“I can’t,” she said.
The meal carried on in silence until the servers carried the last of the barely touched food away. Adam rose and moved to pull out her chair and she stood although it brought her humming body too close to his.
They paused there. He didn’t step away. He burned. She didn’t sing, but she burned too. She could feel the heat coming off his lean body and wondered how his perfectly tailored suit didn’t go up in flame.
Suddenly, one of the servers returned wheeling a large antique Victrola into the room. No. No. No. Not a good idea at all. Music, even music she didn’t create with her own voice, couldn’t be a good idea between them. But when the server started the music and the tinny sound of vintage jazz echoed from the fluted horn, she didn’t resist as Adam Turov pulled her into his arms.
The man had learned to waltz a hundred years ago, give or take. His grace and style was smooth perfection in motion. But it was the controlled passion she felt in his hand on the small of her back that seduced. The ferocious grip he took of her hand, his strength contained, but still a harder grip than it should have been.
Her whole body trembled in response. Her clutch was forgotten on the table, and she allowed herself to be gathered so close that her cheek rested on his chest against the steady rhythm of his Brimstone-fueled heart.
They moved around the room beneath the chandelier in a cocoon of heated sound until everything in the room except the two of them was unimportant, an indistinct blur.
“Victoria. You’re humming,” Turov said. It was a warning. She could hear the strain in his voice. She could feel the tension in his body beneath her trembling hands. But she could also feel the Brimstone heat that flared in response to her barely uttered song.
The servers had disappeared. They were alone with the Brimstone and the music beneath the light of a thousand grapevine roots.
“I’m no saint, Vic. I’ve made denial and duty my life’s work, but resisting your song is too much for even heaven to ask,” Turov growled.
He stopped in the middle of the floor where patterns of shadow and light were created and cast by the chandelier above them. When she looked up, his blue eyes were bright with a fever her own body answered with a hum of need.
“What do heaven and hell have to do with us? We aren’t caged. Who can dare tell the firebird not to flame and the nightingale not to sing?” Victoria whispered.
And for a second she believed it—that they were free.
Adam lifted her high toward the light and held her there. She braced her arms on his shoulders as if she would take flight, but he tilted his chin to watch her descend as he lowered her back down. She wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck and allowed herself to sink into his upturned lips.
Sweet, sweet wine so much the sweeter when shared between perspiration-moistened lips.
He cupped her silk-clad bottom to support her and met the gentle thrust of her tongue with a fierce thrust of his own. Then they hummed together, but it was a rough song of hunger and need.
She’d once loved a daemon who’d fallen from heaven to rule in hell and like the opera she’d also loved, he’d scorched most of her away until she was a vehicle of his passion and desire. She’d been a vehicle for the tragic stories she’d sung on the stage as well. Adam’s was a mortal song. He burned along with her and they experienced the blaze together, supporting each other, very aware of every groan and sigh. It wasn’t damnation Victoria tasted. It was a glimpse of heaven. She’d always been rootless and alone. She’d given herself to her craft because nothing else was allowed by the Order of Samuel. Then she’d been subsumed by Michael’s father. In Adam’s embrace, she was wholly herself for the first time. No role necessary, but more aware of roots than ever before.
But their kiss was interrupted.
Suddenly, there was another burn and it was an intrusive one. Victoria struggled to reject its pull. She cried out and Adam broke their kiss. She slid down his body and would have collapsed to the floor, but he held her until her legs firmed. She didn’t pull away from the strong arm he kept around her back.
“You make a mistake coming here, Rogue. You’re not welcome,” Adam said.
Victoria had known it wasn’t a man who had invaded the wine cave. She could feel the full force of the daemon’s Brimstone heart before she turned to see him.
“She calls to me, human. And I’ve come for her,” the daemon proclaimed.
