“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That was inappropriate.”
His reply was another squeeze of the cilice.
~ * ~
FOR ONCE, TYON welcomed the smell of carbolic acid and the bone-chilling cold of the morgue. They helped keeping his boiling desire for Hazel down. His thumb still throbbed with ripples of pleasure after her soft, warm tongue caressed it in her hot, wet mouth.
His cock gave a painful twitch, reminding him the desire was still there. He focused on the rows of tables in front of him. Hazel shivered, pressing her lips together.
“Do you prefer to wait outside?” He averted his gaze.
She shook her head, pressing her lips harder. “The officers didn’t even ask you why we were here.”
“Detective Harrisons knows me and trusts me enough to give me access to the morgue and the police reports.”
She shuddered again.
“Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” He crossed the wide room, his heels clacking on the hard floor, and stopped at the last table. A blanket covered Rachel’s body, and he lifted a corner, revealing Rachel’s dark hair and clenched jaw.
Hazel tiptoed forwards as if worried to disturb the dead. “What are you looking for?” She gazed away from Rachel’s white face.
“Poisons leave traces. Stains on the skin, lips, and tongue. Sometimes bruises.”
“The coroner would’ve found them though.” She picked up the cart attached to a side of the table and skimmed it. “There’s nothing in this report that suggest traces of poison. The stabs must’ve attracted the doctor’s sole attention.”
“Some poison marks may appear well after the rigor mortis.” He lowered the blanket. Dark spots the size of cherries circled Rachel’s neck. “Here. Look.”
“I’d rather . . . All right.” She put the cart back into the leather pocket hanging on the table’s side and straightened.
“See these spots?”
“Well, they could be normal bruises caused by a too tight collar or choker.” She touched her own neck. “Sometimes women’s garments are uncomfortable to the point they hurt.”
“Yes, but I believe these bruises are different.” He covered Rachel and put a hand on her head, praying to the Monk he’d take care of her, wherever he was.
“What are you doing?” Another whisper.
“Praying for her.”
He must’ve said something wrong because her cheeks flushed. Hard to say as if in anger or something else.
“Oh.” She fiddled again, her restless fingers tugging at the straps of her reticule.
“You didn’t expect that, did you?”
“You’re a good man, Tyon.” She stopped fidgeting and stared at him. “And I’m glad to have met you.”
His chest filled with joy and something else he hadn’t experienced in a while, hope. She was hope. Hope for a different life where he found his brothers and together set things right. “I’m glad to have met you, too, sweet Hazel.”
~ * ~
THE RAYS OF the dying sun set London’s sky on fire. The heavy grey clouds that hung like a funeral drape over the city turned crimson as if God had ripped the sky apart and let it bleed.
Aleximanus paused along the Tower Bridge on his way to Whitechapel. The soft lights of dusk usually soothed his inner turmoil, the cold, raging evil always writhing within him. Not that night.
There was nothing soft in the scarlet sunset, or inside him. He stared at his gloved hands. Sunlight glinted off the shiny leather fabric, covering his hands in red—a reminder of the blood he’d shed. And more would be.
He could hire a cab and arrive at Tyon’s house in minutes, but the walk would clear his mind and postpone what he was about to do. Compassion, kindness, empathy—he wasn’t supposed to experience any of these anymore. As if in reply, the chains tied around him squeezed harder, biting into his flesh, tormenting him, and shouting that he wasn’t the master of his destiny, that his life was nothing.
No one could see the chains, not even Sebastyon. But they’d been there since the day Aleximanus had betrayed his brother knights after centuries of fighting together. A warlock of Prague had told him that an angel would free him from his chains.
Aleximanus chortled without mirth.
He’d spent five years of hell after he’d sold his pitiful soul to the Hierophant and broken the holy pact of the white blade knights. It’d been worth it though. He’d do it again because his daughter’s soul didn’t belong in Hell, and when he accomplished what the Hierophant had ordered him to do, Kaela would be free.
