Demon's Fire (14 page)

And speaking of donkeys…He smiled as one of these sturdy beasts clopped past the terrace, its saddlebags full to bursting with dried chilies. Its owner was coaxing it to continue plodding down the street.

“That’s a good donkey,” he said, catching Pahndir’s eye and grinning. “Not much farther to the market now.”

The small exchange startled Pahndir. The pepper seller had smiled at him as if he were anyone, had smiled because he was smiling, too. This said quite a bit about how relaxed and unguarded Pahndir had become.

The dangers of being unguarded were made crystal clear by the figure who stepped to the edge of his table umbrella’s shade.

Muto Feng was average height for a royal: tall, in other words, but not as tall as Pahndir. His face was handsome and smooth and round, his body so well fed it verged on corpulence—an unusual trait among Yamishkind. Also unusual was his reputation for affability, a reputation only those who didn’t know him gave the least credence to. Muto Feng was as affable as a cornered snake, as Pahndir had cause to know.

“Hullo, cuz,” Muto said, affecting not just human language but human tones. “You look in need of company.”

He sat without invitation, taking the second chair with a very unYamish grunt of satisfaction. His robes were an eye-searing acid yellow with avocado trim. Small, polished rubies gleamed in a swirling pattern over the green. Pahndir never wore jeweled clothes outdoors in the city. They asked too much restraint of Bhamjran’s lighter-fingered residents. Unconcerned, Muto smoothed the cloth over his stocky belly, sniffed the spoon that had held Pahndir’s clotted cream, grimaced, and set it down. The utensil investigation complete, he tilted his head to peer at Pahndir.

“You look much recovered from your ordeal.”

Pahndir wondered if Muto meant the ordeal of losing his wife, being declared dead by his own family, or perhaps his six-year imprisonment as a sex slave in a pillow house. The answer hardly mattered, seeing as Muto’s evil genius was behind the latter two of the three traumas. Without a doubt, Muto would have preferred Pahndir remain crippled by the depression Thallah’s suicide had wrought.

“What do you want from me, Muto?”

“Tut-tut,” Muto scolded, switching to the Yamish tongue as Pahndir had. “Can’t a man express concern for a relative?”

“Not when he’s you, he can’t.”

“I heard you’d been sprung from your…retirement by the Midarri prince and his charming quarter-human bride. I wanted to make certain you were adjusting to life in exile. From what I can see, you’ve done very well.”

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not overwhelmed by your felicitations. Spit it out, Muto. You’ve already stolen my inheritance. What more can you want from me?”

Yamish coolness flowed down Muto’s features like ice water. Pahndir got the impression that this was his true face, that emotion was the illusion Muto had to force.

“Not that I admit to anything, you understand, but my father had no right to name you—an inferior first cousin—as head of my clan. Nor did you have any right to charm him into it.”

Pahndir had charmed no one. He and Muto’s father had simply shared an interest in early Yamish coins, over which they’d whiled a handful of amenable afternoons. He’d liked the old man, his uncle, but to this day, Pahndir didn’t know what the elder Feng had seen in him that led him to select Pahndir as heir over his own son—no matter how underhanded that son was. Whatever quality he’d thought Pahndir possessed, no one else had observed it. This, however, seemed unlikely to soothe Muto now.

“I believe you addressed that injustice by encouraging my family to fake my death,” Pahndir said dryly, “thus enabling you to add the House of Shan to your holdings. So, again, I ask you, what do you want from me?”

“You are direct,” Muto observed disapprovingly.

“You can answer, or you can go to the human hell.”

Muto stared at him, unblinking as a basilisk. Pahndir felt his cousin probing his aura for weaknesses. His insides might have been quaking with fury, but luckily his energy sheath was impregnable. He had Herrington to thank for that, he supposed. There was nothing like a recent victory to shore up one’s shields.

“Very well,” Muto said at last. “Since you demand it, I will be frank. I want to know you’ve given up any idea of returning to Yamish lands. I want to know you cede all rights to leadership of your house or mine.”

