Boston Avant-Garde 5: Bellicoso (6 page)

He ignored the sour taste in his mouth and walked closer to his nemesis. He could tell she was utterly aware of his movements—the long, languid steps and the perceived intimacy of his bare feet. She didn’t bother to hide her hunger. Her dilated pupils and the hitch in her breath were enough to tell him how badly she wanted him. She leaned in, her nostrils flaring as she sought his scent.

“I want you beneath me,” she purred.

Demon’s aura was palpable. It infused Malachi with the courage he had lacked during the years he had been Seraph’s submissive. Malachi drew that power around him now. “Then I suggest you leave our daughter where she is.”

Malachi didn’t wait for any more bullshit. He turned and walked out. Seraph had been trying to get him back in her bed for years. Occasionally she gained the upper hand when it came to their daughter, forcing him to pleasure her lest Allie pay the price for his rebelliousness.

Somehow Malachi knew this time was different. Seraph was pushing for more, threatening to take Allie away altogether. Their daughter was the only bright spot in Malachi’s life. He wasn’t going to give her up without a fight, even if it cost him a little piece of his soul.

Chapter Five

Yaojing Yen, the Demon of Triptych, suppressed the urge to burst into laughter as he danced out of Seraph’s line of fire. The temperamental club Mistress was throwing a tantrum. She had already cleared the antique side table of knickknacks by hurling them at the unforgiving stone. Now she was pacing, seeking something else to destroy.

“That son of a bitch will come back to me! You just see if he doesn’t!” She ripped a tapestry from the rod anchoring it to the wall. She flung it aside in a whirling motion, only to stop abruptly and examine her left hand. “Shit. That bastard made me break a nail.”

In fifteen years, Demon had yet to see the spoiled diva take responsibility for anything. From bad business decisions to her failed relationship with Malachi, she blamed it all on others. Generally, Malachi bore the brunt of her wrath. It had always been that way.

Seraph turned around and glared at him. “Where is Alisa?”

“As you requested, I removed her from New Hampshire and settled her here in Boston.” Demon waited for her to demand more information, but wasn’t surprised when she did not.

He walked a fine line. He always had. Even at home in Canton Province before his uncle had sold him to Seraph’s father in a business deal, his choices had rarely been simple.

“Did you tell the school here in Boston it was only a temporary situation?” Seraph resettled herself on the longue and picked up her laptop. The screen showed a panoramic view of the Gothic-style boarding school she wanted Alisa to attend. “It’s fucking ridiculous that this school requires
his
signature for admittance!”

Demon had known a lot of selfishness in his lifetime. Seraph was in a class all her own. It served her purposes for Malachi to be named on Alisa’s birth certificate. For the girl to know her father, love him, long to be allowed to spend time with him. Yet when it came to the rights legally given to a father, Seraph dismissed Malachi’s out of hand.

“This is what’s best for her.” Seraph said it as though she was trying to convince herself as much as Demon. “My daughter is beautiful and brilliant. I want her to be ready for this. I wasn’t. I want her to be better than I was.”

The desire to give her daughter more was the only thing that remained of the woman Demon had once known—a slip of a girl that had owned his loyalty. Before they’d come to America, before Boston, when the two of them had been trapped together in a villa in Rome. Selfish bitch that she was, at the center of her hard-core Dominatrix exterior, Seraphina de Medici loved her daughter.

“Go find Malachi.” Seraph’s abrupt order wasn’t unexpected. “You have to convince him this is what’s best for Alisa.”

He dipped his chin in the semblance of a bow, the most he had ever offered the woman after he’d watched her use a D/s bond to force a man to father a child against his will. Just to keep him from leaving her.

* * * *

Malachi was pummeling the punching bag when Demon slipped into his suite. His friend had changed into a battered pair of cutoff sweats. His broad chest was bare. It had been long years since Demon had seen Malachi lose himself to this kind of raw energy.

The room off the main living area had been repurposed for sparring. Thin mats covered the floor of what had once been a large sitting room. A weight bench occupied one corner, a parallel bar another, and a weapons rack dominated the far wall.

