Brimstone Seduction

by Barbara J. Hancock

  The contract had been broken by the daemon war just in time.

  Chapter 32

  She didn’t refuse when Severne invited her to stay on board The Blues Queen. Cruises were canceled until they could procure more permanent lodging, but Katherine didn’t mind the temporary arrangement. The night they’d spent on the riverboat had been her first indication that Severne cared for her as more than a means to an end.

  The accommodations were in plush staterooms that had originally been fitted for Victorian ladies and gentleman gamblers, as sunny and colorful as l’Opéra Severne had been shadowed and dark. But still with an element of the dramatic.

  She was grateful there wasn’t a hint of bas-relief cherry carvings on the walls.

  It was bittersweet to imagine Victoria with Michael in one of the staterooms. She was so glad her sister had known a great love after a lifetime of running. She knew exactly what it was like to be brought suddenly to a stop by strength of emotion that made the risk of opening your heart worth taking.

  Sybil had come through with closets and drawers full of necessities. Severne assured her the clothes and toiletries were gifts from him to replace what she’d lost in his opera house and not daemon gifts she should fear.

  Neither of them knew if she would have a typical gestation or if hers would be as fast as Victoria’s had been. The Brimstone burn of Severne’s blood wasn’t entirely gone, and Kat’s body temperature had risen slightly in response to the Brimstone in her baby’s blood.

  Yet Levi Severne had passed quietly without the torture of damnation seeming to claim his soul.

  Different, not damned.

  Forever changed by the Brimstone, but not condemned to burn.

  The riverboat moved away from the quay as night claimed the city. John urged her to leave the lights off so that the fairy lights on all the columns and rails were their only illumination. The Blues Queen was as haunted as l’Opéra Severne had been in her own way. Kat could almost hear the music and laughter that had permeated the decks of the historic boat in the last one hundred years, but it was probably only the whoosh of the paddle wheels slowly churning the water, propelling them toward the cantilever bridge.

  The bridge was also aglow and, as they approached, its light suffused the balcony alcove with artificial light on the moonless night.

  We have to save ourselves.

  John had been right. They’d had to face their own fears and needs to beat Reynard. She’d had to stop running, and he’d had to open himself to love and loss. And even though the Order of Samuel seemed to have been defeated, they would need to save themselves, day after day, night after night, for the rest of their lives. They’d had dark childhoods. They’d survived pain and abuse.

  But they had saved themselves...and each other.

  She watched her lover approach the alcove where he’d had the skeleton crew rearrange the tables and chairs to make room for a large upholstered lounge before he’d dismissed them to the bridge. The antique chaise didn’t seem out of place on the plush balcony at all. It was an outdoor room separated from the deck by potted palms and columns, and when she’d sunk down on the velvet upholstery, she’d experienced a nostalgic warmth for the kisses that could have very easily led to other things if they hadn’t had an audience on that night weeks ago.

  Tonight, John had showered when he’d come home from the construction site. His black hair was damp, and it gleamed in the twinkle of lights around them. His shirt clung to his skin and his sleeves were rolled at the elbow, but he wore white poplin and shiny black fitted trousers similar to the ones he’d worn the night they’d danced on the riverboat.

  She appreciated what he had done in claiming the alcove in a more intimate way for their “date” tonight. She’d played along, dressing in a moss-green dress meant for dancing, and wore nothing but soft wisps of lace underneath.

  He still had a glint in his eyes and heated skin.

  He still had the experience of decades that lent him grace and savvy style.

  He still had a lean, hard edge to his jaw that only she seemed able to soften.

  He softened now as he saw her watching him approach. His mouth curved—only slightly, but it curved. The full swell of his lower lip drew her eye and caused her mouth to go dry in anticipation.

  On the table that had been left nearby, a bottle of nonalcoholic champagne chilled in a silver bucket of ice. He went to it first, and she forced herself to recline on the chaise and appreciate the movement of his muscles beneath the almost translucent material of his fitted shirt as he lifted the bottle and removed its cork. The practiced grace of his hands further dried her mouth, and she had to lick her lips.

  He’d shown her his expertise in so many ways since l’Opéra Severne had burned.

  He poured tall crystal flutes half-full of bubbling gold and brought one to her while the riverboat slowed to a stop near the picturesque bridge.

  “I told them we’d like to recreate the midnight cruise on the river. This time just for two,” Severne said.

  The cello, the cruise, the hot nights they’d spent in each other’s arms—all told her more than words what he felt for her. She could wait for the words. She would wait. Even if it took him forever finally to lower the last of his steely defenses.

  He remained standing after he’d handed her the glass, and she sipped the icy drink while he sipped his. He looked up at the bridge, and the lights on its rails illuminated his eyes. Not enough to make them green, but she no longer needed the color to know how she affected him.

  “I do miss the piano,” Kat said.

  The paddle wheels had slowed to a stop while they’d paused near the bridge, but now they resumed. The rhythm of the paddles churning the water caused a pleasant vibration in the deck and in the air that echoed the one she still felt beneath her skin when John was close to her.

  He dropped one knee on the chaise beside her hip, then leaned over to take her glass and place it on the edge of a potted palm.