Pahndir was so shocked he couldn’t speak for a few heartbeats. Could Muto honestly be afraid he’d try for those things? Muto had their empress in his pocket, and the emperor wasn’t far from sharing the same lint-filled space. Muto had funneled so much gold into the imperial couple’s purses through questionable business deals Pahndir doubted they’d know how to survive without it.

Struggling against an impulse to shake his head in disbelief, he laid his hands flat on the table. “The highest court in the Forbidden City awarded you those rights.”

“True,” said Muto, his eyes hooded. “But I want to know you cede them.”

“How can I cede them more than you have forced me to? I cannot sign a contract to that effect, for you’ve had my family declare me both unsound and dead.”

“You are obviously neither at the present.”

“No thanks to you!” Pahndir spat out. One of the waiters had been walking toward them, perhaps to offer Muto a chance to order. Though the human couldn’t understand Pahndir’s words, the sound of his temper had him beating a quick retreat. Recalled to himself, Pahndir blew out a calming breath.

“How can I convince you I have no interest in reclaiming a house full of people who turned their backs on me? They chose you to lead them, and I wish them the joy of it.”

If Muto heard the irony in this statement, he gave no sign of it. “I don’t believe you,” he said baldly. “No one walks away from that kind of power without a fight. Oh, your family’s house is nothing, but mine…mine dines with emperors.”

“I’ve made a life here,” Pahndir said in exasperation, “as you yourself have noted. I’m not interested in dining with emperors.”

Muto’s eyes were slitted silver lines. “You can’t deny you’ve been making new friends lately.”

Pahndir’s heart faltered. If Muto meant Beth or Charles…if he was thinking of hurting them to get back at him…

“What are you talking about?” he asked carefully.

Muto leaned across the table, his meaty hands fisted between the plates of curried eggs and scones. “I’m talking about Lord Welland Herrington, a Yama as famous among the humans as he is among our kind. He’d make a useful ally, don’t you think? You’ve met with the great man twice now, and the second time he called on you.”

Pahndir fought an urge to laugh hysterically. If Muto knew what that “call” had been about, he wouldn’t have been concerned. “You’ve been spying on me,” he said instead.

“Wouldn’t you in my place?”

Pahndir had leaned forward when Muto did. Now he fell slowly back in his chair. Sweat had broken out in the small of his back, but he believed his face was impassive. How much had Muto’s spy seen, and how far was Muto willing to go to get his way this time? Most royals considered it uncivilized to kill each other outright, preferring to watch their enemies suffer instead. And Pahndir did have powerful friends these days, honorable friends who would not betray him as his family had. Cor and Xishi Midarri had already foiled a number of Muto’s plots. If something happened to Pahndir, questions would be raised.

“I have no words to convince you,” Pahndir said, proud to hear how steady his voice sounded. “I’ve taken no action against you or yours, but if you want peace on this issue, you will have to find it within yourself.”

Clearly, this answer didn’t satisfy his cousin. Muto’s lips pressed thinly together as he pushed his bulk to his feet with surprising grace.

“Time will tell,” he said, his aura oozing royal arrogance as he looked down his nose at Pahndir. “And trust me when I tell you, cuz, I’m not willing to give you much of that.”

Considering what had happened the last time Charles had patronized The Prince’s Flame, he had to summon all his courage to return. Taking the afternoon off was another struggle. He didn’t like missing work, but he wanted to ensure Beth couldn’t follow him again. He needed another outlet for his desires, to counteract her increasing pull on him. He wasn’t convinced he was ready for that outlet to be the prince, but at this point he was desperate.

Thoughts of Beth were haunting his every moment: her kiss, her cries, the feel of her softness around his cock. He’d grown hard more times than he could count thinking back on it. He had to save her from him somehow. If that meant throwing himself into the prince’s web, so be it. He couldn’t claim it would be torture. The lust-sweat flaming on his skin as he strode toward Pahndir’s house prevented him from pretending that.

