by Jane Kindred
Lev glanced up at him from under a thick fur hat. “Of course he’s coming back. He can’t live without you.” He sounded a bit surprised.
“Belphagor did just fine living without me when I was locked in Duke Elyon’s ice box for two days.” He growled the words, thinking of all the sex Belphagor had managed to have—with angels—the minute he’d been free of Vasily for an instant. Had he been biding his time all this past year, being celibate out of his stubborn insistence that Vasily was too young for him, or had he simply been finding ways to go out and fuck whomever he pleased the entire while? Despite the cold biting at his cheeks, they felt hot.
“To hear him tell it,” said Lev, “he spent the whole forty-eight hours without sleep, doing everything he could to find you.”
Vasily made a derisive noise. “When did he tell you this version of his ‘escapades’?”
“Right after you arrived, while you were sick.”
“Well, he certainly managed to make the most of those forty-eight hours. I’m sure you and Dmitri were listening outside the door when he shared the details with me.”
“That was pretty harsh,” Lev agreed. “But it seemed to me that he was trying to make you angry on purpose.”
Vasily let out a rough bark of laughter. “He lives to make me angry on purpose. I swear it’s the only way he can get hard.”
Lev smirked. “You mean to tell me he goads you to anger as a matter of course—and then he wants to fuck.”
Vasily frowned at the way he was making it sound. “Well…yes, fuck me or beat me.” He couldn’t help but smile a bit. “Or beat me and then fuck me.”
Lev was eyeing him strangely. “I’m going to assume from the way you’re smiling you’re not talking about battery here.”
“Battery?”
“Beating you up. Punching you.”
“No, nothing like that.” Vasily flicked his eyes toward Lev’s briefly. “Discipline.”
“Ah.” The skinny Grigori made a little shiver beneath his coat, but it didn’t seem to be one of coldness. “So, to reiterate, Belphagor riles you up routinely as foreplay.”
Vasily opened his mouth to argue the point, and then closed it. He tried to think of a time Belphagor had been deliberately cruel when it hadn’t turned out that he’d wanted Vasily’s rage because it made him hot.
“Anyway,” said Lev, “I don’t think that was what he was doing this time. I think he was trying to make you so angry at him that you wouldn’t want to go with him.”
Vasily narrowed his eyes at the other demon. “You think he was playing me?”
Lev gave him a significant look. Playing. Of course he’d been playing him. He was the damned Prince of Tricks. But the angel-fucking had been undeniably real. Vasily shook his head angrily, trying to get Belphagor out of it. He wasn’t going to be played with from an entire sphere away.
The kinoteatr turned out to be a theatre with a great white screen where the stage ought to be, on which a film was projected larger than life. Vasily stared up at the moving images in awe. The American film on the television had been as wonderful as its name, but to see a story come to life in such dimensions, with the sounds of the fictional world all around him as if he were inside it himself, and an audience beside him who gripped their seats with sharp breaths and wept silently at the same moments he did, was an experience unlike any other. If this was what it was to read a book, he wanted to open them all.
He hadn’t understood all the words, but the visuals needed little to convey the story. In an oddly disconcerting bit of synchronicity, the film, Tsareubiytsa, meaning “Regicide”, had been about the assassin of Tsar Nikolai II—the equivalent of the principality of the Celestial Empire. The depiction of the tsar, a small, gentle man with a beard and sad eyes, looked remarkably like the man he’d seen on the platform at Council Square.
Vasily had soon forgotten the peculiar similarities, however, immersed in the heartbreaking tale that ended with the violent deaths of not only the tsar, but his wife, daughters and a crippled son, as well as their servants. He couldn’t get them out of his head as he and Lev walked back through the winter night to the apartment.
“What were those weapons the assassins used?” His breath made softly glowing vapor in the air in front of him when he spoke.
“Guns,” said Lev, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “They’re horribly efficient.”
