Prince of Tricks: Demons of Elysium Book 1 by Jane Kindred
Genre: M/M paranormal erotic romance
Publisher: Samhain
Date of Publication: January 7, 2014
Number of pages: 283
Word Count: 93,000
Cover Artist: Kanaxa
Book Description
Over the past century, Belphagor has made a name for himself in Heaven’s Demon District as a cardsharp, thief, and charming rogue.
Though the airspirit is content with his own company, he enjoys applying the sweet sting of discipline to a willing backside. Angel, demon, even the occasional human. He’s not particular. Until a hotheaded young firespirit steals his purse—and his heart. Now he’s not sure who owns whom.
A former rent boy and cutpurse from the streets of Raqia, Vasily has never felt safer than in the arms—and at the feet—of the Prince of Tricks. He’s just not sure if Belphagor returns those feelings. There’s only one way to find out, but using a handsome, angelic duke to stir Belphagor’s jealousy backfires on them both.
When the duke frames Vasily for an attempted assassination as part of a revolutionary conspiracy, Belphagor will do whatever it takes to clear his boy’s name and expose the real traitor. Because for the first time in his life, the Prince of Tricks has something to lose.
Belphagor pushed him onto his back and straddled him, his own unfulfilled erection poised between them like an exclamation point. “I told you, you’re my boy. Mine.” There was an implication in the words that Vasily couldn’t miss. The firespirit had been earning his bed and his supper on the streets of Raqia since the word “boy” had been applied to him more literally, likely from an even earlier age than had Belphagor himself. When Vasily had come to him after the night Belphagor caught him trying to cut his purse, he’d attempted to continue with his street business as usual until Belphagor forbade him selling himself to angels or to rough trade demons. He wouldn’t stop Vasily bartering his favors if that was what he chose to do, but he would see to it he was treated as the valuable commodity he was if he insisted on continuing in the trade.
This hadn’t sat well with a firespirit just coming into his prime. Angels in particular desired him, finding his rough looks and the wild coloring of his tangled hair the epitome of what they pictured as demonic. Mostly students out on their own for the first time with purses of crystal facets to burn, they wanted the quintessential Raqia experience. They crossed Elysium’s River Acheron to slum in Heaven’s Demon District, and in their eyes, Vasily was as low-rent as they could get. Which was all the more reason they were to keep their filthy angelic paws off Belphagor’s boy.
A red glimmer of flame threatened in the black depths of Vasily’s pupils, giving the hazel irises an amber cast. This evidence of his defiant anger, despite the fact that Belphagor had finally given him what he wanted—or broken down and caved to his charms, more like—was a Pavlovian bell to Belphagor’s hunger for him. It had nearly driven him mad to keep Vasily at arm’s length this long, telling himself he didn’t deserve him, that Vasily couldn’t possibly want him—the Vasily in his head still the same skinny cutpurse youth he’d first encountered, though his “boy” had long been nothing of the sort. Even now, his heart fluttered like a panicked bird caged in his chest, waiting for something terrible to happen, for Vasily to realize Belphagor wasn’t as young as he appeared and to ridicule the helpless state to which he’d reduced him—hopelessly enamored of another demon after the equivalent of a human lifetime of solitude.
For Belphagor, solitude had been his strength. He hadn’t needed anyone since the earliest betrayals of youthful love. But Vasily had brought him to his knees. Never mind that it was Vasily on his knees that had done it to him.
“What’s got your fire up, malchik?” He kissed the spot he’d cleaned with his tongue beneath Vasily’s Adam’s apple. “I thought you wanted to be mine.”
“I hate it when you treat me like a child.”
Belphagor raised an eyebrow. “I’m fairly certain I treated you as rather the opposite last night. Was it not satisfactory?”
The natural pink of Vasily’s cheeks reddened more obviously. “Of course it was. I mean, it was more than satisfactory. Way more. Dammit, Beli.” He crooked his arm over his eyes as if looking up into Belphagor’s embarrassed him during such talk. He was utterly charming. As was the little endearment that had just slipped out, though Belphagor might have decked another demon for it.
He kissed Vasily’s sullen mouth. “It was far more than satisfactory for me.” The soft words were almost a whisper. “You’ve absolutely spoiled me for anyone else.”
“Good.” The word was delivered with a sudden sharpness. So that was what was bothering him. It sparked a bit of defiance of his own. He wasn’t used to having anyone put restraints on him. That was Belphagor’s specialty.
“Don’t seek to possess me, malchik. I’m an airspirit.”
