Soulbound

by Kristen Callihan

  With ill grace, she sat upon one of the narrow seats that ran down the middle of the boat. Able to fit two people each, the benches were spaced in a checkerboard pattern so that the passengers’ weight was equally distributed throughout. Or so said a brusque Holly as she finished giving a dockside Thorne instructions on how to release the craft from its moorings and then closed the hatch. The sound was a dull and final boom.

  It was fine. Safe. Holly was brilliant. Eliza repeated this mantra as her cousin took the captain’s seat and messed about with various nobs and levers. The engine started with a horrible buzz and made conversing impossible. Not that she’d be able to. Adam had crawled up to sit by Holly and was now having an animated discussion, involving his pointing to things of interest and generally grinning about like a child at an iced-cream cart.

  Eliza braced herself as the craft gave a hard lurch and then simply sank. Gads, what a sensation. She felt as though she too were falling. Darkness descended as they slipped into the murky waters of the Thames. Under the water. Eliza shifted in her seat, trying not to let her thoughts run wild.

  The air was hot and stale. Barely moving. Sweat trickled. Holly had promised that the trip would take no more than ten to fifteen minutes. They hadn’t very far to go to reach Lucien’s barge, but the submarine must move at a snail’s pace to avoid debris and detection.

  To Eliza, every second felt an eternity. Distantly she heard the deep cadence of Adam’s voice, paired with Holly’s lighter tones. But the engine noise was too loud to understand what they were saying. Eliza closed her eyes and practiced taking even breaths.

  “You look ill,” Adam said in her ear.

  She yelped. From the front, Holly sent a worried look over her shoulder but soon set her attention back on her instrument panel.

  “You scared the blazes out of me,” Eliza said to a still-smiling Adam.

  “Apologies.” His big frame barely fit on the seat next to hers, and their shoulders pressed together.

  “It’s all right.” Eliza managed to peek at him, not really wanting to open her eyes and remember where they were. “You love this.”

  “The submarine?” He glanced about as though entranced. “It’s marvelous. Miss Evernight is a wonder.”

  “Mmm.” Eliza tucked her clammy hands beneath her thighs in an effort to warm them. “I’d forgotten, you love technological advancements as much as she does.”

  He gave a start of surprise, and his upper arm rubbed over her shoulder, so much taller was he. “You noticed that?” His voice was soft, and she fidgeted. Yes, she’d noticed. Adam had always appreciated modern conveniences, and during the time she’d spent chained by his side, he’d often pop into factories to watch great machines chug away.

  Eliza filled the silence between them. “Holly would make an ideal companion for you.” It was the truth. Adam could wax on about cogs and pistons or whatever with Holly, while Eliza would likely fall asleep out of sheer boredom.

  She felt him turn in her direction and forced herself to turn as well. His eyes were narrowed, his wide mouth tight, but when he spoke, his tone remained mild. “Aside from the fact that Will Thorne owns her heart, Holly Evernight and I would not do. We are both far too analytical and would bore each other within a week. ” Again he studied her. “Is this some sad attempt to drive me off?”

  “Hardly.” Her laugh sounded false. “I’m merely saying, if you were to look past all this soul mate drivel, you might realize that there are women better suited for you.”

  “Hmm.” He scratched his blunt chin where, even now, dark stubble grew. “And what of you? Perhaps a man such as young St. John might entice? He is, after all, your age and quite pretty to look at. I’m certain many young ladies fall in a swoon whenever he passes by.”

  Eliza’s lips twitched at the way Adam could not quite hide his disgruntlement. “First, you insult me by assuming that appearance is the only attribute in a man that I, no, that my entire sex finds attractive. Second, Sin is my cousin.”

  “He’s a second cousin, at the closest,” Adam countered, with an apparent dogged determination to annoy her. “Kings and queens have coupled with closer kin.”

  She shot him a sidelong glare and found him grinning. “You’re teasing me.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Aye, sweet Eliza, I’m teasing. Besides” – he leaned in and murmured against her ear in his sinful voice – “you do not want to fuck him.” The tip of his tongue flicked her earlobe. “And I don’t want to fuck her.”

  Eliza jumped, her face heating, her breath coming short. “And you presume to know who I’d like to fuck?” If he could say the word, so could she.

  Adam’s nostrils flared on a sharp breath, his expression turning carnal. “No presumptions necessary. All you need do is work up the courage to ask, dove. Believe me, I shall comply.”

  She wrenched her head back. Arrogant bore. She might have said so. But then the craft turned, sending her tilting and the engines groaning. Eliza’s insides pitched. Adam gave her an assessing look, then wrapped his arm about her shoulders and drew her to him. Eliza stiffened. She’d seen him nude, bathed his body, held him up, but this embraced was different. Despite her annoyance with his teasing, his hold was a comfort, his strength warm and solid, his arm secure. And she let herself sink into it, not think of anything else but the scent of his linen shirt against her nose and the delicious fragrance of his body.

