or why, but you’re in the middle of this daemon war now, and I’d like to leave with you alive tonight.”

  Kat’s eyes widened. She forced a smile, but her knees had gone weak. He pretended to be all business. Detached. But she’d seen the green in his eyes. He might think permission to kiss him for noble reasons would save her, but it wouldn’t. Not at all.

  He stood facing her, close at her side. Nothing but scrolled wrought iron protected her from the churning paddlewheels below. The roar of the water disguised their words.

  “I’m going to kiss you and it’s for their benefit, but I was always going to kiss you again. Whether they needed to see it or not. I need to taste you even if it will damn me with more sleepless nights,” he said.

  He reached to turn her face toward him, and he leaned to claim her mouth with no more warning. She wasn’t prepared. Even with the heads-up, she wasn’t ready. Because this time he wasn’t holding back. She could only try to keep up. His hunger was a scorching, all-consuming thing.

  She held the balcony rail. His calloused fingers were both hard and warm as they cupped her jaw. He used the slightest pressure to nudge her chin down with his thumbs. She didn’t resist. She cooperated. She opened her mouth so that his tongue, rough and sweet, could claim the interior of her mouth.

  Response coiled tight in her abdomen, chasing her fear away. There was no room for frightened butterflies, only ferocious desire.

  Her tense yet willing and passionate response made Severne growl into the depths of her mouth. Her body still faced the river, but every part of her yearned to embrace him fully in spite of the other passengers and the daemon threat.

  She eagerly tasted him with her tongue. She savored the full swell of his lower lip as if it was her secret discovery of his vulnerability made a hundred years ago only for her. Their deadly audience didn’t fade away, but the real reason for the kiss was in the pounding of her heart, the heat in her belly and the hardness of his response to her tongue. She could feel his erection pressed to her hip. Another secret just for her in the dazzling fairy-lit night.

  She finally turned from the rail to hold him, letting go of its support to exchange the cold iron rail for the heated iron of his shoulders and chest. Her move broke their kiss, but he only wrapped her close to his chest.

  The embrace was a pause for both of them. A chance to breathe and control the fiery reaction they’d both experienced to the necessary performance of their supposed relationship. She could feel the breaths he took to calm himself. She could feel the unsteady pulse of his heart. The act was an act in name only. Their attraction was very real.

  Kat tried to speak in hushed tones to ask more about Michael and her sister, but he quieted her with his lips.

  So much for regaining control. If the alcove had been any less private, the stalking daemons would have had a very thorough show.

  * * *

  He’d distracted her from her questions, and it had almost killed him. He burned from her lips and the soft press of her body against his. Worse than Brimstone in his veins. Far worse. Far better. But she hadn’t asked him more questions about Michael and her sister after a voyage that was all tastes and sighs.

  He’d seen the Council’s daemons and the daemons from Lucifer’s Army ease back and melt away in the crowd. Though he’d prevented collateral human deaths, he still hated that he’d used the desire between him and Katherine to distract her from the truth. He’d saved her and deceived her at the same time. His deal with the Council protected Kat from that faction as soon as he showed she was with him.

  He didn’t know why Lucifer’s Army hadn’t attacked. He had hoped they would fear his reprisal. But he wasn’t sure that had been enough to keep them from harming Katherine. He wondered what else might have influenced their decision to back off.

  Her sister’s association with Michael might have been more serious than he’d assumed. As an ancient one, Michael was a prince to them. Had his loose ties to Katherine through her sister helped to protect her tonight?

  There were secrets here that even he didn’t know. Unknown variables he couldn’t plan for or predict. But Katherine was back at l’Opéra Severne. Her venture into the city had proved that she was more than a magnet for daemons. She was at the heart of the daemon political division, somehow in the middle, while being completely in the dark. She was an innocent bystander caught up in the revolution. Both factions, Lucifer’s Army and the Council’s rogues, were haunting her footsteps. The river cruise standoff had been a quiet prelude to slaughter that he’d manipulated so that it turned into a daemon retreat. From now on, he had to keep Kat protected within l’Opéra Severne’s shadowed halls. He wished she could remain safe and unharmed. It wasn’t an option. For now, he was her protector. But soon he would be the one who hurt her.

  He couldn’t run from that. He could only retreat to his gym and punish himself for what he was prepared to do to Katherine to save his father’s soul. His soul would be damned forever now. He knew that. Even when the contract was fulfilled, he would burn for what he had done to Kat for as long as he lived.

  * * *

  Kat’s lips were swollen and sensitive. Her fingers brushed her mouth again and again. She suspected Severne had been more thorough than he’d had to be. He’d helped her, but there had been deeper undercurrents to his fierce, passionate kisses. They hadn’t been for show. She undressed for bed, taking care to shove the moss-green shawl into the back of a drawer.

