Prince of Demons 2: The Order of the Black Swan (2 page)

“Your foster father is a demon?”

“Yeah.”

“One of them?” She motioned toward the grill door with her head.

“Yeah.”

“So you became Bruce the Brave.”

He nodded. “And eventually it got shortened to just…”

“…Brave.”

“Exactly.”

“Ah.” Lana let that sink in for a few seconds. “You were raised here? By them?”

“I was.”

“How did your shirt get ripped? And how did you end up sharing this delightful guest suite with me?”

“That’s not important right now. What
is
important is getting out of here.”

She studied him for a moment, trying to see the person behind the stunning good looks. “Okay. We can agree on that. So you weren’t kidding about an escape?”

He smiled and crawled toward her on hands and knees.

“I never kid about escape.”

He was wearing brown leather knee high boots on the outside of pants that were a thick cotton-looking twill and the shreds of an ivory-colored shirt made from a fabric that had the look and drape of hemp. Enough skin was exposed by the tears for her to see that his chest and abdomen were chiseled into a fantasy lesson on male anatomy. When he was close enough, he stuck out his hand.

“Let’s make a pact then. We’ll be partners.” She shook his hand, not being able to pull her eyes away from his and hoping that he couldn’t tell how much that simple casual touch affected her. “To the death, then.”

Her brain reengaged when he withdrew his hand. “Wait. What? Nobody said anything about dying. I’m agreeing to
try
to escape. Nothing more. No Butch and Sundance. No Thelma and Louise.”

He grinned as he maneuvered around to sit next to her with his back against the wall, close enough that she could feel his body heat and get a whiff of magnetic masculine musk. She took that as a good sign, reasoning that he couldn’t have been there long if he still smelled that good.

“I don’t know those people, but I deduce that you don’t accept the phrase ‘to the death’. So what words would you prefer to seal our deal?”

She thought for a moment and looked at Brave. “All for one and one for all.”

When he turned his head toward her she instantly felt that they were far too close to be talking face to face. The feeling, at least for her part, was arresting and far too intimate for dialogue with a stranger she’d just met.

“Catchy. I like it.” She was just about to tell him that she hadn’t made it up when they heard a clanking sound like keys rattling. He smiled. “Heavy bread. Incoming.”

Lana waited anxiously
as she heard a metal key turn in the lock. She was waiting for the guard, or guards, to come in, but with their backs against the same wall as the cell door, she never saw a thing. No one entered. She simply saw a skin fly through the air and land in the middle of the floor with a squishy sound. That was followed by a burlap-type bag that apparently had something inside, but it landed with too much of a thud to be bread.

“Please tell me that’s not the bread.”

“Afraid so,” he said.

The door clanged shut, the key turned, and all was silent again except for the sound of them breathing.

“What do they look like?”

“The demons?” He shrugged. “Mostly like us. Taller and their skin has a little bit of an orangey cast.”

“Fangs?”

He chuckled. “No.”

“Claws?”

“No.” Shaking head.

“Hooves?”

“No.” Still smiling and shaking head more.

“Tails that end in pitchforks?”

He turned to her with a clear WTF look. “No. They don’t have tails at all.” He sounded a little horrified. “Much less tails that end in pitchforks.”

“Wait. I don’t mean pitchforks. I mean tridents. Tails that end in tridents.”

“No.” He was emphatic.

“Moving on then. How did I get here? Why am I here? What do they want with me? And there may be follow-up questions after you start talking.”

“Tell you what, when we escape and get free we can play guessing games forever if you want.”

She stared into his eyes for a beat too long before looking away. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I’ll give you that for now because I
do
want out of here. Moving the great escape to priority number one. What’s your plan?”

Brave raised his chin and narrowed his eyes slightly.

“You think I’m going to say I don’t have one.”

“What makes you say I’m thinking that?”

“I can tell by the way you’re talking to me.”

“How am I talking to you?”

“Like you don’t think I have a plan.”

“Do you?”

“Well, yes. Sort of.”

“I’d like to hear your
sort of
plan.”

“Me, too.” Her face went slack and her eyes widened. Then he said, “Just kidding. I have the beginnings of a plan. Tomorrow morning one of the guards will come with more water and bread. They’ll only send one because they’re arrogant. He’ll open the door just like before. Only we’ll be waiting for him on either side. But out of sight, like we are now.

“He’ll be relaxed and not expecting us to try anything. He’ll set the water and bread down and open up the door. It swings out toward him. After he opens, he’ll bend to pick up the bag of water. When he bends, we’ll charge him and knock him down together. Then I’ll press the skin of water to his face – cutting off air passages.”

“I thought you said they’re stronger.”

“They are, but first, there are
two
of us and second, they will send a male with, ah, male genitals.”

“I will grant you that most males have male genitals. What does that keen observation have to do with your sort of escape plan?”

“When I have him on the ground, I want you to stomp on his, um…”

It dawned on her why they were discussing male genitals – because they are so beautifully vulnerable. “Balls? Dick? What?”

Brave gave her a strange look. “For someone shy about taking a pee, you’re very comfortable with colloquial descriptions of sex organs.”

“We all have our quirks. So you want me to disable him by crushing his equipment while you smother him.”

Brave winced visibly when she used the word ‘crushing’ and subconsciously brought his legs a little closer together. He may have also found the aplomb with which she described the pulverizing of vital parts a little frightening.