He looked like a mortal man who had lost weeks of sleep to a drug habit he couldn’t shake. His clothes were rumpled and they hung on a body that was lean to the point of emaciation. But his red-rimmed eyes and the fiery glow in his pupils said that he wasn’t weakened by his lust for Victoria’s affinity. Rather, he was burned up from within by the desire to possess her as his own.
“Even a Rogue knows better than to threaten a daemon king’s daughter,” Adam said.
He had edged in front of her and now stood between her and the daemon who stalked restlessly in a pacing motion, back and forth across from them.
“What do you know of kings, human? You are a slave. Nothing more. I bow to no king. I answer to no slave,” the daemon said.
He moved closer and Victoria pushed away from Adam, moving to the side to stand on her own. The daemon’s words killed some of the pretense between her and her handsome host. Adam knew who she was and now she knew who he served. The daemon king was Adam’s master. The daemon who had loved her mother and adopted her and her sister because of that love.
“You will answer to worse than a daemon king if you harm me, Rogue. The Order of Samuel will hunt you down. I am under the protection of Malachi,” Victoria said.
At the name of the evil monk, the Rogue daemon and the man beside her stiffened.
“Trust me, Malachi is the least of your concerns if you harm this woman,” Adam said.
But Victoria could feel him distance himself from her. There was only a foot between them, but it suddenly seemed an impossible chasm.
“Leave, Victoria. Now. Go back to the cottage and lock the door,” Adam said.
“No,” she protested. It was for her protection, but she could tell it was also a rejection. Go. Run away. There is no place for a servant of Malachi here. “Unless the lock on the cottage is sanctified I won’t be any safer there.”
“I can handle this daemon. Alone. Your presence will only drive him to greater madness. See how he paces? He’s like an addict kept from his drug,” Adam said to Victoria.
“I fear no man. Least of all men who have no souls,” the daemon said. “Malachi is also a slave. A mere human seeking glory. Neither of you can stand between me and Samuel’s Kiss.”
Samuel had been a daemon hunter born with a natural affinity for daemons that he’d at first assumed was a call to hunt them. Later, he’d realized that daemons had as much a right to existence as humans. He’d gone against his fellow hunter, a man named Reynard, and Reynard had made a deal with Rogue daemons in order to kill Samuel. He’d sold his soul to defeat Samuel and afterward established the Order of Samuel to continue his quest for power. Reynard became Father Reynard, a self-proclaimed prophet. The Order’s name was a mockery against the man who had once been his partner. Before he died, Samuel passed his affinity for daemons to a random stranger he met on a train. Victoria’s grandmother was dying during a premature childbirth and Samuel gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. His “kiss” not only saved her, but bequeathed his special affinity for Brimstone blood to her and her descendants.
Samuel’s Kiss.
Adam was right. She’d seen daemons follow her to their death because of her affinity. Besides, the only way she could protect her son was to do as Malachi had commanded her to do. Adam didn’t matter. Her desire for him didn’t matter. She didn’t wait to see the outcome of the fight. She moved to the table and grabbed her clutch as the daemon leap
ed on Adam Turov.
Abandoned caves.
Caves.
More than one.
Where better to craft a dungeon for evil monks than in an abandoned cave crafted of heavy stone beneath tons of earth? While Adam and the Rogue daemon fought, Victoria slipped outside. She paused for one look back. She swayed on shaky legs when she saw the blood and steam rising from the two writhing forms.
There was no happily-ever-after for her here with Adam and his acres and acres of roots. But maybe she could avoid the kind of tragedy she’d portrayed as Juliet again and again. If she refused to allow herself to fall in love. If she ignored the affinity and found the imprisoned monks, she could free them and Michael would have a chance for a life of no running.
He was the son of a daemon. He would always be different. And no one knew how the affinity would react when carried by a person who actually had Brimstone in his blood. But maybe there was hope for him if she could fulfill her mission.
