Prince of Tricks

by Jane Kindred

  Belphagor felt his brow go white with annoyance. Just how many people had watched Vasily’s “initiation”? “He’s my companion. He’d gone missing the day after his visit here with a group of angels, and I came here to find out more about them.”

  Masha shook her head. “You’re the only demon in Raqia who’d visit The Cat to find out more about the sexual habits of angelic males.”

  “I know plenty about the sexual habits of angelic males,” he retorted.

  A knock sounded on the door, saving him from making more of a jackass of himself. “Masha?”

  “This had better be extremely important, dyevushka,” Masha barked.

  The door opened, and the apprentice he’d seen earlier popped her head around it. The young girl’s face was white. “There are Ophanim at the door demanding entrance.” She glanced at Belphagor. “I think they’re looking for him.”

  Masha extricated herself from Tabris and stood, eyes burning into Belphagor’s. “You’ve brought Ophanim to my door?”

  “I doubt they’d be looking for me here,” he replied drily. “Or me at all. I hardly think I warrant the notice of the Palace Guard.”

  Masha glanced at the girl. “Whom did they ask after, Anzhela?”

  “It’s hard to understand them,” she admitted. “They want ‘the demon assassin’.”

  “Shit.” Belphagor rubbed the stubble at his chin. “They want Vasily.”

  “Explain,” said Masha. “Quickly.”

  “Vasily and Ouestucati were being held by Duke Elyon of the House of Arcadia as pawns in his plot to instigate a demon uprising and then take credit for stopping it. Elyon blackmailed Vasily into putting himself in position to take the fall for assassinating the principality.”

  Masha regarded him. “Blackmailed how?”

  “Elyon employed a Cherub to do his dirty work, and apparently he threatened to…” Belphagor glanced at Tabris. “To kill the girl if Vasily didn’t follow his orders. Vasily made himself a target, visually, in Council Square, but I was there. He wasn’t the assassin. It was one of the angelic officers of the Supernal Army.”

  “And Ouestucati?”

  Belphagor answered grimly. “The Cherub killed her anyway.” On the bed, Tabris’s anguish had given way to tears of quiet grief.

  Sounds of surprised demons were coming from the parlor as the Ophanim had apparently gained entrance and were searching the little alcoves for their quarry.

  Masha nodded brusquely to the apprentice. “Get him out the back way, Anzhela.”

  Belphagor paused as Anzhela held the door for him. “I expect there will be more Ophanim at The Brimstone, if not now, very shortly. Vasily and I may have to make a quick escape.”

  “What about Ouestucati?” Tabris sat up, the tears still pouring. Looking into her grieving face made him feel he’d murdered her sister himself.

  “I’m afraid we may take the fall for her death as well. There’s no way for you to collect her now with the Ophanim about. If Vasily and I flee, she’ll be found shortly.” He stepped toward her and gave her hand a brief, inadequate squeeze before he followed Anzhela out the door. From the shouts of dismay and alarm down the hall as demons protested the unpleasant contact with the Ophanim, it wasn’t a moment too soon.

  Anzhela led him to a back stairway that descended into a cellar. The exit was a window that opened onto a terraced window well. Belphagor climbed up to the street and hurried to the alley behind The Brimstone, keeping an eye out for ophanic radiance. He pounded on the back door, locked as usual from inside, but it opened almost immediately as demons began to flee through it. The Ophanim had obviously arrived.

  “You don’t want to go in there,” one of the demons warned him. “Palace Guard swarming all over the place. There was an attempt on the principality at the rally tonight, and the Fallen are being blamed.”

  “Thanks, friend. Just need to get my goods.” He slipped in through the exodus and made a hasty dash through the back of the bar to the rented rooms, afraid Vasily might have been caught already, but he was waiting, anxious, at the dead demoness’s side.

  Belphagor locked the door at the sound of tables being overturned in the gaming room and the shrieking of the unfortunate demons who hadn’t made a run for it in time.

  Vasily jumped up. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Hell’s a good word for it. We’re heading down.” Belphagor whipped aside the tattered rug that hid his most valuable asset.

  “Down?” Vasily looked baffled.

