King of Thieves: Demons of Elysium, Book 2

by Jane Kindred

  “Please, Silk. Just leave me alone.”

  Silk rose, and Vasily thought he’d gone, but in a moment, he felt Silk’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him up insistently. He’d gotten a damp cloth from the washroom, and he intended to clean Vasily’s face, determined and refusing to be swayed.

  Vasily sighed and submitted to him, looking at the sweet boy who thought it was his duty to take care of him. He took the cloth from Silk’s hand. “Silk. I’m not who you think I am. I’ve deceived you.”

  “Nonsense,” said Silk. He took the cloth back and wiped Vasily’s throat, washing the choker where Kezef had squeezed Vasily’s piss into it. “I make it my business to know things, to know my boys. It’s the only way to survive in here. How else do you think I’ve lasted so long?” He shook his head and lowered his voice. “I know exactly who you are. You think I’m an idiot? You belong to the Prince of Tricks. And he’s a fool.”

  Vasily lay back on the bunk. He had no argument there. “Kezef purchased me for tonight.”

  Silk scowled. “For fletching? Already?”

  “No, just for dinner, I guess. The Ingénue.”

  Silk was visibly relieved. “He’ll have to behave. It’s all public, no private trysting, all very civilized. But if he tries to buy your fletching, you tell the sommelier you won’t have him. Promise me that, Ruby.”

  Vasily had no intention of losing his pretend cherry to anyone, let alone Kezef. “I promise,” he agreed.

  Belphagor was disappointed to find he’d already missed Vasily by the time he arrived at the salon. Khai had apparently also made his appearance, so he didn’t have a chance to talk to him before dinner. The affair began with the patrons being seated about a low lounging table with an array of cushions arranged about it to give each patron room to have his ingénue recline in his lap if he chose, though there was to be no public intimacy. Khai’s prediction had proven true. Of the ten patrons at dinner, six were angelic nobility.

  A first course of cold soup was served prior to the presentation of the ingénues, and then they were paraded in, wearing the usual attire. The girls arrived first, two bought by angels and one by a demon to Belphagor’s right, but the fourth demoness to arrive took him by surprise.

  Well trained in her role, Anzhela gave no sign she recognized him. He couldn’t imagine how she had ended up in bondage to the Fletchery. Her grandmother owned The Cat, and the last he’d seen her, Anzhela was being groomed to be her grandmother’s replacement as the brothel’s madam. She was on the high end of the age spectrum for the Fletchery’s clientele.

  His attention was quickly diverted from the dilemma of her presence, however, by Vasily’s entrance, his hair shining like sparks of flame and tied back in a large red ribbon, and a thin red braided cord tied about his neck. Vasily kept his eyes down as the sommelier led him to his patron at the far end of the table. Belphagor felt his whole being go rigid. Kezef.

  The demon grasped Vasily by his braided collar and made him kneel on the hard wood without a cushion. A red haze of fury blinded Belphagor for a moment, and he realized he’d nearly risen from his seat when Khai appeared beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at the demon, who gave him a subtle warning look.

  He forced himself to relax and took Khai’s hand and kissed it. “Sit,” he ordered, but when Khai started to kneel beside him, he pulled the demon onto his lap and stroked his hair like a prized pet in a show of how a dominant ought to treat a submissive in such a setting. He realized his mistake, however, when Kezef murmured something to Vasily, who looked up and met his eyes. The betrayal in the utterly fireless hazel of his boy’s gaze hammered him in the gut.

  Vasily’s fingers played at his collar and Belphagor saw that the spiked adornment he’d given him was gone. For a moment, Belphagor couldn’t breathe.

  The second course had arrived. Khai leaned back against his chest and turned his head to the side as if relishing his position. “Stop looking at him,” he murmured. “It will only get worse.”

  He knew the young demon was right. Kezef enjoyed an audience, and Belphagor was giving him fuel for his sadism by letting on that it mattered to him at all what happened to Vasily. He turned his attention on Khai to avoid arousing further suspicion with anyone at the Fletchery, determined not to look Kezef’s way again. The angel across from him had purchased Anzhela’s company. Belphagor engaged him in conversation while he absently fed morsels of cheese croquettes to Khai. He was here to gather information, after all.