People brushed past him along the pavement. Men’s and women’s gazes followed him. Someone smiled his way. It was the evil inside him. He reeked of it, and humans found it fascinating.
Aleximanus stopped in front of Tyon’s house and chuckled without humour. The house was exactly like the surly captain—dark, imposing, and menacing. If only Tyon knew he’d never meant to betray them, that he missed his brothers like he’d miss his limbs. Breaking the pact had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. It’d shredded his soul into pieces. But the Hierophant had killed the love of his life and taken Kaela from him.
Pain and anger clenched around his heart like poison ivy. The chains hurt and burned, but the weight of his actions crushed his soul, or what was left of it.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” he muttered before closing his eyes and making himself incorporeal and invisible. Being evil had its perks. Sin-eaters couldn’t use powers considered too dark or too cheating. Sin-breathers didn’t have these scruples. But he couldn’t have crossed the threshold of Tyon’s house if Hazel hadn’t officially invited him in when he’d met her at The Milliner boutique. He was taking full advantage of her innocence. Another stain on his already dirty conscience.
His body warmed, and for a moment the sting of the chains disappeared. A tremor shook his body, but it was a pleasant tremor, like a massage on his sore muscles. Bones turned light, flesh became ethereal, and gravity ceased to exist. He floated over the cobbles and went through the wall like smoke through fog.
A cold shiver gripped him as the stone wall scraped his body. It was like squeezing himself through a narrow gap. Then the warmth of the house engulfed him.
He glided upstairs, avoiding Tyon’s room. Mayhap the Captain might not see him, but Aleximanus didn’t want to risk being sensed. Besides, he wasn’t here for Tyon.
Hazel’s flowery scent filled the hallway. He drifted forwards, following it. She stood in the middle of her room, hands balled on her hips, staring at a heap of open boxes and bags. Dresses, sashes, and accessories lay scattered around.
A hard lump of sorrow knotted his throat, and the damned chains crushed him again, the hot metal sinking deeper into his wretched body. He bit down a whimper. He was invisible and incorporeal, but not soundless.
Hazel was the key to destroy Tyon. After Tyon was destroyed, Aleximanus’s evil master would be pleased, and Kaela would be back to him. He didn’t care what would happen to him afterwards. The Hierophant could kill him and dump his body in the darkest circle of Hell. As long as Kaela was free and her soul untouched, he’d be happy.
I’m sorry. He put a hand on Hazel’s shoulder and infused lust into her body. Lust for Tyon. She had to tempt him into sin, drag him deep into depravity until he forgot who he was and his power consumed him. She wouldn’t become a sin-breather but would have enough power to corrupt Tyon.
His fingertips tingled when energy flowed through him like water from a dam. Except it met a barrier and stopped. He released a new wave of lust. It bounced back to him. It was like pushing against a wall. Not matter how hard he threw his power, it rebounded. She was shielded from evil magic.
He squinted, and a golden glow surrounding her materialised along with the blue light shining from her hand.
Yes, she was protected by the Monk himself, judging by the phoenix’s symbol shining on her palm.
Hazel paused folding a shirt and gazed around. Big violet eyes widened in worry, pou
ty lips parting. He could understand why Tyon found her attractive.
She scratched her palm and resumed tying the mess of colourful fabric.
Aleximanus lowered his hand. No point in wasting energy here. He had to find a way to subvert her shield before trying again, and exhaustion was draining him. His power consumed energy like a flame consumed fuel. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to remain invisible.
A side of him wasn’t sorry for this failure. He smiled before retreating from her room. Apparently, goodness had its perks too.
Chapter 12
HAZEL BLEW OUT a long tendril of hair from her face. After two hours, she’d tamed the wildness of gowns, hats, and accessories. Goodness, Tyon had ordered an entire boutique only for her. Even the nightgowns.
She picked up a Prussian blue nightdress. It’d leave her décolletage and part of her shoulders exposed, but it was made with the finest satin and lace. Tyon’s shirt lay on her bed where she’d left it this morning. She shifted her gaze from the fine nightgown to the manly shirt. Nothing would happen if she used his shirt for one more night since she hadn’t had the time to give it back to him.
