“So it is a yes.” He strode past and tossed over his shoulder, “Why are you here?”
Gathering a fistful of her skirts and her courage, she tailed him. Perhaps he was a smuggler, and living in a quarter like Whitechapel might’ve required to defend himself in more than one occasion, which explained his build, but a man who took care of these people couldn’t be evil. “It’s about your job offer.”
“And?” He didn’t stop, his strides long and confident through the alleys.
“I accept it.”
Chapter 5
TYON SHOULD BE pleased. Hazel had accepted his offer. It was what he wanted, but as he dropped the empty sack on the floor of his sitting room and her intense gaze followed his every move, a cold sensation cut through him like a spear. It was fear. Something he hadn’t experienced since Aleximanus had betrayed the Order and become an enemy.
Since he’d talked with Aleximanus, he couldn’t stop thinking about his words. Hazel could undo him, succeed where lust-breathers had failed, and destroy the pillars of his existence. If this was a test, if the Monk had sent him Hazel to try his loyalty, then Tyon was already losing the battle.
She paced with measured steps on the floor, fiddling with everything within her reach—her gloves, reticule, jacket. Only the sound of her heels on the wooden planks and the fire cracking in the hearth could be heard.
He straightened and ran his hands over his waistcoat. “What made you accept the offer?”
She stopped pacing and fidgeting. Sudden determination flared up in the depth of her mauve eyes. “I don’t trust you.”
Her words stung. They shouldn’t have, but they bloody did. Despite the fact that he couldn’t blame her, and he hadn’t behaved in the civilised way she was probably used with other gentlemen. Hell, he wasn’t a gentleman. He was a battle-hardened warrior.
He forced his face to remain stern. “Thank you for your honesty.”
“I’ve heard things about you.” She lowered her gaze, the twiddling starting again.
“Not very flattering I suppose.”
She tilted her head up, piercing him with her warm stare. “But then I saw you taking care of those people, and I changed my mind. You’re a good man.”
“Wait a moment.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You saw me during my weekly round and you changed your mind? It means you already decided to refuse when you came here.”
Her sharp intake of air strained her bodice and graced her cheeks with the colour of dawn. He wanted to be the one to make her flush like that, in his bed, among his bedsheets and pillows.
She nodded. “Well, yes. I was tempted to refuse.” Another deep inhalation.
He couldn’t help it. The small gasps she made conjured a vision of her writhing underneath him, naked, all her skin flushed the same colour of her cheeks, while he thrust—
Grinding his teeth, he pressed two fingers between his brows. If he didn’t know her soul wasn’t contaminated, he would’ve believed she was the most powerful lust-breather he’d ever met. “That’s all right.”
It wasn’t. Working with her was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever done. How naïve of him to think he’d find the hallow easily. Just to convince her to work for him had taken two days. He wasn’t a charmer. She wouldn’t trust him and open up to him.
“I have an idea about how to find the object you want.” She moved closer, and he backed lest he did something stupid and kissed her.
“What idea?” he asked.
“Three weeks ago, I prepared a list of items to be sold by auction. There were pieces from different collections and others recently discovered, all things the museum’s committee didn’t consider special enough to keep.” She paused in front of the hearth and stretched out her hands towards the flames. “I personally cleaned and encased the items. A few of them were stunning, in my opinion, and I spent a lot of time restoring them to their ancient beauty. One of them might be what you’re searching for.”
He sat in an armchair. Rude thing to do in presence of a standing lady, but he needed to distract himself from the sensual curve of her mouth when she spoke. “What happened to the items?”
“Every object has been sold. It’ll be hard to discover who bought them. Auctioneers protect their clients’ privacy fiercely. Also, the items might’ve been sold again and shipped out of London.”
“It’s a possibility, but we have a start.” He opened a cabinet next to him and took out paper, ink, and a pen. “Can you write down the list?”
She troubled her bottom lip, making him want to bite it. “There were more than five and twenty items to be sold. I don’t remember them all, but Leon has a complete list in his office.”
“Leon?”
