Brimstone Prince. Barbara Hancock J.

It was in the flush on her skin as she sat too close to Michael in the enclosed space. It was in the deep breath she took as she buckled her seat belt, already craving the scent of his skin, warmed from the outside by sun and from the inside by his fire.

      Ezekiel was an Ancient One. He’d fallen from heaven to rule in hell. He’d battled Rogues for centuries. But he was a complex being with many facets all tilted toward strengthening his kingdom.

      Michael’s reluctance as the prince and heir of the throne was well-known, but Ezekiel was determined that he would be a king. Ezekiel had ruled alone for too long. He might want more for his beloved Elizabeth’s grandson.

      The idea of her royal guardian as a nearly immortal and unpredictable matchmaker caused panic to rise up in her chest.

      “Hang on,” Michael said. “The sooner we get to the wings the better.”

      Her body was pressed against the buttery leather by their momentum as the Firebird sped from the hotel parking lot. Her head grew light and her palms pressed against her hollow belly as her stomach dropped. Michael drove down the Arizona highway with a hound of hell literally at his bumper urging him on.

      But would her task be over once they retrieved Lucifer’s wings? She was afraid that leading Michael to heaven was only the beginning of her torment.

      Ezekiel had said the palace had been built for her. She was used to the temporal tricks and treats of the hell dimension, where time was amorphous and seemingly unrelated to time on earth. The palace had seemed ancient and always. Built long before she’d been born.