Master of the Game

by Jane Kindred

  By the time Belphagor got him back to their room, Vasily’s teeth were locked together from the cold, and his skin actually felt cool to the touch. He’d never known the firespirit’s temperature to be anything but steamy.

  He led Vasily to the bed and sat him down, crouching to unbutton the wet shirt. “Let’s get these clothes off.” He smirked as he worked his way down. “Though I have to say, I’m tempted to leave you in them.”

  Vasily’s weary face looked puzzled. “Why?”

  “Because you look damned hot with wet fabric pasted to your skin.” He pressed his hand against Vasily’s chest as the firespirit peeled the shirt off. “But you’re not hot, are you? You’re cold. I don’t think you’ve ever felt cold before.” Vasily had goose bumps.

  “Yeah, well… There’s a reason firespirits don’t like swimming.” He unbuttoned his pants and stood to peel them off as well. “It’s not just the cold. I can handle cold. Usually don’t even feel it.” To prove the point, Vasily hadn’t even been wearing a coat. “It’s being surrounded by all that water. Having that much of our element’s opposite on every surface of our skin… It kind of…puts us out. Temporarily.”

  Vasily stood there in all his glory, and Belphagor reflected that it might be the only time he’d ever seen Vasily naked without a stunning erection. “Then I should warm you up.” Belphagor prompted him onto the cot and under the covers and stripped down himself before lighting the brazier. As he moved about the room, giving Vasily an unimpeded view, he knew the tattoos piqued the firespirit’s curiosity. He didn’t offer to satisfy it.

  Crawling under the covers in the absence of the firespirit heat was a novel experience. Turned out it was damnably cold in this room in winter. He’d forgotten. He wrapped Vasily in his arms—or as nearly as he could, at any rate—and kissed his icy shoulder. On any other demon, he supposed it wouldn’t be called icy, but on Vasily, it was downright unnerving.

  “Are you sure this is temporary? You’re not sick or anything?”

  “No, I’ll be all right.” Vasily snuggled a little closer. “You called me malchik again.”

  “I did.” Belphagor played with the spikes on Vasily’s neck. “Because you’re my boy.”

  Vasily’s muscles tensed. “I’m your boy?”

  “Were you under the impression you were someone else’s boy?”

  “No.” He growled the word with irritation. “But you said—”

  “I said we had to earn back that right. And I said I’d decide when I’d had enough punishment…my boy.” Just saying it, even in angelic, made his dick hard.

  After a few seconds of quiet, Vasily spoke in his usual rumbly register. “I think I’m warming up.”

  The news came directly from Phaleg in the morning that the queen had suffered no lasting ill effects from her ordeal in the river, and her pregnancy seemed to be in no danger. He’d taken a chance by meeting Belphagor and Vasily in their room, slipping into the Brimstone from the back, and out of uniform.

  “You saved her life, Vasily.” Phaleg seemed genuinely moved.

  Vasily stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the wall, uncomfortable with praise from an angel—and this angel, in particular. “I did what anyone would do.”

  Phaleg shook his head gravely. “No. Even the Seraphim balked at jumping into that river. They’re being replaced, by the way.”

  “Replaced?”

  The angel scrunched up his face with distaste. “The only way to discipline the Seraphim is to return them to the river.”

  Vasily shuddered, knowing Phaleg didn’t mean the Neba. The molten River Pyriphlegethon was their birthplace. And their death place, apparently. “What happened to Kazbeel, the driver?”

  “He’s to be hanged for treason.”

  Vasily felt sick to his stomach. That might have been him. Damn—might still be, if Kazbeel gave him up. “Are they looking for anyone else?”

  “No.” Phaleg’s expression was hard. “I interrogated him myself and gave him the impression those he’d implicated would suffer the same fate, but his end might be made more merciful. He immediately named you and your friend Gaspard but didn’t seem to know the names of any of the angels involved.” His face softened at Vasily’s expression. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to mention your name to anyone. And even if your name did come up, the queen will attest that you risked your life to save her and her companion.”

  “The companion,” said Vasily. “Is she…?”