“Dr Evans? I worked for him at the museum. My former boss.”
Promising. Tyon donned his jacket. “Can we go now?”
Hazel shifted her weight, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to say something . . . or wanted to be kissed. He banished the thought with a tap on his cilice and relished the bitter sting of pain. She squirmed again.
What was it now? Why didn’t the woman simply spit it out? Of course. They hadn’t discussed her salary.
“Miss Ravenwood.” He adjusted his collar. “As I told you, I’ll be more than happy to provide any sum you deem adequate for this job. Should you wish, I can immediately give you the money.”
A new wave of pink-peach blossomed in her face. If he focused, he could swear he heard her heart fluttering against her chest.
“It’s not that, although I do need the money.” She tugged at the hem of her sleeve, covering the half-inch of creamy skin her previous fidgeting had bared.
How he’d like to run the tip of his tongue across that slim wrist and discover if she tasted like peaches. His cock stirred, a painful lurch that shot guilt and shame up his spine. He clasped his hands on his front. “Say what troubles your mind. You need to talk freely to me for this partnership to work.”
“I was at the museum this morning, and it wasn’t a pleasant visit,” she whispered.
He narrowed his gaze. “What happened?”
She shook her head. “Nothing I wish to talk about, if you don’t mind, but I’m not sure I want to go back to the museum today.”
No. This wouldn’t work. He could pay her any sum Hazel desired, but he needed to locate the hallow as soon as possible. Whatever had happened to her, he had to find a way to make her feel safe with him. After all, if there was something he’d been trained for, it was defending people.
“May I call you Hazel?”
She whipped her head up, dark lashes fluttering in surprise. “Of course.”
“I have to insist. It’s a matter of extreme urgency. We have to go now.”
A shudder slithered across her shoulders, and the beautiful pink of her cheeks was replaced by pallor.
He took a step closer, fighting the impulse to gather her in his arms and feel her lovely body against his, to shield her from anything and anyone that dared touch her. “I’ll be with you all the time. I swear, nothing unpleasant will happen to you. No one will upset you.”
Her strained neck relaxed, and her fingers flexed. “All right. We’ll go now.”
~ * ~
THE SLOW ROCKING of the carriage through the cobbled streets usually relaxed Tyon. The rhythmic motion, the clap-clap of the horses, and the feeling of being suspended from the ground soothed his nerves. Not today. Not with Miss Ravenwood sitting in front of him and her tantalising scent teasing his senses.
His muscles were hard knots of anxiety, his pulse thudded in his temples with the fierceness of a smithy hammering on an anvil, and no matter how many times he pressed the cilice, his sinful thoughts didn’t want to stay quiet.
In the dim light of the carriage, the skin of her slender neck glowed like moonlight on snow. The smooth curve of her breasts stirred his cock. He shifted his position as if this could help.
“May I ask you something?” Her voice almost jolted him.
&nbs
p; He nodded, not trusting his voice. It’d come out harsher than he meant.
“Would you tell me something about your family? The brother and sisters you’re searching for?”
His body released some of the tension it’d been holding. The pain of losing his brother and sisters, his fellow knights, helped sober his illicit, dark desires. “I haven’t seen them in five years.” He didn’t bother explaining how Aleximanus betrayed them. She wouldn’t believe it.
“How did you lose them? What happened?”
A curse hit us. A traitor doomed our fate, had us separated, and destroyed the balance and the Order. “We were working together in a dangerous place. A man who hated us betrayed us. He broke the pact, the pact that held us together and gave us balance, and our enemies attacked us. In the mayhem, we lost each other, and I haven’t seen them since.”
The shuffle of Hazel’s skirts sounded like thunder in the confined space. A frown creased her lovely forehead. He couldn’t lie, but doubted she understood what he’d meant.
“I don’t fully understand. What were you doing in this dangerous place?” she asked, leaning closer.
Her knees touched his. Only a few layers of fabric separated their skin. It was as if a bolt of lightning coursed through him, setting his body on fire and leaving a path of deep need behind.