Vasily agreed. There were things about this world he was enchanted by and others that made even his firespirit blood run cold. Had Duke Elyon had access to such weapons in Heaven, there was no question that Principality Helison would be dead, and Vasily hanged for it. Though he’d be hanged for it anyway if Belphagor’s mission didn’t succeed.
He lay in bed that night replaying what Lev had said about Belphagor provoking him to get him to stay in the world of Man. Even if he was right—and he was probably right—there were still the angels Belphagor had fucked. Angels he was no doubt fucking even now. Which meant Belphagor desired someone other than him. That Belphagor gave to someone else the things he’d only recently begun to give to Vasily. Just as he’d wanted to fuck Lev from the moment they’d arrived. Had Belphagor ever really wanted him as anything other than an object of fetish?
Vasily tried not to roll over onto the knife sticking out of him.
He didn’t understand Belphagor. He didn’t want to understand. He wanted Belphagor to understand him. He wished the knife and the bloody wound weren’t invisible. He almost wished he’d never fallen in love with Belphagor. Because Belphagor wasn’t in love with him. He was convinced of that now. He was infatuated. And maybe had grown less infatuated as soon as he’d finally given in to his desire. How long would it be before the infatuation simply burned out?
The jewelry in his neck tugged against the pillow as he turned his head. Shit. He’d forgotten about the piercing. His brain was racing like a mad train from one station to the next, and he wished he could just shut it off. He wasn’t going to have any peace until he had it out with Belphagor and either made him take out the knife or finish him off.
Belphagor sat with Tabris, who’d finally slept after hours of unresponsive trembling and weeping. He wasn’t sure where Masha had spent last night—maybe in his room—but he’d slept in a chair by the bed, having volunteered to keep an eye on the demoness so Masha and Anzhela could get some rest.
Tabris stirred beside him and opened her eyes, fixing them on him.
Belphagor resisted the urge to take her hand. “Good morning, Tabris.”
She sat up and pulled the blanket he’d draped over her around her shoulders. “Have they arrested you too?” He was relieved to hear her speaking, though her voice shook like an elderly demon with a tremor.
“No, sweetheart. You’re at The Cat. You’ve been released.”
“The Cat.” Tabris seemed to think about the name longer than was necessary, as though her cognitive functions might be impaired. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Beatrix.” He figured it was best not to overwhelm her with information. “I’m new here.”
The door opened a crack, and Anzhela peered in. “You have a—oh! Tabris, you’re awake.” She entered and came to sit on the bed. “We’re all so pleased to have you home. How are you feeling?”
Tabris paused a moment before answering. “I’m—a bit dizzy.”
“You must be hungry. I’ll have Cook make you some lunch.”
“I’ll fetch it,” said Belphagor, getting up.
Anzhela nodded to him. “Oh, and you have a client.”
“A client?” He frowned with annoyance. “This early?”
“It’s three in the afternoon.” Anzhela smiled. “You’re not a morning person, are you? It’s your angel boyfriend, Phaleg.”
Belphagor paused at the door and glared. “He’s not my boyfriend, for Heaven’s sake.”
She seemed awfully amused with herself. “Whatever you say.”
“I’m with Vasily,” he snapped, directing his anger wit
h himself at her.
“Vasily?” Tabris perked up. “You know Vasily? The fire demon?”
“Yes, sweetheart.” He came back toward the bed. “You probably don’t remember when I told you last night—”
“Those horrible angels.” Tabris shuddered, her voice rising in pitch. “I told them I didn’t know where he was. They wouldn’t believe me.”
It occurred to him that telling her he was Belphagor would give the Ophanim something to extract from her if they came again. Perhaps it was better to leave it at Beatrix.
He gave Anzhela a pointed look. “I can’t imagine how they thought any of us would know anything about that revolution business. Thank goodness you finally convinced them. All of Heaven’s gone mad right now. Accusing demons who’ve done nothing, arresting innocent prostitutes.” As a surrogate for her hand, he touched the edge of the bed. “Well, I’ll be on my way. Don’t want to keep my client waiting.” He nodded to Anzhela as he headed out. “I’ll tell Cook to fix something.”