Sweat beaded on Malachi’s brow. It dampened his silky hair, making the dark strands curl around his nape. Demon absorbed the beauty of Malachi’s muscles moving beneath his sleek skin. There was an innate sensuality to the way Malachi carried himself. It saturated every facet of his life. Demon had always suspected it was the reason Seraph had been drawn to Malachi in the beginning.

Malachi sidestepped and brought his knee up to the bag. The action drew his shorts taut against his groin. Physical exertion got the blood pumping all over the body, but it didn’t typically give Malachi a raging hard-on.

Demon’s body responded to the sign of arousal. He welcomed the desire, enjoyed the feel of it snaking through his veins. He knew so many who believed a man had to deny arousal in order to be dominant. The fools thought it made them powerful to pretend to be unaffected. They were wrong.

Nothing made Demon feel more powerful than embracing the consuming desire he felt for Malachi. He was never more dominant than when he brought his lover pleasure and accepted it in return. Their relationship had spanned more than a decade. Malachi was more than a friend, more than a lover; he was part of Demon’s soul.

If it’s possible for a demon to have such a thing.

Malachi grunted as he delivered a neat roundhouse kick to his inanimate opponent. “Still lurking?”

Aggression made Malachi’s gaze glitter. Sexual awareness simmered beneath it, an intoxicating mixture Demon couldn’t pass up. He flipped his hair away from his face and looked for the perfect opening.

When Malachi fell back to change his approach, Demon slipped sideways and placed himself between his lover and the punching bag. Malachi feinted left and struck out with flurry of right and left jabs.

Demon’s personal style was open palm. It played on the strength of his hands and arms. He blocked Malachi’s advance and began the dance. They traded blows, the sound of their sparring echoing dully about the room. Demon tried to stomp Malachi’s bare feet with his thick boots, but his partner leaped lightly over the move and countered with a snap kick that Demon blocked with both hands.

Something festered beneath the exercise, an intensity that made Demon uneasy. He hadn’t seen Malachi this conflicted since he’d first torn himself away from Seraph’s control.

Malachi pushed harder, his hands moving faster, beyond the usual rhythm of their sparring. Demon had to reach for moves he never used in a casual sparring match. Skills he would never use against his lover. Survival instincts he’d spent a lifetime developing took over.

The tempo increased, Demon’s body moving without conscious thought. All at once he leaped and spun quickly away. His choice should have ended the fight. Except Malachi followed as if he were in a blind rage.

“Malachi!” Demon knew as soon as he spoke that his friend was deaf to anything but whatever darkness coursed through his body.

Launching himself at Malachi, Demon locked his legs around his friend’s neck and used his momentum to take them both to the ground. It was like grappling with a bull, but Demon hung on.

“Stop, Malachi. I don’t want to choke you out, but I will.”

He could feel the reason return to his friend. The fight went out of Malachi’s body. Demon immediately removed his legs from his partner’s neck and rolled away. He propped his back against the wall and waited for the adrenaline rush to subside.

Malachi sat up, looking stricken. “I’m sorry.”

Before Demon could accept the apology, his partner rolled to his knees. Malachi pressed his face to the floor in a position of subservience Demon hadn’t demanded from him since the early days.

Unease rippled up Demon’s spine. The balance of power in his relationship with Malachi was a delicate thing. At his core Malachi was a submissive. He had a strong sense of individuality that had always presented itself as an independent streak. It made him a delightful challenge to any Dom. In the past it had also made him a target for those like Seraph—Doms who would rather break a sub’s spirit in lieu of cultivating a true D/s bond.

Since helping Malachi leave the abusive relationship he’d shared with Seraph, Demon had spent years helping his partner develop that independent streak into a dominant one, one that would protect him from Seraph’s cruelty. Demon was a strong Dom. He wasn’t intimidated by a strong submissive. Instead, he was a man who understood that the power in a D/s relationship was held by the submissive. Between the two of them, Malachi was powerful if only because Demon would do anything for him.

Demon gained his feet and approached his partner’s humbled form. Instead of touching Malachi’s shoulder to indicate that he should rise, Demon crouched down and stroked the softness of his lover’s hair. “What happened tonight?”