Outside, she ran from shadow to shadow. She had no way of knowing if the daemon had traveled alone or if there were more of his fellows out in the darkness. She’d been right about the caves. Carved into the banks of the rolling hills where the limo had dropped her were multiple wine caves. The doors were mostly covered with fifty years of moss and grass. Several of the walls around the doors had deteriorated to the point of crumbling ruin as the tendrils from the greenery had eaten into the stone.
She’d hidden the firebird keys in plain sight in her pavé clutch. Had Adam invited her to dinner where he had hidden his secret prison in plain sight as well? Or were the caves all abandoned except for the dining hall?
She passed cave after cave. Three in all with entrances that had obviously been left to rot. But when she reached a fourth cave she found an entrance much like the one she’d entered to dine with Adam. The oak door was solid and firm in its frame. The stone was mossy, but not completely covered. But when she reached for the hammered copper of the door’s handle she found it wouldn’t budge. Not because it was faulty, but because it had been locked.
She tried key after key until she finally found the one that slid home. She had to use both hands to turn it, but when she did the latch clicked and the door loosened. She wasn’t dressed for spelunking. Victoria opened the door just enough to see bright artificial light before she pulled it closed once more. Like the cave that had been renovated as a dining room, this cave had also been wired for electricity. For a more nefarious purpose? She would come back when she was better prepared to deal with what she may have found.
Suddenly, she heard approaching steps. She had just enough time to turn the key and lock the door back into place before Adam staggered into sight. She shoved the firebird key back into her clutch as her heart leaped. But she was dizzied by her heart’s sudden fall as Adam collapsed to the ground.
She forgot about her mission. She put his rejection out of her mind. She hurried to his side and dropped to her knees, but the heat of his body covered in Brimstone blood drove her back.
“Dr. Verenich. Call Dr. Verenich,” Adam said.
She crawled closer to better hear his voice, but an eternity seemed to pass and he said no more.
Chapter 10
The driver knew how to call Adam’s doctor. He was one of Adam’s loyal people as she had assumed. Victoria insisted on helping as a special fireproof blanket was pulled from the back of the limo to wrap around the unconscious man. By the time the driver took extra precautions to settle his employer into the back of the limo without setting the upholstery on fire, Victoria worried Adam was too far gone for help. His face was deathly pale. She dared to hold his head in her lap, risking burns because in the dark she couldn’t ascertain where the blood was coming from as they sped back to the main house.
A man Victoria assumed was Dr. Verenich met them at the front door. At first, he had eyes only for his patient, but eventually he noticed her following.
“Ms. D’Arcy, I presume. I fear you’ll be the death of him. I’ve never seen him so driven. He senses that his lifelong goal might be in jeopardy and with his long life that’s saying something extraordinary. Come, come. I won’t bar the door against you now. Too late for that,” the doctor said.
They moved into the house and up the stairs. The driver carried Adam to a suite of rooms at the back of the house. Victoria would have followed with the doctor’s permission or without. Adam had risked his life to protect her. Even after he knew she was working for Malachi. She wouldn’t abandon him now. The monks could wait. Malachi could wait. Michael was safely hidden with Sybil and Grim.
She would help Adam. She would be with him now whether he wanted her here or not.
Her courage faltered when the doctor rolled him out of the fireproof blanket and onto a mat that had been prepared on Adam’s bed. He landed facedown. His shirt and suit jacket had been mostly burned away by the Brimstone blood. The scarification on his back made her cry out in horror.
“It never gets easier to see. Such pain he must have suffered to carry the marks with him for a hundred years. The memory of Father Malachi and his whip is seared into his nightmares. Forever,” Dr. Verenich said.
Victoria reached for Adam’s unresponsive hand while the doctor worked. He cut away the remains of the shirt and jacket that still smoldered. He paused for only a second to note their clasped hands with an arched brow, but otherwise he focused on his patient. After he removed the clothes and let them fall in a smoking heap, he used wet towels to cleanse Adam, turning him to thoroughly saturate and wipe down his back and chest.
“The blood wasn’t his. Most of the blood wasn’t his,” the doctor mumbled.