  “Meant to tell you about this. Didn’t get around to it.” Belphagor moved his hand over the wood slats of the floor, murmuring the words of his revealing spell. An iron ring appeared in the center of a hinged square that had been invisible a moment before.

  A loud banging came at the door, followed by the most unpleasant, grating voice he’d ever heard in his life, like nails being hammered from the inside into his eardrums and the backs of his eyes. “Open in the name of Principality Helison Alimielovich of the House of Arkhangel’sk!”

  “Belphagor!” Vasily hissed.

  Belphagor yanked up on the ring and opened the trap door. “In. Now.”

  Vasily’s mouth dropped open. The wood of the door to their room began to splinter. He scrambled down and disappeared into the darkness and Belphagor followed, pulling the trapdoor over their heads and whispering the spell that would conceal it once more.

  Like the vapor an ordinary demon might see from his breath on a cold day, Vasily could see his breath in the dark. The pale ruby glow of his exhalations made the blackness of the hole bearable while they waited for the Ophanim in the room overhead to give up and move on. At last it seemed safe to speak.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this hiding place?” Vasily murmured. He could just see Belphagor’s smirk in the gloom through the illumination of his breath.

  “It’s not exactly a hiding place.” Belphagor came close to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you glowed in the dark?”

  Vasily made a face. “I don’t glow in the dark. It’s my fire.”

  “I like it.”

  Vasily gave him a sideways smile. “Glad to hear it.” His smile turned quizzical. “What do you mean, it’s not a hiding place?”

  “It’s more of an…other place. Point your fiery breath behind you.”

  Vasily turned and breathed out, revealing a stone staircase that wound down into the darkness. “What is this?”

  “A portal,” said Belphagor, stepping down in front of him. “To the world of Man.”

  “Seriously?” Vasily followed eagerly. “How did you manage to get a room that sat on top of a portal?”

  “By being a damned good wingcasting player. I won it in a game. The poor fellow was so devastated, he asked to use it one last time so he could get out of Raqia for good and not have to see me gloating at him over the tables.” Belphagor looked over his shoulder and winked. “Not that I gloat.”

  “So we’re falling?” Vasily had always wanted to, but the idea made him anxious.

  “Indeed we are, malchik. It appears you’re a wanted demon. I hope you remember the language lessons I’ve been teaching you.”

  “Da, ser,” Vasily replied automatically. He hadn’t meant it in a sexual context, though of course it was the only context in which he’d used it before, but Belphagor stopped on the stairs and looked up at him, a hard glint in his dark eyes.

  “Come down here,” he said. Not quite an order but not a suggestion. He pointed to the steps below him.

  Vasily descended until Belphagor stopped him. He turned and looked up. They were at a level height.

  Belphagor tucked his hand around the back of Vasily’s neck, his grip firm but gentle. “I told you not to leave me.” His voice wasn’t exactly the hard tone he’d expected either.

  “I didn’t leave you.”

  “You weren’t in my bed when I woke up.”

  “And I belong always in your bed?”

  “Yes.” The brusque certainty of
this answer made Vasily’s heart beat faster. Belphagor stroked his thumb against the side of Vasily’s neck. “I got your gifts. The duke must have paid you well.”

  Vasily reddened, thinking of the extra facets he’d received for the pleasure he’d gotten from Sefira and Tabris, and how he’d have to be careful never to mention the trip to The Cat.

  “You deserve to be paid well,” said Belphagor, watching him. “You’re extraordinary.”

  “Bel…” He stopped, realizing he was on the verge of confessing just from the sweetness in Belphagor’s voice. Vasily swallowed. “I was going to tell you about the facets. I’d have given them to you. I just wanted you to have something nice first.”

  “Given them to me?” Belphagor’s eyes hardened, as did his grip on the back of Vasily’s neck. “Do you think I’m your pimp?”

  “No…ow.” He put his hand up defensively when Belphagor dug his fingers into the hair at his nape, and then dropped it in dismay.

  Belphagor tugged his head back. “Were you going to fight me?”

  “Nyet, ser. Mne ochen zhal.”