MALACHI KNEW WHAT he needed to bring his life back into balance, but his pride balked at the idea of begging for the whip. It was a war constantly waged between the two halves of his personality. Fortunately the familiar balm of Demon’s baritone had taken the choice out of Malachi’s hands. He would tell Demon what had happened, and his Dom would decide if punishment was required or not.

“The woman we helped that night in the street was in the Underground tonight.” Malachi didn’t lift his head as he explained Selena’s predicament. It felt so good to have Demon’s hand stroking his hair. They weren’t an affectionate pair, but sometimes Malachi craved the contact.

“I want to be sure I have this correctly.” Demon placed two fingers beneath Malachi’s chin and forced him meet his gaze. “You stumbled across a woman who is just discovering some of her own submissive qualities. You took her to the training room and went through what probably amounted to an introductory session with her.”

Malachi’s mouth watered at the memory of Selena’s soft, feminine scent. He recalled how her body had responded so sweetly to his touch, the sleekness of her pussy, and the way she’d come despite her doubts. His body caught fire, lust gripping his balls in a vise that was going to drive him mad.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Malachi,” Demon murmured.

Didn’t his lover understand that Malachi had betrayed him? “I masturbated in the shower.”

When Malachi would have pulled away, Demon held him still. “I told you before I left that I didn’t want you to deny yourself. Ten days is a long time when you’re stuck in an environment like this one that constantly exposes you to stimuli.”

“I can’t get her out of my head.” Malachi wanted so badly for Demon to understand. It wasn’t what had happened. It was the determination of his mind to savor every detail of the encounter and embellish. “I don’t like women. They can’t be trusted.”

“Bullshit.” Demon stood abruptly. “Seraph can’t be trusted. And between the two of us, I’m not sure she’s even human. My money is on cyborg.”

Malachi imagined Seraph dragging herself along Terminator-style even after he’d managed to run her over with his motorcycle. “No way. Troll.”

“At least we don’t have a shortage of swords capable of slaying the beast.” A grin played at the corner of Demon’s impassive mouth.

Malachi gazed at the dark face shadowed by silky hair. The smile utterly transformed Demon. Turned him from badass to friend and reminded Malachi why he loved him completely. The two of them had a bond that had been forged during the years they’d spent harboring each other from Seraph’s twisted desires.

I wonder what Selena would think of Demon?

A vivid image of the blonde goddess matching her pride to Demon’s strength of purpose took Malachi’s breath away. He thought of her sweetness, her secret desire to submit, and the way she would feel when Demon told Malachi to spread her legs and sink his cock into her hot pussy. The three of them would light the world on fire together.

“What’s going through that head of yours, Malachi?”

The image in his mind was so rich with possibilities that he answered without thinking. “I just wondered what you two would think of each other. You never mentioned her after that night, but I know you were as curious as I was.”

DEMON’S FIRST REACTION was to tell Malachi he was wishing they’d never come to her aid that night in the street. In fourteen years Demon had never seen Malachi so taken with a woman. Not ten minutes ago he’d been practically begging Demon to drive her out of his mind with a whip. Now he was imagining a threesome?

Arousal licked its way across Demon’s body like living flame. He hadn’t fucked a woman in years. Not because he didn’t enjoy them, but because his relationship with Malachi was more important than sating personal desires he could easily push into the background.

An idea began to take shape in Demon’s mind, an experiment that had his cock swelling to a point just below pain. He let his grip on Malachi’s chin grow rougher, pinching the flesh until he saw the question in his lover’s eyes. “Go and shower. Meet me in that training room in twenty minutes.”

Chapter Six

The Underground was silent when Malachi used his key to enter the training room. The first pale light of dawn had already kissed the visages of the archangels outlined in their stained glass windows. He locked the door behind him before turning to see Demon standing like a shadow beside the table where Selena had lain a few hours ago. He wore nothing but his jeans against the room’s chilly air. Malachi drank in the sight of Demon’s tightly packed abdominal muscles, two deep grooves flowing from his hips until they disappeared at his waistband.

“Can you still smell her scent in this room?” Demon asked.