Phaleg was the only patron in the parlor when Belphagor had dressed and gone out to greet him, but he rose and doffed his cap, giving Belphagor a cordial bow. “Miss Beatrix. I’ve come with an invitation from the court.”
“The court?” Belphagor gaped.
“Duke Elyon requests your presence at a salon this Friday evening. It’s an informal event.”
“You have to be joking.”
The angel shrugged. “His exact words were, ‘If that demoness bint were cleaned up, she’d pass for a common angel. Take care of it for me and have her here for my salon.’ So I guess I’m to have you made over. I think the first order of business is to take that bit of metal out of your brow.”
“The hell I will. And I have no intention of spending another evening with that arrogant ass of an angel.”
Phaleg played with the brim of his cap. “It might be the solution to your…dilemma.”
Belphagor sighed. “Come back to my room where we can speak in private.”
“Is that a euphemism for something?” Phaleg asked playfully as he followed Belphagor out.
Belphagor laughed without humor. “No, it is not.” He ushered the angel into his room and closed the door, turning on Phaleg with anger. “I am not your boyfriend. You will not come here and take liberties with me. If I wish to take them with you, that is at my discretion.”
Phaleg blinked his eyes, smarting at the rebuke. “I was only trying to keep up appearances.”
“Shit.” Belphagor ran his fingers through the hair at his scalp. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.” He sat on the bed with a sigh. “I guess I’m angry with myself.”
“For what?”
“For trying to distract myself from missing my boy by indulging in your degradation.” He rubbed his temples. “It’s an addicting thing, having a grown man willing to grovel at my feet, humiliating himself for my pleasure.”
Phaleg crossed his arms over his chest in a protective gesture. “It wasn’t merely for your pleasure. You think rather highly of yourself.”
“That wasn’t what I meant. I’m just trying to explain how…how even seeing you there, sulking, makes me want to bring you to your knees and order you to crawl to me naked.” He tried not meet Phaleg’s eyes directly at the little gasp of breath that had escaped the angel. It would only tempt him more. “And to have an angel so eager to debase himself for me—I’ve had angels before; you’re not unique in that. But you are unique in your devotion. And I can’t deny that I crave devotion.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” Phaleg’s voice was harsh with desire.
“What’s wrong is that I’m using you.”
Phaleg allowed himself a slight smile. “Isn’t that the idea?”
“Your body, certainly.” Belphagor smiled as well. “But your emotions, no. Because I miss him, I’m taking from you. Does that seem fair to you?”
Phaleg took a breath as if he was short of it. “I haven’t asked you to be fair. And I don’t ask anything of you now, though I’m sure you can see how even speaking of it has affected me.” He blushed, shifting his stance and holding his cap in front of him to cover his erection. “If you never make use of me again, I’ll be content in the memory of the occasions you have. But until the day I die, I will be a willing participant in anything you ask of me. And if that’s to leave—” He sighed and dropped his hands to his sides. “I can do that too.”
“Come sit with me.” Belphagor moved over as if to make room on the bed, but when Phaleg approached him, he stopped the angel and pushed him to the floor to kneel at his feet. With his hand on the angel’s cheek, he spoke kindly. “I believe you may be the best-behaved boy I’ve ever had the pleasure to possess.”
“Your Vasily—”
Belphagor cut him off with a laugh. “My Vasily is an ill-tempered, rebellious and maddening thing of beauty. The first time I met him, he tried to steal from me, and I gave him a thrashing to teach him a lesson. He never learned it. And he never left.” He discounted the two occasions on which Vasily had gone off on his own to spite him.
Phaleg looked surprised. “You let him get away with disobedience?”
“Oh, he never gets away with it.” Belphagor gave him a dark smile. “He pays dearly for it, which I begin to suspect is half the reason he does it. But he rails against every act of discipline, as if he’s being sorely misused—all the while with an erection between his legs you could hammer a nail with. There’s nothing more delightful than bringing him to a smoldering fury and then punishing him for it, waiting for the moment he finally lets go and surrenders to what he wanted all along.” He winked. “There’s a lot of weeping involved.”