  “Not well, unfortunately. She survived, but her mind was affected by the deprivation of air.”

  “I tried to get her out with the queen, but she was afraid of me and wouldn’t let me near.”

  “It’s not your fault, Vasily. Don’t torture yourself.”

  “That’s my job,” Belphagor murmured, and then looked chagrined when both Vasily and Phaleg glared at him for going there during such a grave discussion. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful to the poor woman. Just trying to lighten the mood.” Straddling the vanity chair facing the wrong way around, he rested his chin on his arms over the back of it. “So what’s to happen with the rest of the conspirators?”

  “Gaspard didn’t seem happy to be going along with the Virtue’s plans,” Vasily put in. As much as he disliked him, it didn’t seem fair the demon should hang for it. “None of the demons did. Just the angels. They seemed more than happy to go that far.”

  “It’s the angels I want to pay for their treason, but without their names, I’m afraid I haven’t much hope of prosecuting any.”

  “We know one,” said Belphagor. “The Virtue. Auria.”

  Phaleg’s eyes went wide. “Auria? Truly? He’s highly respected, and a trusted member of the principality’s inner circle.” He chewed on his thumbnail a moment. “If he’s been backing Lebes… Oh, this whole thing is a mess. The principality is determined to believe demons were behind the attempt on the queen’s life and no one else. Auria’s been very clever.” The angel glanced at Belphagor, his cheeks pink. “I’m afraid this worked far better than anything I pushed you to do. The principality feels betrayed by the Fallen. He’s given up his plans to sign the Decree.”

  Belphagor sighed. “To be honest, I doubt it would change anything. But it would have been a nice gesture.” He lifted his head and sat back. “Nevertheless, now the queen is safe, there’s a much more pressing concern. It turns out this Auria is the one who purchased the girls from the Fletchery last summer.”

  The shock on Phaleg’s face was profound. “A Virtue? Purchased underage…? Are you certain?”

  “Positive. The boys spotted them through a window last night when they tailed Vasily to make sure he wasn’t in any danger.”

  Vasily narrowed his eyes at Belphagor. This was the first he’d heard he’d been followed, but it didn’t seem worth arguing over, given what the boys had discovered.

  “That’s why Vasily went to Auria’s house, in fact,” Belphagor continued. “It was only luck the Traditionalists were making their move the same night. Since I presume this Virtue can claim to have legally purchased them as house slaves, I assume there is nothing the law can do, at least without proof of what he means to do with them. If indeed it is even against the law.”

  The angel swallowed. “What does he mean to do?”

  “According to my contact, he invests a great deal of time training young demonesses as submissives before selling the right to abuse them to other angels at a very elite party—where the aim is to see how much pain they can take before they expire.”

  Phaleg’s angelic complexion went from porcelain to green. “You can’t be serious.”

  Vasily snorted with derision. “Why, because they’re angels?”

  The skin tone changed again to a bright blush of shame. Phaleg didn’t need to answer. Instead, he addressed Belphagor’s earlier statement. “Of course it’s against the law. Heaven would no more tolerate such a despicable practice than it would the pandering of children. Whatever their bloodline.”
He pushed his hair back on his forehead with a look of frustration. “But proving it, particularly against such a prestigious Virtue…” Phaleg glanced at Belphagor. “I presume you have some kind of plan.”

  Belphagor’s dark, determined look was for once absent of pleasure. “I thought I might need one.” He swung off the chair and paced. “What we need is to get Vasily inside.”

  Vasily pushed away from the wall. “Wait a minute.”

  “You could tell Gaspard you have some urgent information for the Virtue, that you believe the demon who got arrested is going to give him up.”

  “And then what am I supposed to do? March down into the basement and march back out with the girls?”

  The look on Belphagor’s face meant trouble. Not that he wasn’t always trouble. “Actually, I thought you might set the place on fire.”

  “I might what?”