Given the state of his nerves, it was almost too much when the brothel’s butler informed him Mr. Pahndir was not at home. Obviously, the universe was against him. Charles was destined to burn—and to drag his dearest friend into the fire with him. He was turning away, preparing to descend the curving sandstone steps, when a second male called after him.

“Mr. Watkins?” he said. “Are you Charles Watkins?”

Charles reversed direction to find a slim Bhamjrishi with a half-scarred face hovering at the door.

“I am,” he said cautiously.

“Forgive me for hailing you so impetuously. I am Prince Pahndir’s valet, Biban. His Highness has instructed us to make you welcome should you come by.” Here, he glared at the butler, causing the larger man to shrink back from him. “Would you care to wait in the parlor? I’m sure His Highness won’t be much longer.”

This was all very flattering, but Charles didn’t think he wanted to wait in that house without Pahndir there. “Where is Mr. Pahndir, er, His Highness?”

The valet hesitated, possibly having been left without instructions on how to answer this. “He is in the curry and teahouse down the street. I
believe
he is alone.”

His emphasis obliged Charles to wonder how many seductions the valet thought his master had in the works. His feelings of flattery faded, replaced by a more familiar wry amusement.

“I’ll be discreet,” he assured the servant, and inquired which way he ought to walk.

In his haste to reach the restaurant once he’d spotted it, Charles nearly ran over a tall, black-robed woman who was slipping out of an alleyway. His apologies were perfunctory and, luckily, accepted without argument. The women of Bhamjran had been known to demand, in very decided terms, the respect they believed was due them. Relieved to have escaped a scene, Charles returned his attention to the sight of Pahndir rising from a table at the tea and curry house. He had no company that Charles could see.

His relief at that was swallowed by simple admiration. Lord, the demon was something—that long black hair shining like a river down his back, those silver robes molding like a kiss to his athletic limbs. Pahndir threw a handful of bills beside his plate, his profile as perfect as an alabaster cameo. In that moment, Charles admitted he wanted the prince; not his employees, but the man himself. Nothing else would satisfy his baser urges. Nothing else would fulfill his need to cast himself into danger.

His body tightened as Pahndir turned toward him. Their eyes met and locked as they had a seeming lifetime ago in the marketplace. Pahndir’s expression didn’t change, though he hesitated slightly. Excitement streaked like champagne through Charles’s veins. Pahndir stepped off the terrace onto the pavement, his long legs graceful and sure.

Oh, yes,
Charles thought.
This is what I want.

And then Pahndir turned to the left and walked away without a word.

Charles felt like he’d been slapped. Pahndir had seen him, had recognized him, and had given him the cut direct. So much for telling his employees to keep an eye out for him! Clearly, the prince had thought better of having anything to do with him.

The sting behind Charles’s eyes warned him he needed to leave before he made an even bigger fool of himself. He gasped air back into his lungs and strode off in the opposite direction. Maybe he’d misunderstood. Maybe Pahndir didn’t want to greet him in public. Maybe it would harm his reputation in some way Charles couldn’t comprehend.

Maybe you shouldn’t care so damned much,
he lashed at himself.

He turned into an alley, the same one where he’d bumped into the woman. No wider from side to side than his arms could reach, it was empty of all but rubbish containers and a battered assortment of waiters’ bicycles.

Feeling slightly nauseated, Charles pressed his hand to the painted brick, a cheery yellow that did nothing to improve his mood. He willed his muscles to steady. He was shaking with hurt, a breath away from having to choke back tears.

He’d been counting on Pahndir wanting him more than he realized.

“Charles,” said a soft, surprisingly remorseful voice.

Charles’s heart and stomach both turned over. The voice belonged to Pahndir. He’d come up the opposite end of the long alleyway, probably after using his demon speed to rush around the block. He put his hand on Charles’s shoulder. His grip was warm, but it was the painted yellow wall that supported Charles.

“I’m sorry I ignored you back there,” Pahndir said, his eyes as naked and pleading as Charles’s were guarded. “I’ve discovered one of my relatives is having me watched, a Yama who doesn’t wish me well. I didn’t want him to suspect you meant anything to me.”