Vasily moved his arm away from his eyes, and they were glowing with furious heat. “So that’s how it is. You own me, you tell me what I can and can’t do, but you can do as you like.” The roiling anger in the firespirit eyes heated Belphagor like combustion from the inside out. The thought of putting Vasily over his knee once more made him almost painfully hard. Without equivocation, he was a slave to this brutally beautiful young demon.
“Yes, Vasya. That’s how it is.”
The violent rebuff wasn’t unexpected, but Belphagor, nonetheless, had failed to brace for it, too absorbed in the feel of the body beneath him and the thoughts of what he wished to do with it. He found himself forcefully ejected from the cot and sprawled on the cold wooden floor, with Vasily standing over him, magnificent in his literally naked anger.
“Then maybe you should just skip the foreplay and go fuck yourself!” Vasily delivered the Germanic hardness of the lovely verb “fuck” as if he were demonstrating it. As Vasily jerked his jeans onto his legs like he was punishing the fabric, Belphagor watched with unabashed admiration of the musculature being regretfully hidden away. Hooray at least for his lazy laundering habits that had resulted in this morning’s “commando” mode.
He picked himself up, along with the black T-shirt on the floor beside him, which he handed to Vasily as if he couldn’t care less whether the demon walked out on him. Vasily snatched it from his grip and yanked it on over the tangled red locks he’d been cultivating. The shirt had once been Belphagor’s. It had stretched to its limits and was now much too small on the firespirit frame. Belphagor wished there were cameras in Heaven. He could just about die from gazing at the image Vasily struck.
Vasily was waiting for him to apologize or take back what he’d said, to placate him into staying. He had no intention of doing so. Vasily was his. It was an indisputable fact. He’d be back.
A former rent boy and cutpurse from the streets of Raqia, Vasily has never felt safer than in the arms—and at the feet—of the Prince of Tricks. He’s just not sure if Belphagor returns those feelings. There’s only one way to find out, but using a handsome, angelic duke to stir Belphagor’s jealousy backfires on them both.
When the duke frames Vasily for an attempted assassination as part of a revolutionary conspiracy, Belphagor will do whatever it takes to clear his boy’s name and expose the real traitor. Because for the first time in his life, the Prince of Tricks has something to lose.
Short Excerpt
Belphagor pushed him onto his back and straddled him, his own unfulfilled erection poised between them like an exclamation point. “I told you, you’re my boy. Mine.” There was an implication in the words that Vasily couldn’t miss. The firespirit had been earning his bed and his supper on the streets of Raqia since the word “boy” had been applied to him more literally, likely from an even earlier age than had Belphagor himself. When Vasily had come to him after the night Belphagor caught him trying to cut his purse, he’d attempted to continue with his street business as usual until Belphagor forbade him selling himself to angels or to rough trade demons. He wouldn’t stop Vasily bartering his favors if that was what he chose to do, but he would see to it he was treated as the valuable commodity he was if he insisted on continuing in the trade.
This hadn’t sat well with a firespirit just coming into his prime. Angels in particular desired him, finding his rough looks and the wild coloring of his tangled hair the epitome of what they pictured as demonic. Mostly students out on their own for the first time with purses of crystal facets to burn, they wanted the quintessential Raqia experience. They crossed Elysium’s River Acheron to slum in Heaven’s Demon District, and in their eyes, Vasily was as low-rent as they could get. Which was all the more reason they were to keep their filthy angelic paws off Belphagor’s boy.
A red glimmer of flame threatened in the black depths of Vasily’s pupils, giving the hazel irises an amber cast. This evidence of his defiant anger, despite the fact that Belphagor had finally given him what he wanted—or broken down and caved to his charms, more like—was a Pavlovian bell to Belphagor’s hunger for him. It had nearly driven him mad to keep Vasily at arm’s length this long, telling himself he didn’t deserve him, that Vasily couldn’t possibly want him—the Vasily in his head still the same skinny cutpurse youth he’d first encountered, though his “boy” had long been nothing of the sort. Even now, his heart fluttered like a panicked bird caged in his chest, waiting for something terrible to happen, for Vasily to realize Belphagor wasn’t as young as he appeared and to ridicule the helpless state to which he’d reduced him—hopelessly enamored of another demon after the equivalent of a human lifetime of solitude.
For Belphagor, solitude had been his strength. He hadn’t needed anyone since the earliest betrayals of youthful love. But Vasily had brought him to his knees. Never mind that it was Vasily on his knees that had done it to him.
“What’s got your fire up, malchik?” He kissed the spot he’d cleaned with his tongue beneath Vasily’s Adam’s apple. “I thought you wanted to be mine.”