After she undressed and washed London’s dust from her skin and the sticking smell of the morgue, she slid on Tyon’s shirt, and his scent engulfed her as if he were holding her. Not that it would ever happen.
Tyon and his principles. He refused to touch her to the point of rudeness. But then again, she shouldn’t complain. Would she really have a story with a man who believed in magic? Still, when he’d prayed for Rachel, pain and compassion had been etched in the lines of his face. Tears had been about to spill from her eyes at the sight. She wasn’t sure why, but seeing the huge warrior hunched over Rachel’s body and praying for her had snapped something inside her.
Tyon needs your help.
Perhaps the Monk in her dream was right. She should help Tyon.
The shirt slid on her skin, soft like a moth’s wings. It was long enough to cover her mid-thighs like her chemise and smelled of male and Tyon. It’d been too long ago since she had a lover. She couldn’t remember the last man she’d slept with and not because there had been many lovers.
The plush quilt dipped when she lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Silence lingered in the house like the fog in the streets. Not even the noises of the city could be heard. She turned to the window. A slice of moonlight shed a silver ray on the hard floor.
Another day had passed. If what Tyon had told her was true, he had only a few days to find Rachel’s killer before the hallow lost its power.
If it was true . . . Could magic and curses exist? Had Father been right? Mother had always said he was a fool, but what if he’d met a sin-breather or a sin-eater? If only she could check his notebooks. Mother had burned them after his death.
Thoughts about the supernatural and sleep apparently didn’t go well together because she couldn’t relax.
Hazel stood up, wrapped the dressing gown around her body, and padded out of the room. The long dark corridor stretched in front of her while the stairs on her left led up, beckoning at her. No sound came from Tyon’s bedroom. If he’d left the house, she hadn’t heard him. She tiptoed upstairs and arrived at a landing.
A wide, arched window opened to a view of London’s pointed roofs bathed in moonlight. Trees growing in the parks and gardens interrupted the monotony of the dark streets. A blanket of mist lingered, suspended on the city like a bride’s veil. Her breath fogged the glass, and her bare feet were cold, but the view soothed her skittish nerves.
“Don’t you feel cold?” Tyon’s voice didn’t jolt her. It was as if she’d known he’d come.
She turned towards him. “A bit.”
The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, and his cravat hung loosely around his strong neck. In the dark, his golden eyes seemed to glow from within. A triangle of tanned skin was left bare on his chest where the few top buttons were undone. Cold sloughed off her in a flash, replaced by hot tendrils of need.
“What are you doing here?” He stepped closer, one inch at a time as if she were a wild animal ready to pounce on him.
Sort of true.
“I couldn’t sleep, and the view here is lovely. You?”
“I think I caught a presence in the house.” His fists closed. “But it was a fleeting, subtle aura. I’m not sure it was here, and sin-breathers can’t enter my house.”
Oh, witchcraft again. Talk about coming back to reality. She faced the window. “I guess on a fine day you can easily see the Thames from here.”
“I don’t come up here often.” His body’s warmth hit her skin, and her heart gave a lurch in reply. His penetrating stare raked over her body. “Didn’t you like the nightgowns the Milliner sent?”
“They’re lovely.” She ran a hand over the patch of male shirt visible over her chest. “But this shirt . . .” What was she doing? He hadn’t touched her, had never tried to. She shouldn’t complain especially after her experience with Sir Morris. She finally met a man who didn’t grope women or treat them like dim-witted humans, and she wanted to provoke him when he’d proved more than once he didn’t want any physical contact with her. She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“This shirt?” He stood so close now she could see the specks of emerald in his eyes and his long lashes that entwined at the tips.
No. She wasn’t cold anymore.
“I love its smell, and it feels like you’re hugging me,” she whispered.
The slice of smooth skin peeked from the opening of his shirt, and the sudden urge to touch it, to kiss it almost overwhelmed her. She squirmed in an attempt to calm the fierce need pulsating between her thighs. Her dressing gown slipped over her shoulder, dragging a few inches of Tyon’s shirt down. And she didn’t pick it up.