Charles stared at him, then blinked and shook his head. In one short speech, Pahndir had altered his perceptions considerably. Charles had been thinking of Pahndir as a seducer, and not a person who might have problems of his own. He couldn’t have said why, but the change made his blood rush more thickly into his groin.

“
I’m
sorry,” he said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Pahndir’s smile was slight but natural. “You might kiss me, if you’ve a mind to. I’ve had a hell of a day thus far.”

Charles swallowed. This was what he wanted, more than he cared to admit, but it made him nervous nonetheless. Pahndir was asking him to take the next step, to choose rather than simply let himself be seduced.

“I’m not sure I can afford you,” he said, the words inescapably breathless. “You must be more expensive than your employees.”

Pahndir’s soft curse was crude enough to blister the paint right off the alley walls.

“Creation take you,” he said more mildly, once he was done with that. “I don’t intend you to be my customer.”

Charles’s heart was lodged and pulsing in his throat. The only part of his body that demanded as much attention was the ache between his legs. “What do you intend me to be?”

“My lover,” Pahndir said, his hand flattened on the brick beside Charles’s shoulder. “My friend, too, if that turns out to suit us both.”

What about Beth?
he wanted to ask. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. The answer seemed too likely to stop whatever this was in its tracks. Charles didn’t want to think about Beth and the prince right now, or about Beth and himself. He wasn’t ready to confront the tangled fantasies in his head. He’d come to Pahndir to protect Beth from the sordidness of all that.

“I don’t know what I can promise you,” Charles said, almost dizzy with arousal. “I’m told I’m not the easiest person to be friends with.”

Pahndir’s elbow bent, bringing his face closer. Charles hadn’t been with a man since he’d left the top hat club, and it was strange to be this close to one. Pahndir’s lips were curved in a genuine smile, his breath scented with sweet spice. Chills ran up and down the front of Charles’s thighs.

“You don’t have to promise anything,” Pahndir said. “Just let me show you what we could have.”

Charles didn’t consciously decide to move, but he found his hands on Pahndir’s waist. The Yama was all muscle beneath the embroidered silk, lean and hard and so enticing to Charles’s palms that he simply had to tighten his grip.

Pahndir shuddered when he did, then let out a nearly soundless laugh. His silken mouth brushed Charles’s ear.

“I’m so hard I could scream,” he whispered. “If you don’t kiss me, I might explode.”

His own cock lurched violently at the claim. He slid his hands up Pahndir’s back, curling them over his shoulders from behind. The move brought them chest to pounding chest. Pahndir was a bit taller than he was, and harder, but he matched him well in breadth. Charles lifted his mouth and watched Pahndir close his eyes. Their lips touched, pressed, and then Pahndir’s sleek, wet tongue slid slowly inside.

The Yama’s moan of pleasure was almost too soft to hear. Charles had forgotten how hard a man’s mouth could be, how direct and aggressive. They kissed without parting, their tongues stroking and parrying deliciously. It wasn’t exactly a fight for dominance, but it was close. Pahndir’s weight grew heavier as he pressed Charles into the wall. One of his thighs slid between Charles’s legs, allowing the demon to brace his knee on the brick. The erection that burned through Pahndir’s robes was large enough to widen Charles’s eyes.

Suddenly too hot, his hands slid restlessly to Pahndir’s rear. Great minds must have thought alike, because Pahndir was doing the same, his fingers digging insistently into the muscles to pull Charles forward. They were pressed together full length then, heat to heat and groin to groin. The intimacy of it felt as intense as sex.
Here’s what you’ve done to me,
it said.
Here’s what I’ve done to you.

The city was going about its business at either end of the alley, but it seemed impossible to pull back from what was happening. Kissing Pahndir felt too good, too necessary. Charles rolled his hips, rubbing their cocks together just enough to let Pahndir know he liked the feel of them side by side. Pahndir appeared to enjoy the soft friction. His chest moved faster with his breathing a second before he broke away.