“I hate it when you treat me like a child.”
Belphagor raised an eyebrow. “I’m fairly certain I treated you as rather the opposite last night. Was it not satisfactory?”
The natural pink of Vasily’s cheeks reddened more obviously. “Of course it was. I mean, it was more than satisfactory. Way more. Dammit, Beli.” He crooked his arm over his eyes as if looking up into Belphagor’s embarrassed him during such talk. He was utterly charming. As was the little endearment that had just slipped out, though Belphagor might have decked another demon for it.
He kissed Vasily’s sullen mouth. “It was far more than satisfactory for me.” The soft words were almost a whisper. “You’ve absolutely spoiled me for anyone else.”
“Good.” The word was delivered with a sudden sharpness. So that was what was bothering him. It sparked a bit of defiance of his own. He wasn’t used to having anyone put restraints on him. That was Belphagor’s specialty.
“Don’t seek to possess me, malchik. I’m an airspirit.”
Vasily moved his arm away from his eyes, and they were glowing with furious heat. “So that’s how it is. You own me, you tell me what I can and can’t do, but you can do as you like.” The roiling anger in the firespirit eyes heated Belphagor like combustion from the inside out. The thought of putting Vasily over his knee once more made him almost painfully hard. Without equivocation, he was a slave to this brutally beautiful young demon.
“Yes, Vasya. That’s how it is.”
The violent rebuff wasn’t unexpected, but Belphagor, nonetheless, had failed to brace for it, too absorbed in the feel of the body beneath him and the thoughts of what he wished to do with it. He found himself forcefully ejected from the cot and sprawled on the cold wooden floor, with Vasily standing over him, magnificent in his literally naked anger.
“Then maybe you should just skip the foreplay and go fuck yourself!” Vasily delivered the Germanic hardness of the lovely verb “fuck” as if he were demonstrating it. As Vasily jerked his jeans onto his legs like he was punishing the fabric, Belphagor watched with unabashed admiration of the musculature being regretfully hidden away. Hooray at least for his lazy laundering habits that had resulted in this morning’s “commando” mode.
He picked himself up, along with the black T-shirt on the floor beside him, which he handed to Vasily as if he couldn’t care less whether the demon walked out on him. Vasily snatched it from his grip and yanked it on over the tangled red locks he’d been cultivating. The shirt had once been Belphagor’s. It had stretched to its limits and was now much too small on the firespirit frame. Belphagor wished there were cameras in Heaven. He could just about die from gazing at the image Vasily struck.
Vasily was waiting for him to apologize or take back what he’d said, to placate him into staying. He had no intention of doing so. Vasily was his. It was an indisputable fact. He’d be back.
The younger demon turned and yanked open the rickety door in danger of coming right off the hinges at his grip, cast one last furious, fiery glare in Belphagor’s direction, and left him with a fierce slam. The bottom hinge bent.
Belphagor glanced down at his relentless and unameliorated state of arousal with a sigh of resignation. His masochistic streak might be at an all-time high.
Jane Kindred is the author of The House of Arkhangel’sk trilogy, the Demons of Elysium series, and The Devil’s Garden. Born in Billings, Montana, she spent her formative years ruining her eyes reading romance novels in the Tucson sun and watching Star Trek marathons in the dark. She now writes to the sound of San Francisco foghorns while two cats slowly but surely edge her off the side of the bed.
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Belphagor glanced down at his relentless and unameliorated state of arousal with a sigh of resignation. His masochistic streak might be at an all-time high.
About the Author
Jane Kindred is the author of The House of Arkhangel’sk trilogy, the Demons of Elysium series, and The Devil’s Garden. Born in Billings, Montana, she spent her formative years ruining her eyes reading romance novels in the Tucson sun and watching Star Trek marathons in the dark. She now writes to the sound of San Francisco foghorns while two cats slowly but surely edge her off the side of the bed.
Author sites
My Review
What happens when you mix air with fire. Some of us might ponder this for a second. I'll make it very simple. It equals really HOT sex. Dear lord, this book had me bothered and I know it will you as well. Nevermind the plot. READ THIS FOR THE SEX!!!
I am critical of authors when they write M/M sex scenes. Why, one might ask. Simple, the author does not not knows what it feels like as a man to either be penetrated or to penetrate another man. I read M/M books not for the fluffy romance. Sure there are moments with to men that a relationship is fluffy. However, most is raw, unadulterated passion. An author has to capture the smell, the final surrender of the tight ring of muscle, and the final release of pure bliss.