  The angel clearly considered himself above the company of demons, responding in clipped tones to Belphagor’s inane observations on the weather and fashion, until Anzhela began to play the game.

  “Angels are always better dressed than demons,” she said, curling about the angel’s arm and smiling up at him. She fingered the fabric of his sleeve. “What’s this made of? It’s so pretty.”

  “It’s Vilonese silk, my dear.” He smiled indulgently. “As you know, sumptuary laws forbid demons from wearing it.”

  “Doesn’t forbid them from weaving it for you, though.” Belphagor smiled at the angel’s cool stare. “Pity,” he added, concentrating on his meal. “Your girl would look lovely in that ice blue Vilonese.” He glanced up with a slight shrug, his fork poised before Khai’s mouth. “Of course, what happens at the Fletchery contravenes a number of silly celestial laws.”

  Khai took the mouthful of croquette with a soft moan, diverting all eyes toward him. Belphagor had to suppress a smile. He had to admit, Khai’s counterfeit boy reminded him a great deal of himself at fifteen, when he’d first fallen to the world of Man. It had been angels who’d contravened the law of the land there as well. A group of earthbound Malakim posing as monks had taken Belphagor in and introduced him to their fashionable circuit in Petrograd just before the fall of the Russian empire.

  The angel began to unbutton his coat, goaded, as Belphagor had hoped, into putting the garment on Anzhela to admire her in it. She beamed up at the angel, wrapping herself in the soft fabric and cooing at its beauty as she tucked her bare legs up onto the cushion and pressed against him. Belphagor felt his smile go hard on his lips. What had reduced her to this circumstance? He would have to stop by The Cat and speak with Masha before he retired this evening.

  “Just be careful not to spill anything on it,” said the angel, petting her. “I’m afraid it’s worth more than your virtue.”

  “Clothing is a waste on such charming playthings.” Kezef’s quiet, seductive voice drew the attention away from the angel. “Ruby.” Kezef’s tone changed swiftly to one of harsh authority. After a moment’s hesitation, Vasily rose and took off his pants.

  Belphagor couldn’t help but protest, though he tried to keep his voice casual. “That’s hardly appropriate at the dinner table.”

  Vasily didn’t look at him as he stripped and returned to kneeling on the floor. He was certainly playing his part well. He’d never been so obedient for Belphagor. But this was what he’d asked of him. Belphagor tried to steady his breathing and keep his eyes on his plate.

  “What’s inappropriate,” said Kezef, “is indulging and fawning over them as if they were anything more than goods we’ve purchased. Once used, after all, they’ll be good for nothing.”

  Everyone at the table was shifting on their cushions. Naked truths were no more comfortable in this fantasy environment than naked sex slaves.

  “Wasting expensive food on them,” Kezef continued, “is like baking pastries for a dog. It’s not as if they can even appreciate it. Their palates are unrefined.” He scooped up a dollop of cream sauce from a chafing dish beside his plate and flung it at Vasily, splattering his chest. Vasily flinched but didn’t move as it dripped down his naked flesh.

  Belphagor moved to rise, but Khai grabbed his hand under the table and dug in his nails. Before he could fling him off, one of the angels threw down his fork.

  “Listen here, demon. We’ve all paid a pretty facet for an evening of entertainment and conversation.
No one is interested in watching your display of perversion.”

  Kezef laughed. “My perversion. You come to the Demon District to titillate yourself with the ‘shocking’ access to underage sex to be had here and then go home to bed your pristine angel cunts while secretly reveling in the sweet demon ass you’ve just had. Demons like myself, and our infamous friend, the Prince of Tricks, aren’t pretending to be something we’re not.”

  Belphagor clenched his teeth together, unable to refute the gist of the speech, though he himself was pretending. It was the maddening thing about Kezef. He was a vicious sadist and yet had an unfailing intolerance for hypocrisy and spoke the truth as he saw it. Belphagor could even see himself treating Vasily as Kezef was doing under the right circumstances, and he knew without a doubt that if he did, the firespirit’s eventual surrender would be Heaven-shattering.