  “Wait for it,” he said. And seconds later the sound of a piano floated out to the alcove. The tinny notes of jazz weren’t live. He’d set the vintage gramophone to drop a record and play. The quality of the sound was rich and sweet and aged in the best ways. Much like the man who leaned in to taste the champagne on her mouth.

  He gently sucked her lower lip between his and teased over it with his tongue from corner to corner. She drew a breath and held it while he lingered over the flavors on her tongue. When he eased back, she released air in a long, shaky sigh. John Severne was a lot to savor. She still wasn’t used to having the time and freedom to experience his attention to detail and the discipline that allowed him to prolong his release while he indulged her every sensation.

  He was a connoisseur of all things now that he no longer had damnation burning at his heels.

  “You thought of everything,” Kat breathed.

  He joined her on the chaise, sinking close beside her so that one leg pressed provocatively between hers. The chiffon rode up on her thighs. The sultry night air had nothing to do with the gooseflesh that rose on her skin. Not when his warm fingers urged her skirt higher until he could cup the bare swell of her bottom in the palm of his hand.

  “You have no idea how often I thought of everything about you. Your sigh. Your big chocolate eyes. The taste of sugary cream on your tongue,” John said. “The feel of your heat around my fingers.”

  He illustrated the direction of his thoughts by easing a finger into the edge of her lace and running it around her hip. She moaned and he dipped to kiss her open mouth, using his leg to part her thighs so he could gain access to the heat he’d already caused to rise to uncomfortable levels of need.

  His tongue teased against hers, eliciting more sighs that turned to soft cries when his fingers found her ache and teased it higher and tighter until she begge
d for his deeper touch.

  “But I won’t stop here this time. This is only the beginning of our night,” he promised.

  He entered her with a questing finger, and she met his penetration with a thrust of her hips that made him catch his breath. He held it while he gave her the rhythm she wordlessly asked for, and she tasted sweat on his upper lip as the heat of the night joined with the heat they generated together.

  She wondered if he’d always have a hint of Brimstone in his blood. Her affinity still sang for him. He filled her senses as he filled her with his fingers. Her sweet ache built and built. He broke from her mouth to suckle one hard-nippled breast that showed through filmy chiffon and lace. As always, he knew when, just when, to do whatever he did and exactly how she needed him to do it.

  Kat cried out as her body shuddered its release.

  But he kept his promise.

  He didn’t withdraw to leave her, replete but alone. He rose only to slip off his shirt and his pants. They were outside, under the stars, but their distance from shore and the soft glow of fairy light along with the palms gave them all the privacy they needed. She watched him with lazily hooded eyes as he stood illuminated only by glow.

  His body was still as hard as it had ever been. He would never be soft. He was all lean muscle and sacrifice, but now he accepted the softness of her touch whenever she gave it. And he didn’t mind showing her what she did to him with her touch.

  His erection was swollen and ready for her when he came back to join her. She sat up to take him in her mouth before he could lie back down. He jerked in reaction to her suction, and she accepted the inadvertent thrust of his hips with a groan. The ache he’d temporarily eased tightened again between her thighs. He recognized her pleasure in his, and he increased it by taking what she offered with a careful rhythm of hip movements.

  But only long enough to make her crave the heat and hardness in her mouth to join with her, to completely banish the need to be filled that her body cried for.

  The affinity and her desire for Severne were entirely responsible for the vibrations rocking her now. The paddlewheels churned, but they had faded from her perception. He pulled from her mouth and pressed her back on the chaise. With gentle hands rough from callouses, he slipped the chiffon from her. His move revealed the barely-there lace of her underwear. He teased over its edges where it outlined the lush swell of her breasts, and then down to where it clung to damp chestnut curls.

  But he’d maintained control as long as she desired him to.

  He knew it. He read her reactions with an immortal’s eyes.

  He’d been nearly a daemon for too long not to know exactly what she wanted.

  He snapped the lace from her hips. She didn’t mind the brief bite of material as it pulled free. She opened her legs, and he drew in a sudden breath. She still surprised him occasionally with her desire never to hide again. With her need to be bold.

  John sank down on the chaise between her open thighs.

  She welcomed him as he unsnapped the front of her bra and fully freed her breasts. They moved with his thrust when he worked his hips to join himself with her. He looked down at her with eyes that glittered in the fairy-lit night. She couldn’t see the color of his irises. It didn’t matter.

  She trusted their connection completely.

  He took everything she offered then. Her trust. Her body. Her future. He plunged deep and long and hard until her body tensed in another orgasm that shook her until she cried his name to the sky above them. Only then did he allow his own release. He filled her with heat. His heat. And she eagerly wrapped him close with her arms and legs and her no-longer-hiding heart.

  * * *

  “I have a letter from my sister. Grim continues to guard them, but they’ve had no trouble. The Order of Samuel seems to have fallen apart without Reynard. Or maybe the Council has turned them into soldiers to join the daemon war,” Kat said.

  Severne had been busy with something on deck and had just returned. His skin was developing a natural glow from his time in the sun. With his torture chamber burned and no Grim to consider, he often ran at midday or worked out on the deck. He no longer kept himself jailed away.

