A Touch of Brimstone by McKenzie Hunter

21

The home leaned into the modern farmhouse design, unlike their apartment. The apartment was him. Sleek lines, modern décor, and a tad pretentious. This was homey, nice, and simplistic. A beige, oversized sofa that looked like a cloud. Blankets peeked out from a soft woven basket. A double fireplace separated the living room from the kitchen.

The kitchen had simple white appliances, light wood cabinets, and a large island in the middle. Light hardwood floors and a round table completed the room. Large sliding doors looked out to acres of land. Whereas the other homes we’d passed had cattle and corn and soybeans, here there was just verdant grass. The scent of pine wafted throughout the house.

The hellhound plopped in front of the door leading to the garage, where the car was parked. “I don’t plan on leaving,” I said, rolling my eyes.

For an hour, I sat in the same place on the sofa, staring at my phone. I texted with Emoni, who was home; nothing about our interaction suggested she’d remembered anything from earlier. I was grateful for that, but knowing the reason still left the heavy weight of guilt.

Dominic walked in with the same wrathfulness in his eyes. “Make yourself at home, I’ll be back.” His eyes moved away from me and he disappeared down the hall.

Initially, I didn’t move. I just wanted to figure out the plan. But, restlessness getting the best of me, I started roaming, starting in the opposite direction Dominic had gone. Nothing was exceptional about the four-bedroom farmhouse. A small sitting area, a library with a few books on the shelves, a small office with an open laptop. The last door was where the house deviated from anything I’d seen. My breath caught at the sight of chains affixed to a rune-covered wall. Swords and blades hung on the opposite side of the room. In the corner was a massive cage.

“Don’t make yourself at home there,” he said from behind me. “Close the door, Luna.”

Startled, I turned to find Dominic wearing just a pair of sweatpants, all his ink on display, inching over his shoulder, the left side of his chest, and twining around his arm, ending at his wrist. The scent of his woodsy soap. Disheveled hair, misted skin, devoid of the savagery that I witnessed, although it lingered in his eyes, posture, and tense muscles. When I didn’t move to close the door, he did. His lips lifted into a lazy smile, which took a lot of effort.

I still eased away from him. He didn’t have to worry about me making myself at home anywhere there was a room that clearly was designed for torture.

His forehead creased. “What were you planning to do with the road flares?”

“Save you?” I squared my shoulders and stood taller.

Amusement curled his lips and lit his eyes. “How?”

I shrugged. “I had flares and a wrench. There wasn’t time to coordinate a proper extraction rescue—so I had to keep the plan simple. I just knew something or someone was going to get hit or burned.”

His lips twitched. He was fighting a laugh. “That doesn’t seem like a viable plan at all.”

“Fire and metal? Did I really need an elaborate plan? Burn and hit. No one’s thinking I’m innocuous with those things at my disposal,” I shot back. And that wrench helped me. Definitely a confidence booster.

“Ah,” was his only response. He licked his lips, his eyes aflame with a wicked delight. “There’s nothing innocuous about you, Luna.”

His lips pressed against mine, hot and commanding. At my response, he pressed me against the wall, the kiss becoming increasingly voracious. Deft fingers slipped under my shirt, kneading my skin. A shiver coursed through my body when his nails grazed over my skin. Dominic’s body was heavy against mine, and my body heated at the awareness of him hardening against my leg.

When he pulled back, I exhaled a breath and tried to focus on anything other than his hands that made me want more. More of his hands, more of his lips, and all the places I wanted to feel them. Prince of the Underworld, I reminded myself, but logic didn’t prevail with him standing there shirtless and in sweats that hung off the crest of his hips. Corded muscles, warm olive skin, intricate tattoos, and raw sexuality.

I put some well-needed space between us. “You can just thank me,” I teased.

He moved closer, devouring the distance. One hand rested on my waist. I could smell the scent of his soap on him, feel the heat of his body. It wasn’t me; his body was abnormally warm. In the cool room, it was welcome. Bending down until his mouth was inches from my lips, he whispered.

“Thank you for your help, Little Luna. I wouldn’t have survived without you.” His lips were so close, the warmth of his breath tickled my lip.

“You’re very welcome.” You’re not the only one who can sound insincere.

He hadn’t moved, and I was acutely aware of everything about him. Him grinning at me urged me to put more distance between us. He seemed unsettled. Frenetic energy that he had difficulty controlling reverberated off him. Based on the way he was looking at me, I knew what he wanted to do to subdue it. His expression promised something sinfully delightful.

I forced every off-putting image I had of him to the forefront, including the room I’d just seen. It wasn’t enough. We needed a distraction. We had one. This crapshow of a situation.

“Is Emmanuel still an option for magic?”

He shook his head. “He betrayed me, but they were the ones to kill him. I was able to retain one of the attackers and talk.”

Translation: I kept one alive and forced him to speak.

“And?”

He looked grim. “Emmanuel had joined the Awakeners. When he was supposed to clear out the bar, he contacted them. They were to take you but were intercepted by the cadre from yesterday.”

They had done this so long, everything they did was a PR spin.

“They murdered the Awakeners,” I simplified. “Who are they?”

“The new Conventicle. They seem to have grander plans than the current members. One being getting rid of me, taking over, and having a ‘comply or die’ rule for anyone who doesn’t abide by the laws of anonymity. They see the current Conventicle as weak. Me as unnecessary.”

“So they plan to take over the Underworld?” I was incredulous.

The current system wasn’t working but the new Conventicle was ruthless. Would they protect humans and how magic was used against them? Their success meant death for me. It was a hard place to be, wanting to protect humans and rooting for a regime change and rooting against them to save my life.

“So, what’s next?” I asked.

“You still need magic but it will have to be from a different source.”

“Do you have someone in mind?”

He nodded. “Madeline.”

“Oh, so going the implausible route.”

“She’ll require a great deal of coercion and diplomacy.”

“I don’t think you’re using that word right.”

His lips quirked into a half-smile. “Which word?”

“Diplomacy. None of you all are using it right. Diplomacy is a delicate dance requiring negotiation and finesse. You all are all ‘do what I say or you die.’ That’s a threat, not diplomacy.”

He shook his head. “Threats won’t be necessary. The Conventicle will need my help to ward off the coup. She either helps or I’ll let the new members take over and I’ll work something out with them.”

The thrill of the challenge darkened his eyes. Either way, he was confident he’d end up on top. Whatever showed on my face caused him to cast his eyes down, and when he lifted them, they were softer, gentle, not flaming with desire for violence and subjugation.

My eyes dropped from his to the markings on his body, finding the markings on his chest that were like the new ones on Helena. Without thinking how creepy and invasive it was, my fingers traced the intricate pattern.

“This is why the witches’ magic doesn’t affect you?”

He nodded.

“Can I get one?” Although an admirer of body art, I’d never had the desire to get my own. But if this could keep me from being susceptible to the whims of the supernaturals, I’d do it.

He shook his head. “You don’t have magic.”

“That’s the problem. You all do. That puts us at a disadvantage. We can’t even protect ourselves from magic with something like this.” I hadn’t moved my hand from the tattoos. His muscles tensed under my touch.

He frowned. “I wish I could change that for you. I can’t. Luna, we have to return the prisoners and defeat the Dark Caster.”

“Peter,” I offered. It still felt peculiar associating his name with something so dangerous. But undoing his magic was a priority.