  But there would be no tender moment afterward if Kezef were to break Vasily, no appreciation for the incredible vulnerability of the gift the demon was giving, no unbreakable bond that made the one exacting the submission as much a slave to the other as the demon who submitted willingly. With Kezef, there was no gift at all, only taking and conquering. And Belphagor wasn’t going to sit by while his boy was taken without his consent.

  Just as he’d set down his fork and opened his mouth to speak, Kezef slicked his finger through the sauce dripping down Vasily’s abs and lifted it to Vasily’s mouth. Vasily met Kezef’s eyes and sucked with apparent desire.

  “Thank you, sir,” he breathed when Kezef took his finger away.

  Khai grabbed the spoon from the dish in front of Belphagor and dribbled sauce down his own chest. “Oh dear. I’ve spilled some too, sir. Perhaps you’d prefer to eat it off me.” He batted his eyes at Belphagor, and everyone laughed, the tension of the moment dissolved. The look from Khai as he glanced up over his shoulder at Belphagor seemed to say, Vasily’s playing his part, now play yours. He dipped Khai back and ran his tongue down the trail of sauce to a round of applause.

  “I’d still prefer that you not spill anything on my silk.” Anzhela’s patron held a spoonful of sauce to her mouth. She giggled and let him feed her, and the party went back to its inane conversation and flirtation.

  Determined now to make as quick a job of this mess as possible, by the end of the evening, Belphagor at least had half a dozen names and titles filed away to report to Armen, which Khai could corroborate.

  Kezef made a show of allowing Vasily to dress as they retired to the salon for dessert, running his hand inside the garment and fondling him while Belphagor and Khai passed. Belphagor had been too easily provoked. Kezef knew Vasily meant something to him. He did his best to ignore them both for the remainder of the evening, even when Kezef kept him on his hands and knees feeding him custard on the end of his finger. But Vasily’s subservient obedience nearly killed him.

  Reluctantly, he retired for the night while Kezef and the demon with one of the female fledglings were the only ones still engaged in conversation, but not before he had a quiet word with the attendant to ensure that Kezef wouldn’t be permitted to take any liberties with Vasily under the terms of the evening’s contract.

  Chetvertaya

  The demon seemed to lose interest in Vasily as soon as Belphagor had gone, and dismissed him when he caught him yawning. But as Vasily headed down the corridor toward the dormitory, a hand yanked his ponytail from behind and sent him spinning to the floor. Kezef looked down at him, the scarlet ribbon in his fist, as Vasily lay dazed and dizzy from the blow to the back of his head.

  The demon unlaced and exposed his half-erect cock, straddling Vasily from his standing position. “We never did find out whether you’d swallow what I give you. I think you will.” Vasily tried to back up, but Kezef stood on his hair. He pressed his other foot to Vasily’s groin and rolled his heel against him mercilessly until Vasily was hard. “You see? You know it’s what you want and what you deserve. You and I both know what you are. You’re nothing.” He straddled him once more, widening his stance. “Open your mouth, boy, and we’ll see what it’s good for.”

  The echo of Belphagor’s words stuck him in the heart, and Vasily almost gave in and obeyed from a place of deep despair.

  “Get the hell off of him.” Silk’s voice saved him.

  Kezef turned, revealing Silk behind him brandishing a poker from the coal furnace. “Mind your business, boy.”

  “Ruby is my business. These boys are my business. If you ever want to be admitted to the Fletchery again, I suggest you take heed. And if you don’t step away from him this instant, I’ll render you incapable of using that pathetic tool of yours for any purpose.”

  Kezef moved his foot from Vasily’s hair and stuffed himself back in his pants, but before Vasily could scramble away, he crouched and yanked down Vasily’s waistband to tie the ribbon around his erection. “We both know what you are,” he said as he straightened, “and when I fletch you, you’ll prove it and thank me for the privilege.”

  “Go fletch yourself,” Silk snarled, raising the poker.

  Kezef smiled and left them without a backward glance.

  Silk extended his hand, and Vasily took it, avoiding his eyes. He reached to remove the ribbon, but Silk got to it first, the poker tucked under his arm as he untied it and pulled up Vasily’s pants to cover him.

