Brimstone Prince. Barbara Hancock J.

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      “Hellhounds can travel between worlds. Between time and space and Lord knows where else. They use pathways we can’t see. He and I often travel that way,” Michael explained.

      “So why did we have to run for the car?” Lily asked. “He couldn’t take me, too?”

      Michael downshifted on a rise. He glanced sideways at her, but only for a second before his attention was back on the road as he accelerated once more.

      “Grim could take you. But he won’t. Hellhounds are...unpredictable. He’s led entire armies through those pathways,” Michael said. Through the tinted windows, sunbeams glinted on streaks of hair that had been naturally highlighted by his time on a motorcycle without a helmet. Lily narrowed her eyes, but she still fought the constant need to blink. She had lived her life in darkness. She might never acclimate to the desert sun.

      “He wouldn’t take me,” she said.

      How cruel to be pained by both sunlight and the rejection of a monstrous creature of shadowy darkness.

      She belonged to no world and no one.

      Grim knew. Her obligation to Ezekiel might be a secret from his master, but the hellhound knew she had divided loyalties. From what she’d seen of Michael’s hellish companion, the beast would brook no shades of gray. He might be an ugly monster spawned in the depths of hell, but he was pure of heart. More pure than Lily Santiago, the daemon king’s ward who would die trying to earn a place for herself. Here. There. Anywhere. Her life was one long, ritualized sacrifice. If she played, summoned, served with all her heart perhaps one day she’d get love in return.

      “He’s always been temperamental,” Michael said. Her silence was heavy in the car. She couldn’t hide her dismay. “I blame it on the whole ‘bred in the fires of hell’ thing.”

      The vintage Firebird he drove as beautifully as he played and sang rolled to a stop. Lily was startled by the sudden cessation of movement and her game of not blinking was lost. Thankfully the moisture in her eyes had dried and no tears fell to betray her feelings. She could blame her sudden blinking on the sun. She looked around. Michael had pulled into a shabby gas station with two pumps and a peeled and cracked fiberglass statue of a man holding a wrench.

      “He doesn’t trust me,” Lily said, softly. She didn’t turn back to Michael. She spoke as if to the hazy reflection of herself in the tinted glass. Her voice was as cracked by circumstances and expectations as the fiberglass statue of the mechanic was worn by time and desert wind.

      Not to mention tension.

      She was drawn to Michael. And the daemon king had known she would be. It wasn’t only her affinity for the Brimstone in his blood. The man was as appealing as his daemon heat.

      “Lucifer’s Army he trusts. But he’s leery of a petite woman with a flute and a bag of dolls,” Michael said. “Maybe it’s because you’re way too young to be Samuel’s daughter. There are things about you that don’t add up.” She glanced at him. His hands were still on the steering wheel. He looked easy in the driver’s seat as if there was no place he’d rather be. Yet she knew he belonged on stage, playing and singing for an adoring crowd. Of course, the whole world was Michael D’Arcy Turov’s stage. She knew that even though she’d known him for only a short while.

      “I’m going to freshen up,” Lily said. What else could she do or say? She couldn’t tell him she’d grown up in hell where time had flowed differently. She pushed open the car door and escaped only to find herself cornered by the very creature who seemed to know her secrets. Grim had solid legs again. He padded up to the car, panting lightly like a German shepherd who’d taken a quick morning jog.

      “The daemon king is your rightful master, too, you know,” she muttered to the suspicious beast.

      Grim licked his lips and sat back on his haunches. His fiery eyes were toned down so that any humans in the vicinity would think him hideous but not hellish. How the attempt worked she’d never know. He was obviously supernatural, and even acting casual his whole demeanor was more Big Bad Wolf than ordinary puppy.

      Michael got out of the car to pump gas. He watched her skirt the giant hell beast and make her way inside the gas station. She walked as normally as she could with two sets of eyes setting her back on fire.

      The less-than-shiny restroom had only one working sink. She managed to get a small trickle of water to flow and she splashed it on her flushed face. It didn’t do much to cool or calm her.

      Rogues were drawn to her. They had been since she’d run away from the palace. There was no buffer for her on earth. Worse, Michael seemed to function as the opposite of a buffer. He enhanced her affinity’s call. He was half daemon. His biological father had been an Ancient One. He’d chosen to fall in order to rule with Lucifer in the hell dimension. They’d given up their places in heaven for autonomy in hell. Rogues were younger daemons. They resented the Ancient Ones’ choice. They wanted to take over the hell dimension, but their desire to rule hell was only a stepping-stone toward claiming heaven. Rogues had killed Lucifer. Lucifer’s Army wanted autonomy. Rogues wanted dominion.

      Ezekiel was an Ancient One who needed a Loyalist heir to keep Rogues from power.

      No. A little gas station sink water wasn’t going to absolve her sins. Both Michael and Ezekiel wanted her to help find Lucifer’s wings. But Michael didn’t want to wear them. He wanted to deliver them. He’d never made any secret of his distaste for the throne.

      Run with me.

      He hadn’t meant it in the way her soul had heard it. There was no “away” far enough for her to run from Ezekiel’s expectations or Rogues’ hunger. But Michael was a powerful lure and her soul ached to answer his call. He was a what-if she wasn’t free to explore. There was no future for her that included a man, a car and a hellhound’s devotion.

      Grim was right not to trust her. She looked into the smudged and cracked glass as water swirled down the gurgling drain. She would fulfill her bargain. She would pay the price Ezekiel asked for his years of protection. Then she would go back to the cold, dark palace alone.

      Her guardian’s heart had always been out of her reach. He had been a distant figure always too busy to provide the time and attention she craved, but she owed him her life and her mother’s life. It didn’t matter that his time had always gone to the D’Arcys. She couldn’t refuse him. Not when his request was to help him save the one place she’d ever called home.

      * * *

      Michael had pulled the car away from the pump and parked it to the side. Lily walked toward it slowly, squinting her eyes against the sun, but soaking up the heat. She’d been cold since the Rogues had interrupted her and Michael by the fire. It was possible now that her body had tasted his Brimstone burn she’d never be warm without him again.

      He was propped against the hood of the vintage car. He wasn’t playing his guitar. His arms were folded over his chest. His boots were crossed at the ankles. His jeans matched his boots. Worn and scuffed. They spoke of the dust of miles traveled. He was waiting for her.

      Run with me.

      If she were free to run there was no way she could resist him.

      “So we haven’t had a chance to talk about your ritual... How did your summoning turn out?” Michael asked.

      Lily stopped in her tracks. She held on to the straps of her pack. The wrapped dolls were dormant. Silent. All her secrets hidden. For now. The daemon king was supposedly back in hell where he belonged. She was standing in the sun. She wanted to belong, but didn’t. Not here. And not there. She was as in-between as the pathways Grim traveled.

      Grim knew shadows.

      He came around the bumper of the Firebird with his nose in the air, sniffing out the hint of sulfur on her skin she could never quite wash away.

      “The Colorado River will lead us. The clerk had a map. I can show you,” Lily offered. She pulled the map she’d gotten from the service station