Beside the car, Michael was also all striking curves and angles. The leather of his jacket gleamed. His teeth flashed in a quick, savage smile at her surprise.
“Run with me?” he asked.
She didn’t need to be urged twice. There was no time to contemplate daemon deals, guilt or loyalty. In seconds she had ripped open the passenger door and tossed her pack in the back beside his guitar. They both sank into the buttery cream upholstery at the same time. Before she could close her door, growls and screams erupted from the tunnel. Lily almost got out of the car. Grim was in trouble. Michael reached to stop her.
“He’s got this,” he said. He had already closed his door. Now he reached across her body to pull the passenger-side door closed with a decisive thud. “He’s much older and wiser than we are. He knows what to do.” Even with the doors closed, the ferocious sounds of fighting penetrated the confines of the vehicle. “He’s just buying us time.”
Lily wasn’t so certain. She’d never heard such horrible screams and she’d grown up in hell. If the ugly beast died at the hands of the Rogues she had lured with her affinity, she would never forgive herself.
“Buckle up and hang on,” Michael said.
The car roared to life beneath them and Lily did as she was told. She’d never ridden in a sports car before, much less one that looked as deadly as this one.
“Also a Firebird, by the way. 1968. My father says it was a very good year,” Michael said. He shifted the car into Reverse and they roared backward with no further explanation.
Lily yelped and grabbed for the dashboard. She expected to hear the crunch and slam of destruction as the car rammed into the solid earth wall behind them. But instead they whooshed from zero to sixty along another tunnel. This time the tunnel rose up instead of down. She was glad she forced her eyes open when they flew out into the night, because for long seconds the vehicle seemed suspended in starlight surrounded by the endless midnight blue of the desert sky.
When they slammed down into a road carved into the sand, adrenaline soothed the jarring of her body and soul. Sure, she bit her lip and tasted blood, but it was worth the moments of flight.
“Grim?” Lily shouted above the engine’s roar.
“He’s with us. Look,” Michael said.
Lily looked out the window to see a blur of smoke and ember eyes running alongside the car.
* * *
He would have had her in front of the fire. The flickering flames reflected in the warm brown of her eyes had only matched the flames beneath his skin. She wasn’t frightened by his heat. And that gave him permission to burn.
The flavor of familiar wine had changed against her tongue. It had become sweeter, richer and more intoxicating. Especially when she had explored his mouth with sensual, darting flicks that sent desire hotter than Brimstone straight to his...
They were running for their lives and he was lost in the physical sensations of what might have been if they could have continued to indulge.
He’d been careful to take no liberties when he’d stripped off her wet clothes. Oh, he’d noticed her lush beauty. He wasn’t blind. But his primary drive had been to help and protect her. When she’d knelt between his legs, his drive had shifted.
She’d welcomed his touch. She’d welcomed his mouth on her perfect breasts. He held himself as still as possible as the memory rocked him with shudders behind the wheel.
His control hadn’t been shaken. It had been boldly thrown aside. Worse than that, if he were free to pull the car over right here, right now, he’d continue where they’d left off.
Her lips had opened so hungrily. Her hands had eagerly reached for his erection. They were running for their lives, but he couldn’t focus on the road because of the woman beside him. He could no longer pretend that he didn’t want to burn with her again. He wanted to taste her and touch her. He wanted to bring her to trembling pleasure again and again.
But only by choice. Not driven mindlessly by his Brimstone burn. Never that. He was a man, not a monster. If he couldn’t pleasure Lily as a man, then he wouldn’t touch her at all.
Chapter 6
The sun rose until heat waves hovered above the ground, causing it to shimmer in the distance as if this world was only a too-bright illusion, one that would disappear if she blinked or shielded her gaze. She played the game of not blinking until her eyes burned with unshed tears.
Run with me.
She would hear those words forever.
They would haunt her. As would the flash of mischievousness that had lit his eyes for a split second when she’d jumped into the car.