He drew a sharp intake of breath, his lips parting. “Stay very still.”
Hazel did as told when he rose his hand and lowered his fingertips to her neck. Her chest heaved, and her pulse kicked against his feather touch. His brow furrowed in concentration as if he were focusing on restraining his strength. The stroke left a path of turmoil behind and the unmistakable feeling of being alive. The pad of his thumb caressed her jaw and her bottom lip.
He closed his eyes, head tilted back exposing his bobbing Adam’s apple. “I can’t believe you’re allowing me to touch you.”
Oh, she’d allow him more than touch her on the neck. She placed a hand on his chest and sprawled her fingers. He growled, a deep sound reverberating in his chest. His eyes snapped open, revealing pitch-black pupils that were swallowing the gold of the irises.
“Hazel.” A warning note rang in his voice, but she ignored it.
She trailed her hand lower over the hard planes of his abdomen, tracing each defined muscle.
A tendon on his neck ticked faster, in rhythm with his rugged breathing. His gaze never left her mouth. She put a hand on his and slowly lowered it until the folds of the shirt parted and bared a breast. He followed the gesture, and her nipples hardened under his stare. She dragged his hand farther down until it covered the hard peak. Then she arched her back, thrusting her breast into his wide, hot palm. Heat spilled inside her when his fingers closed gently over the soft skin.
“I, I can’t,” he said so quietly she barely caught it. He didn’t remove his hand though. A tentative thumb stroked her nipple, the simple touch was like a bolt of lightning striking through her.
“Don’t think then. Just do it.” She closed the distance between them and pressed a kiss on his mouth.
His unexpectedly soft lips didn’t yield. She coaxed them open with a swirl of her tongue that tore another growl from him. When she explored his velvety mouth, his thumb rubbed her nipple harder, turning it into a hard, aching peak. Her back wilted under his touch and with each stroke of his tongue.
He pressed harder against her, his mouth moving faster and devouring her lips.
Then the floor shook. The window rattled, and the noise of drawers and doors slamming closed ricoch
eted off the walls. A scorching gust of wind swept the room, and Tyon leapt back. His upper lip was curled into a snarl, fear shadowing his eyes. “I can’t do this.”
She panted, her breast still warm from his hand. His taste lingered on her tongue. “Why?” Another quake of the floor. “And what is this?”
He ran his hands over his face. His shoulders rose and fell. “I can’t lose control of my power.”
For once, she didn’t reply. The quake had been real. Could it be him? He’d told her his power could be dangerous.
Tyon lowered his hand, gaze narrowing. “The presence I felt before. It had to be a sin-breather. He contaminated you with lust. That’s why you kissed me.” The hurt in his voice crushed her chest.
Oh, not again. She closed the lapels of her dressing gown with one yank. “Don’t start again. This is ridiculous. I kissed you because I wanted to. No one forced me, even less a supernatural entity.” She snapped the sash tight. “Although I’m wondering why the hell I kissed you since you so obviously aren’t interested.”
“Didn’t you feel the floor trembling?”
“I did! So what? I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for it.”
His nostrils flared. “There is, and it’s that my power is coming out. It can bring down the house if I let it.”
“Oh, please.” She leaned against the windowsill. “I’m a scientist. I believe in evidence and things I can proof, not sorcery.”
“There are things in this world science can’t explain.”
“No.” She lifted a finger. “There are only things not yet explained. Everything has a scientific reason, and—” The clouds parted, and moonlight flooded her hand. She blinked when a blue glow shone from her palm.
The silhouette of a phoenix gleamed on her skin. Neck stretched up, curved beak, wide wings.
A secret only the moonlight can reveal.
The words the Monk had told her replayed in her mind. “Oh Lord.” Hazel stretched her hand open, and the phoenix shone in its full glory. “I-it wasn’t a dream.”
The Pact of the White Blade Knights Page 13