Victoria looked to confirm what the doctor said. Adam had nothing but superficial scratches. “The daemon. Adam was soaked in the daemon’s blood,” Victoria said. Relief flooded her, but along with it came a shiver of acknowledgment very like fear. Adam was a fearless warrior with decades of experience. He’d been trained by the Order of Samuel to be merciless and deadly. He’d been enslaved by a daemon king and bound by powerful Brimstone in his blood.
And he wasn’t her friend.
They were destined to be enemies.
He served the daemon king and she served Malachi.
But she didn’t release his hand.
“He passed out from the heat. It must have been extreme. Flowing straight from the daemon’s veins. It’s happened before. His body is mortal in spite of its unusual...additive. He lost consciousness as his body worked to cool itself,” the doctor said. “There are only superficial wounds and they’re already cauterized and healing. He’ll be fine after some rest and hydration.”
The doctor washed his hands and packed up the bag he hadn’t had to use. Adam’s ruined clothes, the protective mat and the blackened towels used to wash him were disposed of by a quiet maid.
Victoria hadn’t released his hand. No matter what the doctor said, her once-vital host looked as pale as the crisp white sheets he rested against. His black wavy hair and brows were damp from the doctor’s wet towels. His sculpted lips were dark against his lean cheeks.
She was struck by the sculptural lines of his face. His Slavic heritage was so apparent in his coloring and his angular bone structure. In repose, he was achingly beautiful, but when his fingers twitched around hers she looked away to avoid being caught in abject admiration. His hand immediately tightened as he sensed her shift.
“No. Stay. The cottage isn’t safe. You shouldn’t be alone. More daemons will come,” Adam said, gruff and low. “More will come.”
“Take it easy, shef. You need to rest. This lovely lady isn’t going anywhere, although it would probably be better for you if she did,” the doctor said. He paused in the doorway as if he waited for some reassurance that his patient wouldn’t be disturbed, whether a daemon came and dragged her to hell or not.
Victori
a settled back on the edge of the bed and allowed Adam to keep possession of her hand.
“I’ll stay,” she said.
“I’ll leave him with you then. Call me if you need me, shef. You probably will, I’ll wager. You probably will,” the doctor said.
“Thank you, Dr. Verenich,” Adam said, but he didn’t open his eyes to watch the doctor leave.
Victoria was conscious of her hand in his now that he was awake, whether or not his eyes were open. Her cheeks heated. Had she really invoked Malachi’s name? She wasn’t a privileged loved one to sit by Adam’s bed. She was his enemy. But his fingers tightened again when she tried to pull away.
“Has it always been this way? Have you always been a magnet for the damned?” Adam asked. Finally, a sliver of brilliant blue showed beneath his lush black lashes and a flush of color tinged his cheeks.
“Yes. Always. I’ve been a bloodhound for the Order of Samuel since before I could walk and talk. I’m drawn to the damned and they are drawn to me. We call it affinity. But you know exactly how it feels,” Victoria said.
“Yes. I am intimately acquainted with how you feel, but not nearly as intimately as my blood demands,” Adam said. He voice was roughened by his pain. It’s deep vibrations raised goose flesh on her skin.
“The music—my singing, my sister’s cello playing—is an audio expression of the affinity. And it magnifies the effect,” Victoria said.
“So when you hum for me...” Adam began.
“When you inspire me to sing, my affinity is magnified...strengthened,” Victoria confessed.
“Together we increase your allure to others with Brimstone blood,” Adam guessed.
“I’m almost certain. I can feel the amplification,” Victoria said.
It was a cold and calculated way to talk about the song and the fire. Their passion physically manifested in sound and fury and they talked about it with textbook chill.
But her breath had quickened. His grip had tightened. Their bodies weren’t fooled by calm discussion. Now his eyes were fully open and their vivid blue pierced her soul, delving into her and sensing her extreme attraction for him.
Brimstone Bride Page 11