Belphagor twisted his fingers in the angel’s hair and yanked for good measure. “But don’t get any ideas into your head. I want only one naughty boy. My heart couldn’t take another.”
Phaleg looked up at him, nodding seriously. He was really quite an amazing natural submissive.
“Now.” Belphagor relaxed his grip. “What was it you wanted to tell me about the solution to my dilemma?”
“Well, I was thinking, if you got close to the duke, letting him pass you off as a common angel, and then threatened to reveal yourself as a…a working demoness, you could perhaps blackmail him into making some kind of declaration of Vasily’s innocence. You persuaded him to release the prostitute, did you not?”
“I did. And I could try to blackmail him—and find myself in an alley with a broken neck.”
“I wouldn’t let him do it,” Phaleg said vehemently.
Belphagor gave him a wan smile. “I’m not some damsel in distress to be rescued, Lieutenant. And even with your help, I’m afraid it would be rather ineffective against a Cherub that can apparently materialize and dematerialize at will.” He stroked Phaleg’s hair absently. “But perhaps if I were to trick Elyon into revealing his part in the Council Square rebellion in the presence of someone else…” While sitting up with the traumatized Tabris, he’d thought about how best to use Phaleg’s position in the principality’s detail to his advantage. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything, ser.”
Belphagor cupped his chin with affection. “It won’t be easy. Remember when I said I wouldn’t ask you to commit treason?”
The angel’s pupil’s constricted with alarm.
“And I will not,” he assured him. “But I must ask you to find an opportunity to put yourself in a position to do harm to the principality.”
“But I…” Phaleg’s face twisted with anguish. “Please…”
“You will not harm him. You will only let him believe for a brief time that you intend to.”
The angel gazed up at him, his pale face even whiter. “I don’t understand.”
“I can only assume that he would not go with you willingly if you asked him to spy upon the angel he believes saved his life. But if you persuaded him that you were a revolutionary and meant him harm, he might go with you at knifepoint.”
Phaleg sho
ok his head. “He has two Seraphim who guard him at all times.”
“Even in his own chambers?”
“They stand outside the doors.”
“And no one is allowed inside but the principality?”
“Well…no, he lets people enter to have audience with him.”
“And that is when you would spin your convincing tail of anarchism. Within the enclosure of his private chambers, with the Seraphim outside, not privy to what is happening inside, you could find some reason to get him to go with you to Elyon’s rooms and not alert the Seraphim to the danger. It would have to be very convincing. Like a threat on the little grand duchesses’ lives.”
Phaleg looked horrified. “They’re only children!”
“You aren’t going to harm them,” Belphagor reminded him. “You won’t even be anywhere near them. They’ll know nothing of the threat. But you’ll convince the principality that you have them somewhere, or have put them in danger somehow.”
The angel looked sick to his stomach. “It won’t matter that it isn’t true. I’ll be hanged. The threat itself is treason.”
“Even if it was for the purpose of exposing the true traitor within his palace?”
“I don’t…” The angel’s skin was dotted with sweat and his breathing was rapid. He’d lost his erection. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” He was shaking his head, racked with conflict, and weeping, though he didn’t seem aware of it. Belphagor had gone too far.
He slid from the mattress and gathered Phaleg into his arms. “It’s all right. I won’t ask you to do it. I’m sorry.”
Phaleg had begun to weep in earnest. “I don’t want to fail you.”
“I know you don’t. I’m sorry. It’s all right, Phaleg. I asked too much.” The angel was just loyal enough that he’d ruin himself on Belphagor’s orders. He couldn’t allow that. “We’ll think of another way. It was just an idea.”
“I’ll do what you ask me,” Phaleg gasped, huddled in his arms. “I’ll do anything you ask me.”
“I know. That’s why it was wrong of me.” He kissed the top of his head. “Please don’t feel you’ve failed me, Phaleg.”