Barbara Hancock - Brimstone Prince

“The only way you will ever be free is to die. I’ve promised to prevent that for as long as I’m able,” Ezekiel said. “But your affinity is your jailer. Not I.” His scent was familiar. Wood smoke tinged with a hint of sulfur, ancient leather, and a metallic hint of blood. Yes, her childhood had been interesting. The daemon king smelled like home.

“So you haven’t come to punish me for running away?” Lily half joked. She feared his devotion to the D’Arcy family he’d adopted because of his love for Elizabeth. Its ferocity. Its fire. She feared his expectations would consume her as she burned herself out trying to repay him. Never did she fear he would purposefully harm a single hair on her head. But he might inadvertently scorch her and everyone else on the earth to protect and promote those he truly loved.

“I would sooner slay an entire army of Rogues bent on my destruction,” Ezekiel replied. “Alone. With my bare hands.” He cared for her. Not in the way that he cared for the D’Arcys, but he did care. It had always been obvious that she and her mother were mere obligations. He’d disappeared for years at a time to watch over the D’Arcys while she and her mother stayed in the palace alone. She’d learned early on not to expect visits or attention. She hadn’t learned not to be hurt by the neglect.

Lily could no longer hold herself back from the pull of the only familial affection she’d known since her parents’ death. She threw herself into the daemon king’s arms and he held her to his armored chest with a fierce grip just shy of being painfully ferocious. It was startling. He’d never been demonstrative with her in the past. She’d expected him to stiffen and hold her at arm’s length.

“I worried,” he said into her drying hair. The earth had quieted. The air was still. None of the spirits dared to make a peep in Ezekiel’s presence.

“And yet you let me go,” Lily said.

“Never trust a daemon,” they both whispered together.

And then he set her from him, maintaining only one of her hands in both of his.

He was a daemon. He was the daemon king. He could care for her as a guardian more deeply than any mortal father and still he would use her to order the universe to his liking. Daemons were chess players with an eye for the long game—centuries long—and the game Ezekiel played held the balance of worlds in its outcome.

“You will help him retrieve Lucifer’s wings with no reservation, no equivocation. But you already knew I would ask this of you,” Ezekiel said.

She pulled her hand from his and turned away. Unfortunately, the tiny bedroom gave her no place to flee. Even if she’d had the whole palace at her disposal or the entire desert, there was no place she could go to escape the obligation to the daemon king. He’d saved them. He’d shielded them. Her mother had fallen madly in love with Ezekiel, and he’d never hurt Sophia even though he hadn’t loved her in the same way. Daemons loved long, and Ezekiel had loved Elizabeth D’Arcy and only her. Forever.

Elizabeth had been Michael’s human grandmother. Ezekiel’s love for her lived on in her children and grandchildren.

Yet the daemon king had been tender toward Sophia Santiago. The mighty warrior had treated her like a queen all the days of her life and he’d held her hand when she died. She’d known he didn’t return her love, but the pain of that had been softened by his protective care for her daughter.

Lily loved him for that even though she feared him for his devotion to the D’Arcys. She knew her place in the scheme of things. She’d always known. She was the daemon king’s ward, an obligation, no more, no less. It didn’t negate her debt. Her father had made a deal with the devil and now she would pay the price.

“I will,” Lily agreed.

Any freedom she’d contemplated turned to ash in Ezekiel’s presence. He was her guardian. He was the only father she’d known for a very long time. Her affection and her affinity bound her to him as surely if not more so than her real father’s daemon deal.

She would never be free. But it wasn’t stalking rogues that damned her. Or a deal struck between Samuel and Ezekiel years ago. It was Ezekiel’s scarred heart and the D’Arcys’ claim on it. She wasn’t immortal, but she was afraid she would strive to earn her place in his affections every day of her short life.

“It is done,” he said, and no throne was necessary to make his words a royal decree.

His legs began to dissipate as he turned to walk away. Lily fought the tears that filled her eyes. Not because she didn’t want him to see her cry, but because she couldn’t stand to see him untouched by her tears.

“And then I’ll come home,” Lily promised.

The daemon king was already nothing but smoke and yet he replied, “Of course. The palace was built for you eons ago, after all.”

* * *

After Ezekiel vanished—literally going up in smoke—Lily washed her face in the master bathroom sink and reset the ritual, this time with deadly seriousness. This time the elemental spirits cooperated immediately with no stormy hijinks. No doubt the spirits were as cowed as she was by the daemon king’s visitation.

Wind and Earth created a recognizable channel in the floor of the bedroom and water rose up to flow along its curves. Words came from Lily’s mouth, placed there by her ancestors’ ancient knowledge of heaven and earth.

“The Colorado River,” Lily whispered, but her voice was unfamiliar, colored by the spirits of all who had come before her. The path was revealed with no reservation, no equivocation. Her short-lived taste of freedom was over. She would never be free from the terrible weight of expectations from the only father she’d ever known. No matter what deals were struck and fulfilled, she was bound by her unrequited love for the daemon king. And to defy him more than she already had might mean losing him forever.

Chapter 5

Spirit summoning made Grim nervous. The great ugly hellhound Michael loved stood stiff-legged and quivering as he stared at the adobe home for almost an hour while his master played.

Only the music kept Michael from responding a couple of times when he felt Lily’s call all the way to the boiling marrow in his bones. He played obsessively until sweat ran down his cheeks and his body trembled against the pull he resisted.

“You aren’t helping, you damned mutt,” he ground out between his teeth.

Grim whined, but only came to lie at his feet when Michael thought his hellhound might never turn toward him again. Only then did Michael allow his fingers to still on the strings. The sun had set. The nocturnal activity of the desert came to life around him. Scurryings and scrapings, scufflings and squeaks began to fill the air with soft sound.

“She’s done, isn’t she?” he asked. Grim chuffed and collapsed as if he’d run a million miles with the intensity of his watch. Michael understood. His muscles ached from tension when he uncurled from around his guitar and stood.

The sliding glass door opened and Lily stepped out into the deepening night. Lanterns at either side of the entrance illuminated the beautiful young woman, and Michael slowly lowered his instrument to the ground as he stared.

She was soaked. Her hair and clothes plastered to her petite body. Steam began to rise from her as the cool night air hit her curves. But it was her haunted gaze that captured his attention. Her eyes were dark in the lantern light. Their brown irises deepened to a dusky midnight. And they were rimmed with red as if the water on her face was...tears.

He didn’t think. He didn’t hold himself back. As Grim bristled and let out a sound that was half growl, half whine, Michael strode forward to meet Lily and he was there to catch her when she stumbled forward into his arms.