Folks, if this is the type of book you want to read, this is one! Finally, an author that knows how to write M/M sex scenes.
Now, onto the plot. Yes, the sex was amazing, but the plot was evermore interesting. Jane has developed a world where heaven is ruled by an elitist groups of angels and demons walk the streets. Life is similar in heaven as on Earth. Jane has also developed the land of Man. Her area of choice is Russia, post Soviet Union.
We have two characters. Belphagor, the air spirit and Vasily the firespirit. They meet when one tries to steal from the other. That moment, a love that I rarely find in books develops. One admits the love freely while the other fights it and tries to live his old life. All seems to go well, until Vasily meets the local Duke, and after a night of fun and mistake the next day leads these two men into a world of conspiracy and murder. A plot to overthrow the local government takes hold and these two have to fall to the world of man to survive and try to find a way to make all well in heaven.
That is all I am going to tell you about the plot, except, angels only have wings when they are on Earth. A scene at the end of the book when Vasily finally "gets" his wings was amazing.
" “Did we come here for the bells?” Vasily whispered, caught by the magic of their
spell.
“Every time a bell rings,” said Belphagor.
Vasily tilted his head. “What’s that from? It sounds familiar.”
“The American movie, It’s A Wonderful Life.”
Vasily grinned. “Oh, right! Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.” He laughed. “I guess a ton of them just sprouted.” Belphagor just smiled at him. It took Vasily a few moments before it finally dawned on him. “You mean—are we going to?
Am I?”
Belphagor unbuttoned Vasily’s coat and removed it, then took his shirt as well. The
firespirit hardly shivered. “You are, my dear boy. I’ll hold these for you in case the heat is too intense.”
“The heat?”
“Your fire, malchik.” He pulled Vasily’s head down for a soft kiss. “Let it build inside you, like it does when I’ve pissed you off,” he said, cupping the rough beard on either side of Vasily’s face between his hands. “Imagine I’ve told you to drop to your knees and service me right here in front of anyone who might walk by.”
Vasily pulled back with a jerk. “I am not sucking your cock in a churchyard in the world of Man!”
Belphagor lifted an eyebrow. “Well, now you’ve issued me a challenge, malchik. But let’s keep that for sometime later. Right now, concentrate on how you’re going to feel when that happens. Imagine an angelic soldier or two standing by watching.” Vasily’s eyes were sparking. “I don’t like this. What are you doing?” The edges of
his skin had begun to dance already with a scattering of ruby flame, like filaments of plasma against the inner surface of a glass orb.
“Maybe I’ll have you work me up until I’m ready to peel down the pants of one of
the angels and bend him over your back while you’re on your hands and knees and take
him—”
“Fuck you!” Vasily roared, and then he jerked his shoulder blades back with a grimace of surprise, turning like a dog trying to chase its tail as he tried to see what was tearing at his flesh.
Belphagor took a wide step back—wisely, it turned out. Ruby flame erupted from
Vasily’s shoulders like molten metal and shot out toward the sides, the “feathers” of the span gleaming with shades of scarlet and vermillion. They were wings of elemental fire, as solid and well defined as the wings of any bird, yet their fire ever moving within the shape as though trapped in a kind of liquid amber.
“Fuck me,” Vasily gasped in wonder as he let them fully unfurl. Belphagor smirked, thinking that was just what he wanted to do at the moment. Across the snowy yard, the cupolas glittered with Vasily’s light.
“Perhaps I ought to have chosen something a little more out of the way,” he
conceded, glancing about. “But no matter. Done is done.” Vasily’s chest was rising and falling as he stood in a state of temporary shock. Belphagor stepped up carefully to run his hands over Vasily’s shoulders toward the new limbs, and shook his head. “My lovely boy. You’re simply stunning.” He stroked Vasily’s cheek. “Are you going to try them
out?”
“Try them out? I can fly?” "
Then there are lines like this......
“Don’t cry, sweet boy,” he whispered. “Of course I love you. Ya tebya lyublyu. ” He leaned over Vasily’s shoulder and stroked his hand down the still hesitant erection. “I’m sorry I couldn’t say it before. To be honest, it frightened me—frightens me still, a bit."
Or this.....
“Let me explain
something to you, malchik,” he murmured at his ear. “Moi malchik. Malchik milochki. ”
My boy. Sweet boy. He let his tongue linger over the syllables.
Vasily shivered.
Rating:
Until Next Time,
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Thanks for featuring my boys on the blog today, Jay, and thanks so much for the lovely review! :)
ReplyDeleteIt was my pleasure! Great Book!!!!
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