  “Nothing too drastic. Just an accidental smoldering of the draperies, but enough that it can’t be put out easily and the place will need evacuation. The Virtue is bound to go for his valuables in the cellar first. We’ll get him to march straight out onto the street with the girls.” Belphagor smiled at what he presumably judged to be his own cleverness. “At which point, Phaleg shows up with a pair of Ophanim to take Auria into custody, saying the demon he interrogated named him in the conspiracy against the queen. Whether the charge will stick is irrelevant. We just need him detained so we can get the girls away.”

  “And what if something goes wrong?” Phaleg objected. “The place could go up in flames with the demonesses inside.”

  “Vasily isn’t going to let that happen.”

  “Belphagor.” The growled address got his attention. Belphagor turned, his eyes a little wide, as though he hadn’t expected any opposition, and certainly not displeasure. Vasily folded his arms. “I’m not doing it.”

  A warning flashed in Belphagor’s eyes. “What do you mean, you’re not doing it?”

  “I mean I don’t like it. It’s too dangerous. I’m not doing it. I’m not setting anything on fire.” Vasily folded his arms like he was forming a compact and impenetrable brick wall around himself.

  Belphagor frowned. “What happened to trusting me?”

  “This has nothing to do with trust. It’s a bad idea. I think you’re wrong.”

  The warning spark was back. “So you’re refusing to do what I ask.”

  “I am.”

  “And what if I order you do it?”

  Vasily stared him down. It was never a good idea to engage a firespirit in a staring contest. “Seraphim.”

  The dark eyes widened again. Belphagor observed him silently for several moments, contemplating something with an enigmatic expression. Then he moved suddenly—too suddenly for Vasily to react—and wrapped a shock of Vasily’s locks in his fist. Belphagor pulled him close, head down, like he meant to force him to his knees, but instead brought his head up beneath Vasily’s and kissed him with unexpected passion. “Ya tebya lyublyu,” he murmured against Vasily’s cheek and let him go.

  He resisted the urge to put his fingers to his tingling lips. “What was that for?”

  Belphagor smiled. “For doing exactly as I asked. For letting me know I’d gone too far.” Phaleg was staring at the two of them as if they’d sprouted wings right here in Raqia. “Something wrong, Phaleg?”

  “I—nyet, ser.” The angel reddened. “I mean, no.” The struggle not to add “sir” in angelic was visible on his face.

  Vasily suffered a momentary surge of pointless jealousy, picturing Phaleg on his knees before Belphagor. That was over. Belphagor hadn’t so much as touched Phaleg since he’d broken things off with the angel.

  Phaleg cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you have any other ideas?”

  Belphagor twitched his pierced eyebrow. “I always have plenty of ideas. My plan can easily be modified. Are there any Powers within the Supernal Army you know you can trust absolutely?”

  “One or two, yes. With certainty.”

  “Why not have them criticize the principality within hearing of some you don’t trust as well? Let them suggest, without going so far as treasonous speech, that perhaps his brother would be a better leader. The Traditionalists will surely want them among their ranks.”

  Phaleg nodded slowly. “And invite them to the next Traditionalist assembly.”

  “Precisely. Once inside, they formally charge Auria and the other angels with conspiracy and sedition. Again, the charges may not stick, but it will give us a chance to get the girls to safety. The others will resist, but this is where you arrive. Don’t tell anyone in advance. No Supernal Army patrol. Not to impugn the honesty of your men, but it’s impossible to know who’s in league with the Traditionalists. I’d lay even odds that by the time you arrived there in any official capacity, any evidence of the girls would be gone. Instead, bring a pair of Ophanim Guard as an escort, claiming there’s a report of trouble at the house. That gives you four very formidable agents. Certainly enough to subdue a handful of angels. Meanwhile, I let myself in through an upstairs balcony window while Vasily uses the opportunity to secure the girls’ location and ensure none of Auria’s agents manage to spirit them out.” Belphagor glanced his way, his face stern. “Won’t you.”

  “Da, ser.” He said it more to get under Phaleg’s skin than because he was feeling particularly obedient. But the words always made him want to be in that space with Belphagor, owned, and cherished. Belphagor’s.

  They seemed to have a similar effect on Belphagor. “I think that will do. I’ll contact you with the details, Phaleg,” His tone dismissed the angel in no uncertain terms. Phaleg nodded stiffly and went out.