  She’d learned several things tonight.

  There were political tangles between daemon factions she hadn’t known about before. The hell dimension was embroiled in revolution. But most importantly, she’d learned that Michael was important and Severne didn’t want her to know it. She hadn’t been fooled by his kisses. She’d enjoyed them. Every single one would replay in her heated memories forever, but she’d known all along that he kissed her to silence her curiosity without realizing he only confirmed her greatest fear.

  The daemon she most wanted couldn’t be trusted.

  Chapter 15

  “Father Reynard, the arena has been prepared to your specifications,” his new favorite novitiate said.

  “Thank you, Peter. Please sound the call for assembly. The whole Order needs to witness this sacrifice,” Reynard said. Joshua had displeased him. Peter had risen to the top. It was an endless procession he no longer even tried to recall.

  “Sacrifice, Father?” Peter asked. His hand paused near the tasseled pull that would alert the monk in the bell tower to perform his duty.

  “Few will survive. If any. But we must ensure that Samuel’s gift is passed only to children who have be
en fathered by the strongest and most devout of us all,” Reynard said.

  “You are the Most Devout, Father,” the young boy loyally said, ensuring his status of favorite for another day.

  It was a title he was frequently called. A fact he had given a nod to in his words. He must begin to build expectation among the Order. A man could not lead warriors without ensuring that he owned their hearts.

  “Yes. I am,” Reynard agreed. “Ring the bell.”

  He’d been recovering for weeks with no opportunity to hunt. He’d been tormented in his dreams with visions of heated violence that often involved the D’Arcy sisters and their daemon champions he couldn’t seem to defeat.

  He needed release.

  He needed at least to go through the motions of choosing the best of the best.

  The coliseum-like courtyard of the enclave had been filled with cages. In each cage, a daemon had been placed. Above the courtyard, hundreds of monks sat in rows of seats arranged in circles around and around the open court below.

  First they would release the children. Then the females. Then the males in order from weakest to strongest. He barely noticed the tears of the creatures inside the cages. The weeping of the daemon children and the screaming of their mothers was white noise for darker visions dominating his mind.

  The Potentials were to be his gladiators. The daemons were the fodder for their blades.

  Or vice versa.

  “Release the first daemon,” he boomed, and the crowd of bloodthirsty monks howled.

  * * *

  Three of his best men had survived. Even he had been shocked by their ferocity. Burned by Brimstone and slashed by daemon tooth and claw, they stood before him now, triumphant.

  He greeted them in private audience, torn between duty to his cause and desire. They were obviously prime specimens of manhood and devotion to the Order. Each knelt on bent knee to kiss the hilt of the blade in his hand.

  Only one cried out when the blade sizzled on his lips.

  Reynard whirled the blade and plunged it into the coward’s bared neck. Blood flowed as he pulled the blade free and the dead monk fell to the side.

  The other two remained silent, ignoring what secrets the heat of his blade might have revealed about its nature.

  Saul and Simon were their names. He’d known them for years. Each had been a favorite of his for a time, specially trained to fight by his side. They had hunted with the D’Arcy sisters. Had they lusted for this opportunity? He didn’t acknowledge the burn in his gut at the thought as jealousy.

  “You have served Samuel well. He smiles at you from Heaven. One day he will welcome you home.” The lies flowed easily from his lips. As easily as the blood he’d just spilled. That viscous fluid spread from the dead monk’s body until he stood in a warm puddle of it, but he didn’t edge away. He allowed it to soak into his shoes.

  He could kill these two as easily. Even slowly, one at a time, and they would not fight. They would take his blade as willingly as the D’Arcy sisters would not. He had one moment of sweet hesitation in which he tasted their fear, and he weighed current pleasure against the more practical use of the warriors who would serve him so well.

  The heat in his blood had caused him to have darker and darker visions of violence. Every time his blade tasted death, it only became hungrier for more. It was black with the dried blood of daemons and humans alike, so much so that even Brimstone didn’t burn it away.

  The men kneeling before him wore nothing but shredded robes. Their muscular physiques and disciplined demeanors shouldn’t be wasted. In spite of his hungry blade, he needed to calm his shaking need and use the resources he’d been cultivating for years to help him reach his goal.

  He chose to sheathe his blade and loose theirs.

  For now.

  “Rise and prepare to hunt. None of the rest of your brothers has found the D’Arcy women. This will be your final test,” Reynard said.

  He still needed recovery time. He grew stronger every day, but he wasn’t ready, and it was imperative that Samuel’s gift not be lost. Reynard’s soul might depend on it.

  “The one to find Katherine or Victoria D’Arcy will be the one to father the next generation of Seekers,” Reynard said.