  “Don’t you listen to a word that vile creature uttered,” Silk insisted, his voice low as he led him back into the dormitory, where the other boys were asleep. “Put it out of your mind.”

  Vasily shook his head. “You heard him. You saw.”

  “I saw a piece of filth assaulting you,” Silk hissed. “Do you think he hasn’t spent years practicing his technique of exploiting a boy’s weakness to make him believe he deserves what’s being done to him?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Don’t I? Who do you think he practiced on?”

  Vasily’s chest tightened at the hard note in Silk’s voice. “But I am a submissive. I—”

  “What does that have to do with it? Do you think he cares? Your weakness isn’t that you’re a submissive, it’s that you fear that submitting means you’re weak. I daresay your Prince of Tricks would never think of you as weak. Has he ever said so?”

  “You said he didn’t love me.”

  “Oh, what the hell do I know?” Silk still held the poker, and he set it on the floor, leaning it against the wall. He studied Vasily silently for a moment, one foot propped beside the poker. “And if he doesn’t, he’s a bigger fool than he seems.” He pushed away from the wall and caught Vasily’s hair, draping it forward over one shoulder to tie the ribbon in it. His voice dropped to a bare whisper. “A demon would have to be blind and mad not to see what you’re worth.” Silk drew Vasily to him by the queue and kissed him, tentative and haunting, as if waiting to be rejected and scorned.

  “Silk,” Vasily gasped against him. He didn’t want to hurt this beautiful boy, but he couldn’t take advantage of him like this, regardless of whether Belphagor loved him or not. “You don’t understand who I am.” He pressed his brow against the dark head. “I’ve taken a glamour to make me look like a boy, but I’m not.”

  The gray eyes flitted over his features. “You’re a girl?”

  Vasily laughed. “No, I mean, I’m older than I look. I’m of age.”

  Silk nodded. “So am I. No glamour. I just look young.”

  Vasily studied him, their faces still close. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Holy shit.” He pulled back in surprise.

  Silk laughed softly. “Why? How old are you?”

  “I’m not really sure, but I think…nineteen, maybe.”

  Silk smiled. “I’m your elder, then. So shut up and kiss me.” He curled his fingers in Vasily’s hair and brought their mouths together again, his touch still soft and fluttery—like silk. Vasily closed his eyes and explored Silk’s mouth, fascinated by the soft, yielding touch, the tongue teasing and dancing
over his. So unlike Belphagor.

  He drew back. “Silk, wait.” He shook his head. “I love him. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t love me.” He sucked in a sharp breath at the agonizing myriad of ways in which this wasn’t true.

  “And yet he left you here,” Silk murmured. “Left you to that swine.” He traced Vasily’s lips. “He left you with no one but me to take care of you, Ruby. And I will. By all the Heavens, I will.” He kissed Vasily on the cheek and retreated to his bunk, leaving Vasily to stumble in the dark to his own, where he lay replaying the kiss, Kezef forgotten, until he drifted off to sleep.

  Belphagor had endured the jokes good-naturedly when he’d presented himself at the door of The Cat after returning from the Fletchery the previous evening. The ladies there were well aware that their services weren’t the sort he preferred.

  “I have business with Masha,” he said to the doorman. “Is she in?” The half-clad ladies giggling at him in the entryway grew quiet. “Is something wrong?”

  “Madam Marina passed away a month ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Belphagor slipped off the top hat he’d worn to dinner. “Who handles the household business now?”

  “Madam Pharzuphova oversees the house, but it’s owned by a private investor.” It was code for angelic slumlord. Dammit. What had happened that Masha’s property hadn’t gone to Anzhela—and Anzhela herself had been traded as property? He remembered Anzhela telling him the story of her mother’s plight, being owned first by Anzhela’s father and then lost in a game of chance to another demon who’d then killed her father in a duel over the right to keep her, prompting Masha to open The Cat for girls who would belong to no one but themselves. “Do you know where I might find Madam Marina’s daughter?”

  The doorman folded his arms, glancing back at the girls, who dispersed at his frown. “Katrina Cameronovna is employed by The Succubus. But you’ll need to ask for her by her working name, Koshka.”