  “She says Michael is already crawling. Months ahead of a fully human baby’s time.” Kat ran one finger across the letter in her hand.

  She placed her other palm against her abdomen. It was still flat, although a pregnancy test had confirmed Sybil’s diagnosis.

  “No matter the baby’s speed of development, there’s one thing he or she cannot do without,” Severne said.

  He came to her and placed warm hands on her shoulders. He was no longer closed off from her, but he still hadn’t declared his love or his intentions. She could only read his feelings in his touch and see them in his mossy eyes.

  He urged her to her feet.

  “Come up on deck. I have something for you,” he said.

  He held her hand as they climbed upstairs. She didn’t need the help. She was still as lithe and agile as the years of playing had helped her to be. What would it be like to play her cello with a large pregnant belly? She would never know. Her cello was gone.

  “I enlisted the help of Tess in the choice. I hope you like it,” Severne said.

  They came up on deck, and he led her to the alcove where they’d danced and kissed for an audience, only to find it had been more for their own desires.

  Her beloved cello had burned. But on a stand near a chair in the alcove was a shiny maple instrument accompanied by a bow.

  Not new. One like her old instrument.

  Yet as she hurried forward, she noticed it was far superior. An instrument that was a piece of polished art, crafted by a famous Italian master.

  “You’ve missed your music. I wanted to give it back to you,” Severne explained.

  The baby fluttered when she picked up the bow. He settled as she played. Severne waited until she came to the end of a classic French lullaby.

  “I don’t deserve you. Or this. I don’t deserve the chance to be a father after all I’ve done,” Severne said. “But even though I’m afraid you’ll be taken from me to mete out the punishment I deserve, I have to claim this blessing...you and the baby. I love you, Katherine D’Arcy. I want you to become my wife. A damned husband is not what you deserve, but I offer you my heart.”

  Kat eased the precious gift of her new cello onto its stand. Then she rose to go to Severne’s side. She pressed into the hard muscular body that had been his defense for so long. She easily detected the strong rhythm of the heart he offered against her breast.

  “You aren’t damned, Severne. You were imprisoned by your grandfather’s evil choices. But you made your own decisions. Now you’re free. And you helped me to free myself, as well. To stop running. To stop hiding. To take a stand for love and family,” Kat said. “I love your strength, but it isn’t the strength of your muscles. It’s the strength of your heart and soul that held me and didn’t let me go. Your soul was never the Council’s to take,” she said.

  “No matter how hard I made my body, you penetrated to my heart. I was supposed to use you to fulfill my grandfather’s contract, but the contract was nothing but ash to me long before it burned,” Severne said.

  “I’ll marry you. And we’ll reclaim the Severne name. We’ll make of it something beautiful and courageous, as you have done. We’ll leave the greed and corruption of your grandfather behind,” Kat promised.

  Her affinity had become something stronger and brighter because of John Severne. She felt the glow of it now, binding them together like the music she played even when she played no instrument at all.

  Epilogue

  The baby slept in his cradle. Kat completed the comforting ritual of rosining her bow while she listened to his soft breathing. Sun sparkled off the Mississippi, but the dancing light reflected
on the nursery walls didn’t seem to bother her son.

  He’d experienced enough shadows while still in her womb.

  She left the white patchwork curtains drawn back to let in the light. Some of the sparkle came from light reflected off the crystal beads Sybil had incorporated into the curtains’ design. The ball gown she’d taken back to save Kat’s life had been remade and regifted, this time with only forgiveness asked in return.

  With practiced motions, Kat stroked the brown rosin cake up and down the horsehair of her bow. Again and again. Her playing was different now. She had settled into it as easily as breathing once Reynard was gone. She no longer had to hide from the madness with music. She was free. The cello was a part of that freedom now. Not a shield to hide behind, but a means of expression. Her voice to the world.

  “He’s a fine namesake. I’m quite pleased,” a strange voice said from the door.

  Kat’s reflexes were not so out of practice that she didn’t immediately jump up to place herself between the sleeping baby and the daemon at her door.

  He had wings.

  No. He wore wings. They were bronzed and folded down his back, suspended on a matching bronze harness he wore across a broad, bare chest. On the front of the harness was an iron brooch she recognized. Its stylized L flashed in the sunlight.

  He came forward, straight and tall, but his face was craggy and lined. Not with wrinkles. He’d been handsome once. She could see it in his square jaw and the cut of his cheekbones. But he had battle scars from what must have been terrible wounds across his skin. Everywhere skin showed, he was marked. But he smiled when her eyes widened, and he brushed her horror away.

  “Old pain is past pain. And every mark I suffered for my people is worn with pride. We faltered, but we didn’t fall. The ancient ones had enough of falling to last an immortal lifetime,” he said.

  “I named him Ezekiel. After a daemon my mother had loved. Samuel Ezekiel Severne,” Kat said.

  “She was an angel. Her singing called to me even though I knew we couldn’t be together. It almost called me to my death. But Reynard failed because she stood against him. For me. She gave her life for mine,” Ezekiel said.