She cocked her head, the delicate frown becoming more evident. “Tyon?”
The tip of her tongue appeared between her pearly teeth when she said his name. If he could’ve fled from her, he would’ve done it. Instead he was trapped here with this woman who tempted him more fiercely than a lust-breather.
His power surged to the fore with head-spinning speed. A hot tide that roared within him for release, a release he couldn’t allow. The carriage rocked, harder than before, the doors rattled, and the horses neighed.
Hazel jolted and slipped back into the seat. “What’s that?”
Calm. Dominate your impulse. The Monk’s words echoed in Tyon’s mind as he fisted the cilice. Sweet, burning pain spread from his thigh, offering a respite from his inner demons. The wild rocking faded, replaced by the normal shaking of the carriage.
“Good God.” She clamped a hand on her mouth, gaze fixating on him. “You’re bleeding.”
Shit. “It’s nothing.” He fished out his handkerchief and wiped his hand.
“No, it’s not. Let me see.” She reached out and touched his leg.
The warmth of her fingers seeped through the fabric of his trousers. His energy burst again, exploding like fireworks, and with it, a wave of panic engulfed him. He wouldn’t contain the burst this time. The earth called his power and would quake, engorged with it.
He scurried away and hit the wall of the carriage with a thud. “Don’t touch me.”
Despite his angry tone, she didn’t recoil, but withdrew her hand slowly as if worried he might attack her if she moved too fast. The tips of her fingers traced a path of fire on his skin. “I didn’t mean to be inappropriate.” Her tone sounded firm and hurt. “But you’re bleeding. You need medical attention.”
“It’s nothing,” he repeated, pressing the handkerchief on his thigh.
She pursed her lips, sitting stiffly in a corner of her seat. Her gaze raked over his blood-soaked tissue before turning to the window.
Something inside his abdomen unclenched, releasing a wave of sorrow. He didn’t know if he was pitying himself or her for having been dragged into this treacherous situation just because she’d come into contact with a hallow. But nothing happened without a reason, that was what the Monk had always said. Except that the Monk wasn’t here to guide him. He’d disappeared when Aleximanus had broken the pact.
Tyon adjusted his jacket so that it covered the bloodstains. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You caught me by surprise.”
“I don’t understand.” Worry laced her words. She paused, her mouth slightly open as if she wanted to add something else, but then she shook her head.
“There are many things I can’t explain, and this is one of them.”
Hazel waited, hands on her lap. But he’d already said more than enough.
The carriage slowed and stopped at the curb in front of the museum’s marble steps. A tapping noise came from the driver’s box, then the driver opened the door. “The museum, sir, ma’am.”
Tyon buttoned his jacket, climbed out of the carriage, and rolled out the steps for Hazel. Propriety dictated he offered a hand to the lady to help her out of the coach, but there had been enough touching for one day, and his hands were barely clean from the blood. So he stood out of her way, holding the door for her.
She exited, another frown drawing her brows together, and strode towards the entrance. Tyon followed. The wound on his thigh burned and sent a pang up his back at every step, but he deserved the pain. He’d come too close at losing control. Even though the Order had never forced him into celibacy, he’d learned by experience the price of releasing his power. Attraction, desire, and his sin-eater’s power didn’t go well together without his knights to keep him balanced.
Tourists strolled in and out of the main hall and milled around glass cases with Egyptian masks and broken arrows. As he advanced through the crowd, people shifted out of his way like sheep sensing the presence of a wolf. If they knew the truth. He wasn’t the wolf. He was the sheepdog, vowed to protect the sheep.
Hazel waited at the base of the sweeping stairs leading up, her features hard and cold. He must’ve upset her. It was better this way. She didn’t need to get attached to him. Any relationship would complicate his already complicated situation.
“Leon’s office is on the third floor, as you probably know.” She started up the stairs, sidestepping a running child.