Grim was fully materialized now except for the blurred movement of his giant legs as they churned up dust beside the highway.
“How did he get away?” she asked when the world seemed real enough to risk speech once more.
“Hellhounds can travel between worlds. Between time and space and Lord knows where else. They use pathways we can’t see. He and I often travel that way,” Michael explained.
“So why did we have to run for the car?” Lily asked. “He couldn’t take me, too?”
Michael downshifted on a rise. He glanced sideways at her, but only for a second before his attention was back on the road as he accelerated once more.
“Grim could take you. But he won’t. Hellhounds are...unpredictable. He’s led entire armies through those pathways,” Michael said. Through the tinted windows, sunbeams glinted on streaks of hair that had been naturally highlighted by his time on a motorcycle without a helmet. Lily narrowed her eyes, but she still fought the constant need to blink. She had lived her life in darkness. She might never acclimate to the desert sun.
“He wouldn’t take me,” she said.
How cruel to be pained by both sunlight and the rejection of a monstrous creature of shadowy darkness.
She belonged to no world and no one.
Grim knew. Her obligation to Ezekiel might be a secret from his master, but the hellhound knew she had divided loyalties. From what she’d seen of Michael’s hellish companion, the beast would brook no shades of gray. He might be an ugly monster spawned in the depths of hell, but he was pure of heart. More pure than Lily Santiago, the daemon king’s ward who would die trying to earn a place for herself. Here. There. Anywhere. Her life was one long, ritualized sacrifice. If she played, summoned, served with all her heart perhaps one day she’d get love in return.
“He’s always been temperamental,” Michael said. Her silence was heavy in the car. She couldn’t hide her dismay. “I blame it on the whole ‘bred in the fires of hell’ thing.”
The vintage Firebird he drove as beautifully as he played and sang rolled to a stop. Lily was startled by the sudden cessation of movement and her game of not blinking was lost. Thankfully the moisture in her eyes had dried and no tears fell to betray her feelings. She could blame her sudden blinking on the sun. She looked around. Michael had pulled into a shabby gas station with two pumps and a peeled and cracked fiberglass statue of a man holding a wrench.
“He doesn’t trust me,” Lily said, softly. She didn’t turn back to Michael. She spoke as if to the hazy reflection of herself in the tinted glass. Her voice was as cracked by circumstances and expectations as the fiberglass statue of the mechanic was worn by time and desert wind.
Not to mention tension.
She was drawn to Michael. And the daemon king had known she would be. It wasn’t only her affinity for the Brimstone in his blood. The man was as appealing as his daemon heat.
“Lucifer’s Army he trusts. But he’s leery of a petite woman with a flute and a bag of dolls,” Michael said. “Maybe it’s because you’re way too young to be Samuel’s daughter. There are things about you that don’t add up.” She glanced at him. His hands were still on the steering wheel. He looked easy in the driver’s seat as if there was n
o place he’d rather be. Yet she knew he belonged on stage, playing and singing for an adoring crowd. Of course, the whole world was Michael D’Arcy Turov’s stage. She knew that even though she’d known him for only a short while.
“I’m going to freshen up,” Lily said. What else could she do or say? She couldn’t tell him she’d grown up in hell where time had flowed differently. She pushed open the car door and escaped only to find herself cornered by the very creature who seemed to know her secrets. Grim had solid legs again. He padded up to the car, panting lightly like a German shepherd who’d taken a quick morning jog.
“The daemon king is your rightful master, too, you know,” she muttered to the suspicious beast.
Grim licked his lips and sat back on his haunches. His fiery eyes were toned down so that any humans in the vicinity would think him hideous but not hellish. How the attempt worked she’d never know. He was obviously supernatural, and even acting casual his whole demeanor was more Big Bad Wolf than ordinary puppy.