  Unexpectedly, Belphagor kissed him, his mouth insistent, even hungry, yet his lips soft and sensuous as they moved against Vasily’s. He let out a moan as Belphagor tasted him.

  Just as suddenly, Belphagor pulled away, still gripping his hair. “You don’t give me money, understand? If you earn money, it’s yours.” A wicked glint flashed in his eyes. “Unless I sell you myself.” Belphagor raised his eyebrow at Vasily’s sharp intake of breath. “Does that upset you? The idea that I might sell you?”

  Vasily’s eyes burned with hot tears he wasn’t about to shed. He was only able to nod.

  “You’re my property, malchik. If I choose to sell you, I will sell you. Unless you’ve changed your mind about belonging to me.”

  “Nyet, ser.” The damned tears got out anyway, and Vasily looked down at the steps in misery.

  Belphagor whispered at his ear. “Why are you crying, malchik?”

  Vasily sought the words but couldn’t find them. He shook his head helplessly. “Ya ne znayu ruskikh slov,” he managed.

  “I don’t expect you to be fluent in the language of Men. You may tell me in angelic.”

  “I don’t want to belong to anyone else.” Vasily’s breath caught in his throat. “Please don’t sell me.”

  “Vasya. Malchik. Look at me.”

  Vasily raised his eyes. Tears landed on the stone step in front of him with a soft sizzle.

  “You misunderstood me, sweet boy. I would never give you away, for any amount of money. And you are not my slave. That isn’t what it means for you to belong to me. You’re a permanent part of me. I’d just as soon sell my own heart.” Belphagor’s hand at his nape softened, and he brought it down the side of Vasily’s neck to stroke his thumb along the bearded jaw. “What I meant was that I might, at some unspecified future date, take a fancy to watching another demon fuck your ass.” His voice went hard on the final three words, and Vasily felt himself go hard at the same time. “If you’d allow angels you don’t even know to be an audience to having some sweet angel cock up your ass, you should certainly have no objection to my enjoying the same privilege. Preferably with you draped over my lap so I can get a good view of the cock drilling your hole while I make you come.”

  “Fuck,” Vasily whispered unbidden. He’d completely forgotten about crying.

  “Indeed. The future date may have just moved up.” Belphagor adjusted his cock, and Vasily’s eyes were riveted on the motion. The borrowed garments of the Supernal Army left absolutely nothing to the imagination. “So, you were saying.”

  Vasily blinked at him. “What?”

  “You didn’t leave me. What, then, did you do?”

  “I…” Vasily could barely form a coherent thought. “The angels…my pants.”

  Belphagor tilted his head. “Come again?”

  He hadn’t even come once yet, but the invitation nearly undid him. “My jeans. The jeans you gave me. I went back to the villa to get them.”

  Belphagor looked thoroughly taken aback. “You what?”

  “You said you’d gone to a lot of trouble to get them, and they were the only ones I had. I didn’t want to wear that fucking angel suit forever.”

  A reluctant smile came over Belphagor’s features. “Bozhe moi. You are just…” Vasily felt his face grow hot as Belphagor shook his head, thinking Belphagor was about to call him stupid. “The sweetest damned demon I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  “But it was stupid,” said Vasily, filling in the word he couldn’t have stood to hear on Belphagor’s tongue. “I walked right into Elyon’s hands.”

  “Your heart was in the right place. And today you’re a little bit wiser. But don’t you worry, malchik.” Belphagor smoothed his thumb over Vasily’s damp cheek and kissed him once more. “I’ll get you all the jeans you want when we get to the world of Man.” He turned Vasily about, pointing him down the staircase. “Now breathe, sweet boy, so we can see where we’re going.”

  Vasily let his exhalations guide them once more, experimenting with smoke rings as they descended. “How far is it?”

  “Never the same distance twice,” said Belphagor. “We’re not literally descending; it’s just the effect of the portal magic that makes it feel as if we are. When we’ve passed fully through the spheres, it will seem as though we’ve reached the bottom.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then we take a train.”

  “A what?”