  The two men rose slowly. They looked at each other. They looked at him. Only their blinking indicated their surprise.

  Had they sensed how close he’d come to killing them with his daemon blade?

  Chapter 16

  He’d spent days avoiding Katherine while still trying to determine if she was drawing closer to his prey. It was a razor’s edge that cut far too sweetly. Too often at the end of a long day or after a particularly brutal workout, he found himself near her. Her affinity for daemons and his Brimstone blood were the perfect excuse, but he’d been alive too long. He knew his motivations better than most mortal men.

  Her music called him. Her hungry response to his touch and his kisses tormented him with physical needs he was usually able to deny. His gym was a cold release, a grueling punishment that didn’t erase her taste.

  Severne’s tuxedo had been delivered. Sybil was an artist with needle and thread. She’d tailored his clothes as long as he could remember. But this time she’d outdone herself. He’d always insisted on black for the masquerade. He was repelled by the decadent swirl of color that never mirrored his heart on the one night a year when the opera house revealed its true nature to the world.

  But this time, when he lifted the soft, clear plastic to glance at the formal suit, his gaze was held by the unexpected blend of shades and fabrics. The tuxedo was all black, no disobedience there; the elaborately stitched midnight brocade of the vest contrasted with the heavy cut of jet wool for the jacket and the obsidian shine of grosgrain cuffs and lapels. But at certain angles, the light brought out an emerald sheen in the brocade.

  He lifted the domino mask from its place on the hanger and stared into its empty eyes.

  Sybil saw more than she should. She was much older than he was. Wizened by age and circumstance. He would wear the tuxedo and it would be for Katherine, but no one would know. And when the time came, he would still do what needed to be done, the needs buried deep in his dark heart be damned.

  * * *

  Her cello stood in the corner, near the chair she used when she played it. Tonight it was in its case. She wouldn’t hide behind it. In fact, even her mask was a slight frame of pavé gemstones for her eyes with only the sparkle of diamanté dust to hold its shape.

  Her hair and eyes stood out. Chestnut curls and chocolate framed by black lashes showed darkly against the white, ivory and glitter of her costume. Everyone would know her. Which made the bodice of the gown that much more daring. It was a complement to the mask. A delicate network of crystal stones, the perfect, simple accompaniment to the layered opulence of her skirts.

  But as the mask only framed her eyes and didn’t hide her face, the bodice only framed her torso, allowing the honeyed expanse of her chest and the swell of her breasts to catch the eye. It was the possibility of catching a certain intense gaze that made her long to go back for her instrument. Severne’s eyes would gleam green for her, only for her, in this dress.

  She shouldn’t crave that gleam.

  The same young man who had initially welcomed her to l’Opéra Severne had delivered the Cinderella shoes to her door.

  They sat on her bedside table while she dressed, a delectable challenge, before she finally decided to wear them. She wasn’t sure if the idea of Severne requiring a payment for the gift weighed on the side of wearing them or not. She only knew they were perfect, and once she’d placed them on her feet there was no going back to the warehouse to return them.

  She was walking on a cloud of anticipation as she wore them. The network of webbing that hugged her toes complimented the other textures and fabr
ics of the dress itself.

  She didn’t go back for her cello.

  Even though she had not one ember of Brimstone, her blood was bolder than that.

  It pumped hotly in her veins as she followed the flow of the crowd to the cluster of decorated salons that had been prepped for the fete.

  She was braced for whatever this dark night would hold.

  The sconces glowed. The murals seemed to moan—silently, eternally—and she walked on decadent feet, feeling at her most beautiful and her most vulnerable.

  Her time with Severne on the riverboat had been unexpected. Tonight was different. She’d had time to regret the kisses they’d shared and pine for more. She’d anticipated and dreaded, planned and prepared.

  For so many things.

  Tonight she had to keep an eye out for monks from the Order of Samuel. Worst case scenario, Reynard himself. She had to avoid shadows, watch for the patron named Michael who might have something to do with her sister’s disappearance. She had to fear Sybil’s mechanizations and the price of the dress she had yet to demand.

  And John Severne.

  She couldn’t forget the man who was in the forefront of her fears.

  It hadn’t escaped her notice that he’d been around every corner and behind every turn in the last few days. Her affinity brought her to him, or his Brimstone blood brought him to her. Either way, they haunted each other’s movements but avoided actual conversation and contact.

  He was not being forthright with her in ways she couldn’t ascertain, and yet she still tasted his kiss on her lips and longed for more.

  But she wouldn’t regret the shoes on her feet. Those she accepted freely. She might never truly know the side of the opera master he had shown her in the warehouse, but the shoes were a reminder he had a side that longed for something other than death and darkness. She couldn’t refuse that part of him if he chose to share it with her. She wouldn’t. Even if she couldn’t trust him.