Michael got out of the car to pump gas. He watched her skirt the giant hell beast and make her way inside the gas station. She walked as normally as she could with two sets of eyes setting her back on fire.
The less-than-shiny restroom had only one working sink. She managed to get a small trickle of water to flow and she splashed it on her flushed face. It didn’t do much to cool or calm her.
Rogues were drawn to her. They had been since she’d run away from the palace. There was no buffer for her on earth. Worse, Michael seemed to function as the opposite of a buffer. He enhanced her affinity’s call. He was half daemon. His biological father had been an Ancient One. He’d chosen to fall in order to rule with Lucifer in the hell dimension. They’d given up their places in heaven for autonomy in hell. Rogues were younger daemons. They resented the Ancient Ones’ choice. They wanted to take over the hell dimension, but their desire to rule hell was only a stepping-stone toward claiming heaven. Rogues had killed Lucifer. Lucifer’s Army wanted autonomy. Rogues wanted dominion.
Ezekiel was an Ancient One who needed a Loyalist heir to keep Rogues from power.
No. A little gas station sink water wasn’t going to absolve her sins. Both Michael and Ezekiel wanted her to help find Lucifer’s wings. But Michael didn’t want to wear them. He wanted to deliver them. He’d never made any secret of his distaste for the throne.
Run with me.
He hadn’t meant it in the way her soul had heard it. There was no “away” far enough for her to run from Ezekiel’s expectations or Rogues’ hunger. But Michael was a powerful lure and her soul ached to answer his call. He was a what-if she wasn’t free to explore. There was no future for her that included a man, a car and a hellhound’s devotion.
Grim was right not to trust her. She looked into the smudged and cracked glass as water swirled down the gurgling drain. She would fulfill her bargain. She would pay the price Ezekiel asked for his years of protection. Then she would go back to the cold, dark palace alone.
Her guardian’s heart had always been out of her reach. He had been a distant figure always too busy to provide the time and attention she craved, but she owed him her life and her mother’s life. It didn’t matter that his time had always gone to the D’Arcys. She couldn’t refuse him. Not when his request was to help him save the one place she’d ever called home.
* * *
Michael had pulled the car away from the pump and parked it to the side. Lily walked toward it slowly, squinting her eyes against the sun, but soaking up the heat. She’d been cold since the Rogues had interrupted her and Michael by the fire. It was possible now that her body had tasted his Brimstone burn she’d never be warm without him again.
He was propped against the hood of the vintage car. He wasn’t playing his guitar. His arms were folded over his chest. His boots were crossed at the ankles. His jeans matched his boots. Worn and scuffed. They spoke of the dust of miles traveled. He was waiting for her.
Run with me.
If she were free to run there was no way she could resist him.
“So we haven’t had a chance to talk about your ritual... How did your summoning turn out?” Michael asked.
Lily stopped in her tracks. She held on to the straps of her pack. The wrapped dolls were dormant. Silent. All her secrets hidden. For now. The daemon king was supposedly back in hell where he belonged. She was standing in the sun. She wanted to belong, but didn’t. Not here. And not there. She was as in-between as the pathways Grim traveled.
Grim knew shadows.
He came around the bumper of the Firebird with his nose in the air, sniffing out the hint of sulfur on her skin she could never quite wash away.
“The Colorado River will lead us. The clerk had a map. I can show you,” Lily offered. She pulled the map she’d gotten from the service station counter from her back pocket. She forced herself to approach the car as she unfolded the map with each step. Michael pushed away from the fender with his hip and stood up straight to meet her. Grim paced a few steps away. His eyes were watchful.
Lily spread the map on the hood of the car. She was careful to keep some distance from Michael. He had tamped down his Brimstone heat and his affinity, too. His guitar was in the back seat. It sat there like a special passenger. Its seductive song silenced...for now. She was pretty sure it was unnatural for him to leave it there, neglected and unplayed.
It didn’t matter.