He was about to ask what she meant when agony shot through his stiff leg, shutting him up. He climbed behind her one step at a time. The sway of her bustle was like the whiplash of a cat’s tail and distracted the hell out of him. Her pace faltered when they arrived at the third floor’s landing, her steps becoming more measured. No tourist roamed this floor, and the chatter and stomping of feet echoed from the stairwell.
Tyon walked over to her when she stopped in front of a double door with a golden plaque reading ‘staff only.’
A man in a doorman uniform sat at a desk in a corner. He lifted his gaze to Hazel and stood up. “Miss Ravenwood, good morning. How can I help?”
She smiled, the frown disappearing. “Good morning, Charles. Is Leon in his office? I need to see him.”
“Oh.” Charles loosened the collar of his jacket. “I’m terribly sorry, but Sir Morris”—he coughed in his closed fist—“Sir Morris gave express orders to not allow non-staff members access to the staff rooms. Especially you,” he added the last two words, staring at his shoes.
“I see.” Her jaw contracted, and her back straightened with indignation.
Anger pounded in Tyon’s chest. Not because his quest had been delayed, but because this Sir Morris had troubled her. He loomed over the young man, propping a bloodied fist on the desk. “If you can’t let us in, then I’m sure you’ll fetch Dr Leon for us.”
Charles stammered something before glancing at the door. “Actually, sir, I’m not allowed to leave my post. I can’t o-oblige your request.” His gaze flickered over Tyon’s fist.
“Luckily for me, it wasn’t a request,” he growled, inching closer.
“Tyon,” Hazel whispered, a warning note in her tone.
Charles swallowed, his Adam’s apple threatening to get stuck in his throat. “O-of course, sir.” He fumbled with a ring of keys until he inserted one in the lock, opened the door with shaky hands, and disappeared behind it.
Hazel balled a fist on her hip. “There was no need to terrify him.”
“Who’s this Sir Morris?”
Her fist unclenched, and her arm fell on her side. “He’s the president of the museum’s trust and of the Royal Archaeological Society. He isn’t particularly fond of me.”
“Is he the reaso
n you were dismissed from the museum?” The gentleness of his tone surprised his own ears.
Hazel must’ve been surprised too because her dark lashes fluttered. “He is.”
“What happened?”
She shook her head, black curls bouncing around her cheeks. “You have your secrets, I have mine. Tell me why you’re bleeding, and I’ll tell you what happened with Sir Morris.”
Fair point. Pity he couldn’t satisfy her curiosity.
The door swung open, and a red-haired man in a doubled-breasted suit strutted towards them. Next to him, the tip of a walking stick clicked against the tile at each step. “Miss Ravenwood. You again.” His smouldering gaze flickered over Tyon and cooled to cold assessment.
Hazel let out a soft gasp. “Sir Morris.”
Tyon returned the stare and unleashed his power to peek at the man’s soul. Warm gusts of air wafted from Tyon. As if hungry for Hazel’s soul, his energy shot to her first, and he had to redirect it towards the glowering Sir Morris. It’d never happened before. His ability had never developed an attachment for a particular person, but then again, Hazel was special. She’d been chosen by a hallow.
Hazel was special. Period.
Dark wisps erupted from Sir Morris’s head as he twitched his mouth into a snarl. Angry tendrils flogged the air like writhing snakes, snapping their tails.
“You aren’t welcome here, Miss Ravenwood,” he said, thudding the heel of his shoe on the floor. “And Leon is too busy to waste time in chatter with you.”
Tyon sucked in a deep breath, summoning Sir Morris’s evil towards him.
Ex tenebris, ad lucem. Ex umbrae, ad solem.
From the darkness to the light. From the shadows to the sun.
He repeated the chant inside his head. The vigour of the ancient words reverberated in his chest. His surroundings faded. Hazel’s voice diminished. Sir Morris’s blathering turned into a distant noise. His evil tasted of burned flesh and fresh blood, the mark of a sin-breather. Tyon ate it all, channelling it towards the ground where it’d be stored and dispersed. Sir Morris had met a sin-breather and had been contaminated with the evil essence of pride.
The Pact of the White Blade Knights Page 5