  Belphagor eyed him with a dark gleam. “I trust you’re all fired up again. No lingering chill from the river?”

  “Nyet, ser.” Vasily’s skin prickled with radiant heat to prove it.

  “That’s my boy.” Just as the words were sending the elemental warmth to Vasily’s cock, Belphagor turned away and pulled the chair up to the vanity, busying himself with the lamp on its surface. “Undress and kneel.” The words were tossed over his shoulder like an afterthought, and his tone was almost bored.

  The heat flared everywhere, but it was too late to keep it from its original destination. Vasily’s hard-on made him furious. He hated responding to Belphagor this way, as if it were out of his control—his cock eagerly obeying Belphagor’s commands in direct opposition to his will—when Belphagor was being nothing more than mean. Vasily yanked off his boots and stripped down, not bothering to set his clothes neatly aside, just leaving them in a heap. He didn’t kneel right away, standing defiantly in the center of the room, waiting for Belphagor to turn his steely eyes on him and make him do it. But Belphagor had his back to him, occupied with whatever he was doing at the damned vanity, and didn’t even notice Vasily hadn’t obeyed. This pissed him off more than anything. He sank to his knees, stifling a growl of frustration.

  “You seem to be emitting a great deal of steam with all that sighing, boy. You’ll fog up the mirror.” Belphagor was paying attention after all, though he still faced the other way. “Why don’t you put that energy to better use and get yourself hard for me?”

  “I am hard.” The exasperated exclamation came out as a thick growl.

  “That you are. But I love you anyway.” Belphagor rose and turned to him. His open palm held something small and metallic that caught the light of the oil lamp. “How long have you belonged to me? Not counting our period of self-imposed punishment.”

  Belphagor’s pleasant demeanor caught him off guard. “I—three years, I guess? Almost three.”

  “Shy of three by a few weeks. But you’ve been such an exceptionally good boy, I wanted to give you your present early.” Belphagor held up the shiny thing: a spiked bar, with one spike unthreaded. Vasily’s hand automatically went to the left side of his neck where Belphagor had placed his first piercing. The lamplight danced in Belphagor’s eyes as he came forward. In his other hand, he held
the hollow-ended piercing needle. That’s what he’d been doing with the lamp. Sterilizing the needle. He knelt in front of Vasily. “Are you mine, malchik?”

  Vasily’s cock got impossibly harder. “Da, ser.”

  Belphagor leaned in to kiss him, soft and gentle—in stark contrast to the sharp sting of the needle at the side of his neck. Still kissing him, taking Vasily’s deep breaths into himself as his own, he pinched the bit of skin he held and drove the needle through to the other side. A moist drop spilled out on the tip of Vasily’s cock as he let Belphagor have his breath. Belphagor seemed to know it would be there, moving his left hand into Vasily’s lap to take hold of him and stroking his thumb across the drop while he somehow managed to thread the steel bar onto the needle and through Vasily’s skin and twist the spiked cap onto it one-handed.

  “How do you do that?” Vasily gasped when Belphagor released his mouth.

  Belphagor smiled mischievously. “I’m an airspirit. I’m good with my hands.” And he proceeded to be very, very good with them.

  Getting invited back to Auria’s salon was easier than Vasily expected. Gaspard sought him out at the Brimstone that afternoon, worried for him. Vasily sat drinking with the merchant in a private booth after a barmaid had come to fetch him.

  “I’m glad I found you,” said Gaspard. “But I’m not glad I found you here. What happened to leaving that odious Belphagor?”

  Vasily spun his glass between his fingers. “I would have, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “You know you were welcome at my home.”

  “Was I?” Vasily glanced up, managing a hopeful expression. “I wasn’t sure we’d established that. And after botching the…well, you know. I figured I should lie low.”

  “I’m sure no one thinks you’re to blame for how things turned out. I was afraid you’d ended up in the drink with Kazbeel.”

  Vasily shook his head. “Neither of us ended up in the drink.”

  “What do you mean? Where’s Kazbeel, then?”

  He lowered his voice. “Seraphim caught him. I ran.”