All the self-control in the world—hers and his—didn’t stop her body from humming in his presence.
She focused as much attention as possible on the map. It would have meant nothing to her without the spirits’ guidance. Geography of his world wasn’t her strong suit. It hadn’t been her home for a very long time. Thanks to her elemental guides she was able to point out the exact route she’d seen traced in the dirt of Michael’s bedroom floor.
“The Grand Canyon leads to heaven?” Michael asked.
“The river leads. The canyon is incidental. The carving of it a side effect of the river’s flow.” Lily shrugged off one of the wonders of the mortal world.
“And you couldn’t follow that path to lead me to Lucifer’s wings?” Michael asked Grim.
The hellhound tilted his head, but arrogantly. He was a creature of hell. What did he care about pathways he was forbidden to take?
Without being conscious of her actions, Lily had shrugged out of her backpack and placed it on the hood to hold down one corner of the map. Michael called her attention to the bag and its contents when he suddenly placed one hand over the lumps that showed beneath the worn canvas.
“If I hadn’t seen you summoning with my own eyes, I would think you were going to lead me on a superstitious version of a wild-goose chase,” Michael said. Every inch of her body tensed and Lily held her breath. His hand was directly over one of the larger lumps that indicated dolls other than the tiny carved representation of himself. She had no idea how her treasured warrior angel would react to Michael’s touch. It had never reacted to hers. Unlike the other dolls, it seemed to have no powers whatsoever. Part of her fascination came from its silence.
She hurriedly grabbed for the backpack, more out of embarrassment than fear. She had no idea what Michael would think of the likeness, but she’d prefer he never see himself in a tiny doll she’d treasured for so many years. She was too hurried. Her rushing made her clumsy. Her whole body brushed against his and her hand tangled with his fingers. Had she actually wondered if this world was real all morning? Because it was suddenly ferociously real... Her skin flushed, her breath caught, every muscle tightened. There was no breeze—the air stood still—and yet she felt a rush of response lift her hair.
At first she thought her sudden movement had caused Grim to growl low in his chest. That maybe the contact of her against his master had worried him. The hellhound was up and pacing. Grim’s hackles had risen and turned to some
thing more like smoke swirling on his back. Michael narrowed his eyes, but his focus wasn’t on the bag she had pulled away from his hand to clutch to her chest. Rather he looked back down the highway the way they’d come.
“It’s time to go,” he said.
The map resisted being folded correctly when she grabbed it off the hood of the car. She was breathing again, but her respiration was rushed and her fingers were clumsy. Grim was all swirl now. He hadn’t disappeared, but he looked like nothing but smoke and ember eyes.
“Keep an eye on them,” Michael ordered. Grim had vanished before his master finished speaking.
“It’s getting worse. I don’t think we’ll be able to shake them as long as we’re together,” Lily said. She sounded winded. She was winded. That slight contact between them had left her oxygen-deprived. Michael had already opened the passenger-side door for her. A prince to her princess. His consideration was salt in the scratch of her reaction to him. She wasn’t sure if she would have been able to operate the door handle herself.
“We have to be very careful. When we touch, the affinity is amplified,” Michael warned. It was the understatement of the century. Did his body still vibrate as if it was an instrument’s string? She wondered that hers wasn’t quivering for the world to see, still reacting from the slight brush of her body against his.
As he crossed around to the driver’s side, Lily swallowed. The distance between them was still negligible. Because it wasn’t from the earth to the moon. She didn’t have the guts to tell him actual touching might not be necessary at all. She still felt amplified. Every cell in her body seemed tuned to the possibility of the future touch and taste of him, but even if those touches never happened, the memory of previous ones might well keep her affinity vibrating forever.
There was a time she’d felt safe, if a little trapped, behind the palace’s walls. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever feel that way again. She’d flown with Michael, silhouetted against the desert sky. His burn and the adrenaline of that moment might be with her forever after.
Brimstone Prince Page 6