Prince of Tricks by Jane Kindred

Author:Jane Kindred [Kindred, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2014-01-07T00:00:00+00:00

Vasily pretended to be asleep when Belphagor finally deigned to join him, lying on his side beneath the blankets, turned toward the wall.

Belphagor spoke from just inside the doorway, obviously not falling for the ruse. “I got you something else at the market today, but if you’re determined to be rude, maybe I’ll just take it back.”

“I’m rude?” Vasily turned on him, eyes hot with fire. “You didn’t say a word to me all night, and you practically fucked Lev right in front of me on the dinner table.”

“Don’t be absurd. If I had wanted to fuck Lev in front of you, I’d have gone ahead and done it.”

“Is that why you wanted to watch someone fuck me? So I wouldn’t be able to object while you fuck the entire world of Man?”

Belphagor sighed, his crossed arms rising over his chest. “Your penchant for hyperbole is becoming a tad tiresome.” Belphagor’s deliberate use of angelic words Vasily didn’t know, coupled with his blithe conversations with Dmitri and Lev in Russian that left Vasily scrambling to understand, had reached a point where Belphagor had to be doing it on purpose to humiliate him.

“You might as well just keep talking over my head in your precious russkiy yazyk, because I didn’t understand ONE FUCKING WORD of that sentence!” The words burst out of him, and to his horror, hot tears burst out with them.

Belphagor frowned at him. “Come over here.”

Vasily wanted to refuse, but if they had a fight, he had nowhere to go. And if they had a fight that turned into Belphagor showing Vasily that he owned him, body and soul, with Vasily on his knees or all fours or bent over the footboard admitting that he wanted nothing more than what Belphagor was dishing out, Dmitri and Lev would hear it.

He forced himself to control his emotions and got out of bed to stand in front of Belphagor. Despite his resolve, he flinched when Belphagor reached to grab ahold of his hair as he so often did to bring Vasily down to his height. Unexpectedly, Belphagor gripped the back of his neck instead and drew him into his arms.

“Malchik.” His voice was soft. “Have I made you feel stupid?” Vasily stood stiffly in Belphagor’s arms, uncertain how to respond to this. Was it some kind of trick? “It wasn’t my intention. I never want you to feel that way. I forget you don’t know Russian fluently—and I forget I’m speaking it when I’m here. And I’m used to having a different level of discourse—conversation—when I’m here than in Raqia.”

“So you dumb it down for me,” snapped Vasily, still resisting him. “And I know what ‘discourse’ is, you bastard.”

Belphagor held him away so he had to look him in the eye. “I don’t dumb it down for you. Okay, maybe I did just now, because I was self-conscious of my word choice. But it’s the difference between the spheres. Raqia is in a different age. Its concerns are different. The

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