When he licked his lips, taking the taste of their kiss inside, Charles saw his tongue’s dark marking.

“You’re feeling my energy,” Charles guessed huskily.

This time Pahndir’s hips were the one to swivel. “That’s not all I’m feeling.”

“I can’t feel you taking it.”

Pahndir slid his longest finger to the center of Charles’s chest, starting a delicate pulsing atop his breastbone. “Can you feel it now?”

Charles’s breath came harder, his cock abruptly so stiff it hurt. He wasn’t sure he could answer, but Pahndir must have felt the change in him. His eyes darkened, his pupils swelling as only a Yama’s could. He spoke far lower and rougher than his race usually did.

“I want to take your energy, Charles. I wanted to before I saw Darja do it. I’ve wanted to ever since you brought me those cookies.”

“Cookies?” Charles gasped, confused.

“When I came to you at the dig. You took the time to bring sweet biscuits with my coffee, though I imagine you didn’t particularly want me there.”

“Beth accuses me of trying to feed everyone.”

He’d said the name he hadn’t meant to say, but it didn’t seem to upset Pahndir. His gaze didn’t even flicker on Charles’s. “It was a gesture of kindness, and we Yama take the smallest of those seriously.”

A mesmerizing brilliance had overtaken Pahndir’s irises, as if the control he exerted on his emotions had distilled them into a kind of fire.

“I’ll have to be careful then,” Charles said, reaching for flippancy but suspecting he was failing. “Make sure I really intend to be kind when I am.”

“Yes,” Pahndir agreed. “Otherwise, you may find it all too easy to earn my partiality.”

Suddenly Pahndir’s hand was spread across Charles’s breastbone, his weight leaning behind it, effectively trapping Charles against the brick. Charles didn’t think this was by accident. He thought Pahndir meant to demonstrate how strong he was. A surge of energy rushed up his body from the soles of his feet, the result of Pahndir drawing up his etheric force. The demon was doing it. He was really feeding from him. Charles’s knees went weak and hot at the same time.

“This is what you want?” Pahndir asked, hushed and intimate. “Not my servants, but me?”

“Yes,” Charles breathed, writhing helplessly against the wall. His various desires magnified each other, wreaking havoc on his restraint. “Oh, God, yes.”

“I can’t take much,” Pahndir cautioned. “Not here.” He seemed to be struggling to control his breathing, his warning meant for both of them. More than anything, that pushed Charles over the edge.

“Don’t stop,” he said, putting his hand on top of the other man’s.

“No,” Pahndir agreed throatily, soaking up Charles’s energy like another man might strong wine. “Not yet. Not yet.” His beautiful, burning eyes slid shut for a long moment, his own body undulating so that his robes whispered over and away from Charles. “Infinity, I want to give you everything you want from me. I want to make you spill so many times you end up coming dry. There isn’t one dirty thing you could want that I wouldn’t wish to try.”

Charles opened his mouth at this stunning declaration, but all that came out was a throaty sigh.

Pahndir didn’t need an answer. He turned his hand and slid it down Charles’s front, squeezing it between their bodies. The moment his fingers pushed over Charles’s erection, Pahndir claimed his mouth again.

Charles squirmed with pleasure, losing all control of the encounter as the demon cupped and massaged him between the legs. Pahndir’s mouth was avid and very skilled, but it couldn’t capture Charles’s attention like that lower hold. His hand was big, hard, his fingers longer than a human’s and utterly fearless. Charles began to jerk like he was trying to fuck Pahndir’s palm.

“Oh, God,” he gasped, his head falling back against the brick with a little
thunk
.

Pahndir murmured praise in his own language. He was sinking to his knees, was working the straining buttons of Charles’s Northern-style trousers.

“Oh, God,” he repeated as his cock burst out into Pahndir’s hands. Those long, hard fingers were running up and down him, tracing his distended veins, searching out his every pleasure spot. Sensation spiked through his balls as the Yama probed the ridge of flesh behind them with his finger pads. “Pahndir…”