His eyes flicked down to her shoes of their own accord. Lana had worn her fuzzy cuffed ankle boots with the big heavy soles and two inch square heels to the pub and hadn’t taken them off since. She thought they were an artsy fashion fit with tights and a skirt and, since she hadn’t planned on dancing… As it turned out, grabbing those boots may have been a providential choice. They were born to stomp balls.

“Basically.”

“How do you know they’re not listening to everything we say? There could be audio equipment all over this place.”

“There isn’t.”

“How do you
know
that? And how do you know they’re arrogant, for that matter?”

“Told you. I grew up here. The demons don’t like technology.” He shrugged and almost sounded defensive. “They don’t trust it, since it’s mostly derived from humans using mechanical means to try and mimic what demons do naturally.”

“Sounds like this is not the first time you’ve considered that. Were you the only human around? Growing up?”

He nodded. “Yeah. The thing is, we don’t have to worry about that. They like to live simply in a more preindustrial/technological style. Luxury brought to you by non-human means.”

“You’re sure? About no listening devices?”

“Positive.”

“What’s the downside?”

“Downside?”

“The risk? What’s going to happen to us if it doesn’t work?”

He shook his head. “Not a fortune teller.”

“Fair enough.” Dropping her eyes she looked away. “What happens after you take care of the guard?”

“They won’t be expecting an escape. Like I said, they’re arrogant. Just trust me a little. I think I can get us out of here, Lana. I know every inch of this place including the best places to hide. It seems hide-and-seek games are worth something after all.”

“You know I have to say that your confidence that you can get us out of here sounds a little arrogant. Something you picked up from them?”

He grinned. “Maybe I should say that I’m cautiously optimistic.”

She laughed softly and then realized that laughter, for any reason, couldn’t be more inappropriate. What was happening, that this beautiful stranger had her laughing when she’d been captured by demons and imprisoned in a dungeon? She knew she
should
be beside herself with fear and worry and yet she wasn’t. She almost felt calm.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in idle small talk, getting to know each other over bread, if it could be called that, and water. In truth, the conversation centered around Lana. Whenever she tried to ask questions about Brave, he answered quickly and maneuvered the dialogue back with questions about Lana, her likes and dislikes, her work, and her friends.

She carefully managed to omit the entire chapter concerning Stuart and the legendary wedding debacle. After all, who wants to tell a hot single guy that your recent life was built around being dumped? Her questions had, at least, established that he was single.

Now and then they paced around the cell to relieve the stiffness caused by sitting on a stone floor. When the light faded from the one slit of a window that was fifteen feet straight up they were again sitting against a wall side by side. Lana said, “Not looking forward to another night on this floor.”

“You can sleep on me again,” he offered.

“Thanks. That’s very nice, but I…” The sentence was cut short by a yawn.

He scooched closer then urged her toward him.

“Lean on me, Lana,” he coaxed quietly, reassuringly. “Just for one more night.”

As she let her weight settle against him, the warmth of his body and the intoxicating smell that was uniquely Brave pulled her like a magnet. She nestled closer with a final sigh. When she began making a soft snoring sound like a cat purring, Brave smiled into the darkness and let his head rest on the wall behind him.

‡

L
ana felt herself
being shaken gently. “Lana. Lana, wake up. It’s light and they’ll be coming soon.”

“Hmmm?” It took her a couple of seconds to replay the events of the night before, but the soreness of sleeping while sitting on stone helped the awareness along. “Oh.”

Brave thought he’d never heard a word so full of disappointment. “Hey. Today’s going to be a better day. We’re getting out of here.”

“Brave.”

“Yeah?”

“If we don’t get out of here, what are they going to do with us? I mean, what do they want? Why did they take me? Why did they take you? It doesn’t make sense to just wake up in a demon prison with a gorgeous guy and nobody even gives a clue as to why.”

Brave flashed a grin filled with delight and something else, hope maybe. It was also gorgeous. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

“What made you think I was talking about you?” He just smiled. “Well, yes, you’re gorgeous, but for all I know, you could also be a psychotic killer sicko.”

“I’m not.”

“Well. That clears that up because everyone knows that psychotic killer sickos confess their intentions to their victims up front.”

He laughed, but stopped abruptly. “Shhhh,” he whispered. “Get into position. Just like we talked about.”

Lana got to her feet a little unsteadily, muscles protesting with every fraction of movement. When she felt balanced, she moved to the other side of the door as quietly as she could. She noted the odd thought that she should probably be more concerned about the possibility of being eaten by demons than with the fact that it was the second day with no toothbrush.

The metal key turned in the antique lock and the iron door swung open. Just as Brave had predicted, a skin of water flew past the door, went splat when it landed in the center of the cell, and then wiggled for a few seconds while the water came to rest.

Brave was faster than she’d thought he’d be. He grabbed up the skin like it weighed nothing and charged the door. Brave had taken the guard to his back in a forward tackle and was trying to hold him down with his weight. The guard was struggling to get out from under his attacker and, judging from Brave’s grunts and yowls, it was clear that the demon
strenuously
objected to the attack and had every intention of prevailing.

“Lana!” Brave yelled. “Little help here?”

Lana shook herself out of her fugue state, remembering that she had a part to play, and rushed forward, targeting the demon’s genitals. Since he wore leather pants of a sort, it was relatively easy to determine where to aim, but there was a lot of squirming, rolling and grappling going on.

On the first try she stomped on their captor’s thigh. On the second, her intended blow glanced off his hip. On the third, she landed a square heel squarely on target with the force of a leg that attended Krav Maga classes twice a week. The result was an ear-splitting screech that sounded, well, inhuman.