  “You’ll see.” Belphagor was quiet as they continued down the stairs, and Vasily didn’t ask any more questions. He figured he’d see it all soon enough, and the thought of an entirely different world appearing before them made him forget for a while that they were on the run. He’d long wanted to see the places Belphagor had been. The tattoos on Belphagor’s skin secretly thrilled him, though Belphagor didn’t like to talk about them. Vasily knew they were marks of his time “below”, and he’d traced them with awe whenever Belphagor had let him get that close. Of course, now they’d crossed the barrier of intimacy Belphagor had resisted, he’d be able to look and touch all he wanted.

  “Malchik.”

  Vasily paused on the step and turned to look up. They were no longer at a level height. A spiral of ruby smoke escaped him and caressed the still-obvious erection in the elkskin breeches.

  “I don’t know how much time we’re going to have alone over the next few weeks.” Belphagor’s fingers slipped to the laces necessary for quick access in a pair of pants so tight they had to require the assistance of a pair of squires to get them on—unless one happened to be an airspirit—and began to loosen them to relieve their obvious pressure. “And watching that heat come out of your mouth is making me a little crazy.”

  “Da, ser,” Vasily breathed, and his mouth actually watered as the laces stretched and Belphagor’s cock pushed through them. He prowled up the steps, catlike, on hands and knees, and opened his mouth, sighing as the cock slipped into it.

  Belphagor rested his palm on the back of Vasily’s head and pulled him closer with a groan, swaying slightly, until he tumbled backward onto the steps and arched his back, hands braced beside him, and pumped his hips upward to meet Vasily’s forward motions. Before now, Vasily hadn’t had a chance to watch Belphagor’s reaction to his technique, and it made his own cock throb to see how he was affecting him. When he reached to undo his pants and let it out, Belphagor pushed him off with his boot.

  “Did I tell you to touch yourself?”

  Vasily stared up at him with his cock in his hand. “Nyet, ser.” He dropped his cock as if its heat had burned him.

  “Brace yourself against the steps,” Belphagor ordered. Vasily obeyed as Belphagor descended and moved behind him to tug the open jeans down to his thighs. Steeling himself for Belphagor’s entrance, he jumped at a sharp slap to his buttocks instead. “That’s for sneaking out without waking me,” he said in his hard voice. Another slap followed, to the other che
ek. The blows stung incredibly for being delivered by nothing more than an open hand. “And that’s for going off to the villa without letting me know. And this,” he said, pulling Vasily close by his hips, “is for letting angels touch you, after I’d expressly forbidden it.” He pressed his cock between Vasily’s thighs, once again wet only with Vasily’s mouth, and thrust with one forceful motion deep inside him.

  Vasily groaned, his own cock bobbing up in anticipation as Belphagor began to fuck him, but Belphagor didn’t reach for it, instead leaving his hands on Vasily’s hips.

  “This will likely be our last bit of privacy for a while, as I said,” Belphagor informed him. “But you’ve had your last orgasm until further notice.”

  Vasily moaned. “Please—pozhaluista.”

  “Nyet, malchik. Not even by your own hand. And trust me, I will know.”

  Vasily was afraid he was going to come anyway, just from the friction inside him and the knowledge that it was forbidden. He dug his fingers into the stone, knees trembling as he tried to keep still and hold his position under Belphagor’s relentless pounding. Belphagor’s breathing sped up and his noises grew louder, and then Vasily nearly fell forward in surprise as Belphagor pulled out without ceremony, letting out a loud shout of pleasure and splattering Vasily’s backside. He held his cock against Vasily with a final satisfied groan, letting the result of his pleasure drip down between Vasily’s legs.

  “Just so you remember what the stuff feels like,” said Belphagor casually as he laced himself up.

  Vasily started to straighten, but Belphagor pushed him back down.

  “Did I tell you to move?”

  “Nyet, ser,” Vasily growled between his teeth.

  “Ah, you’re angry.” Belphagor slipped his hand between Vasily’s legs and stroked his cock, spreading some of the sticky fluid with his palm, and Vasily shuddered and groaned. “And yet you use the language of Men as I’ve trained you. Which tells me that while you’d like me to think of you as a very bad boy, you are in fact a very good one.” He dropped his hand. “Unfortunately, that won’t get you an orgasm any sooner.”