Brimstone Angels Read Online Free Page B

Thestillness of the cold winter night and the sound of the breath through her nostrils and the heat and pop of the fire.
    And the burn—no, she thought, not burn. Brand. Lorcan could call it whatever pleased him, the lines that laced her shoulder were more than a burn. Tieflings didn’t burn easily—she and Havilar had scared Mehen enough times, snatching dropped bits of bread or meat right out of the flames, quick enough that they didn’t feel a thing. Only setting fire to their sleeves now and again.
    But this burn, this brand, was no more a part of Toril than Lorcan was. Farideh knew that all the way to her marrow. The way it pulled at her, the way it still ached after hours and hours and Mehen’s ministrations. The brand was something magical, and it tied her to Lorcan.
    And something tied
him
to someplace … 
else
. If she let her thoughts drift along the bindings, she could sense another world beyond Toril.
    The Nine Hells.
    Farideh swallowed hard and opened her eyes.
    “You’ve noticed,” Lorcan said.
    She nodded, not wanting him to be a devil, not wanting him to be a monster. Not wanting to have said anything to him in the first place, if she could just wish for things to be true, so that she wouldn’t be standing there, as unsafe as she could be.
    Lorcan let go of her hand and traced the lines of the brand peeking through her hastily mended dress. “This mark is what connects you to the powers of the Hells. Well,” he amended, “rather it’s what lets you channel them. Through me. Easier than spellbooks.”
    “Does it hurt?”
    “You’ll be fine.”
    She looked back over her shoulder. “I meant you. Does it hurt you?”
    He smiled—such a wicked, wicked smile. “I’ll be fine too. Here’s your first lesson.” Lorcan took her hands up again. “Think about that connection. You were close. You felt the power.”
    She still could—it was like a primed pump, waiting for someone to grab hold of the handle and start it flowing. And it seemed to want her to grab hold of it, as if it were aware, as if it wanted to flow through her.
    “What will it do?” she asked.
    “Nothing,” Lorcan said, “unless you take hold of it.”
    She opened her eyes. “Is this how you’re going to take my soul?”
    He sighed. “Lords. If I promise to leave your soul alone for the time being will you just do what I say?”
    Farideh laughed bitterly. “What’s your promise worth?”
    “Plenty,” he said, sounding affronted. “I’m not some
demon
or something. I keep my word.”
    “You lied about the circle.”
    “I didn’t lie. I wasn’t
forthcoming
. There’s a difference. And I give you my most solemn word that you can keep whatever semblance of a soul you’ve managed, devil-child—unless you
want
to give it up—if you just do what I say.”
    “For now,” Farideh added. “If I do what you say for now.”
    He chuckled again. “You are terribly melodramatic. For
now
.”
    Farideh hesitated again, sensing the power lying just out of reach. It seemed, she thought, to be only a part of something larger, a fraction of the Nine Hells, and still it was vast and roiling. She wondered if she managed to open that channel wider, like the breaking of a dam, if it would surge through her and Lorcan and kill them both.
    “You know,” Lorcan said, “you are bound to come up against bandits. Or monsters. Or just people who don’t like the look of you. Maybe those neighbors of yours will decide you need more punishment than just banishment. This will help. For all I’m sure your dragonborn has trained you with a sword, you’re not practiced enough with it.”
    “How do you know that?” she asked.
    He rubbed his thumb over her palm in a slow circle. “Calluses. Your hands are far too smooth.”
    She blushed to the roots of her hair.
    Later, Farideh would think if anyone ever asked her about that night, she would need to invent a story—something where she acted because she was prideful and thought she