  All this time, she’d done an admirable job of blocking out that scent. He’d been dirty, blood soaked, and she’d been distracted. She wasn’t now. Taking another slow breath, Eliza drew more of him into her lungs. Spice, buttery rich, like Christmas cakes. His body tensed, the pectoral muscle beneath her hand lifting a bit when it tightened. She had the mad urge to dig her fingers into his solid strength. Enfolded in his arms, the noise around them was dulled, the swaying less marked. She’d almost drifted off when his hand moved. The warm weight of his palm glided up her waist, slowly, steadily.

  Eliza’s eyes snapped open, but she held herself still, her heartbeat kicking into her ribs, her breath going light. Neither of them spoke. They barely moved, save his hand, which drew inexorably closer to her breast. A sweat broke over her skin. Eliza found herself moving ever so slightly forward, into his seeking touch.

  He must have noticed, for he swallowed audibly. Though Eliza could not see him, she felt the shiver go down his chest and his thighs twitch. And when his palm finally slid over the swell of her breast, they both took a sharp breath. Eliza’s eyes fluttered closed. His hand engulfed her breast, warm, firm, and holding all of her attention. He gave her a little squeeze.

  A huff of breath left her, and Eliza turned farther into his touch, burrowing her nose in his lumpy cravat, her fingers grasping the loose folds of his coat. A fine tremor took hold of his body, but he did not stop kneading her breast, exploring the contours of it with his fingers.

  The lawn shirt, chemise, and corset she wore provided little padding against his touch, and his questing thumb soon found the nub of her nipple. He made a sound, a low grunt, and his grip around her shoulders tightened, holding her in place as the blunt tip of his thumb rubbed a torturous circle over her aching flesh.

  “Adam.” It was a plea to stop. Gods, he had to stop. Her sex throbbed now, at once swelling and clenching with the need to be filled. “Holly will see.” Eliza whispered it against his neck, not knowing if he could hear. Perhaps that was the point; perhaps he wouldn’t and keep going.

  But he pressed his mouth to her ear. “I don’t care.”

  And then very slowly but very firmly, he pinched her tender nipple, not releasing it but building the pressure. Eliza gave a wordless cry, arching into him, a shudder of heat wracking through her. She didn’t know what she might have done, had the entire craft not come to an abrupt halt. From a distance, she heard Holly’s voice, crisp with command. “We’ve come alongside the barge.”

  Lucien’s barge was, as Adam had said, deserted. And destroyed. Someone had t
orn through it, throwing furniture pell-mell, ripping silken drapes from their heavy brass hangers. What appeared to be a once-decadent pleasure home was now in tatters.

  Adam’s strong features took on a fearsome cast as they walked down the narrow hall. “This will not go unanswered.” The man who had impudently fondled her breast and given her a wink just before they’d stepped out of the submarine was gone. This Adam stood taller, his broad shoulders practically brushing the walls, his expression fierce.

  The passage ended at an ornately carved door. Inside were the remains of a dining room, a fairly large space that took up the back third of the barge. This, too, had met destruction. Adam stepped over a fallen chair, as Eliza picked her way past broken glassware, the floor sticky with spilt wine. No blood, however.

  Adam stopped at the bulkhead beam running across the back picture window. Intricately carved fleurs-de-lis decorated the beam. Delicately, Adam ran the tip of his finger along one of the marks. “Long ago, the angel Augustus told me to hide anything of value in a place that will stand the test of time.”

  That the man before her spoke lightly of conversing with angels had Eliza’s head reeling, but she pushed that aside. She’d long since fallen off the map of normalcy. “You remained in contact with Augustus? Even after the part he played in your curse?”

  “Of course. I bear him no ill will. He did what he could to help.” Adam shrugged. “In truth, I consider Augustus a friend of sorts. One such as I does not have the opportunity to converse with many others.”

  Eliza did not want to think about Adam’s years of isolation. She did not want to pity him, nor did she think he’d take kindly to her doing so. Instead she glanced about. “I’d hardly call a barge a place of lasting permanence.”

  “That is because you don’t know Lucien. The man would never let his home go.” A shadow of worry fell over Adam’s countenance, but he blinked and the look was gone.

  “What if it sank? Or caught fire?”

  The corners of his mouth curled in a half-smile. Golden eyes glanced at her from over his shoulder. “You are quite the pessimist.”

  She felt her face heat. “I’d call it practicality.”

  That made his mouth curl in a half-smile, but he did not answer. Instead he pulled a pocketknife out, flicked it open, and pushed the tip into a seemingly random place. A panel slid open to reveal a hidden space within the wall. Adam reached into the space and pulled out a long, fairly wide iron box. Clearly, it weighed quite a bit, for it fell to the floor with a decided thud. He grimaced. “Bloody thing weighed naught but a feather when I did not have these bloody chains on.”

  Eliza knelt next to the fallen box. There was a lock upon the thing, and it did not appear easily broken, nor had they brought any sort of tools to do the job.

  Adam saw the direction of her frown. “Not to worry.” He knelt next to her and took the box, turning it on its end, and simply tugged it. The entire thing slid open, and Adam smiled at her. “It’s built like a puzzle box. The lock is merely for show.”

  Inside lay a sword, at least four feet long, with a simple cross-shaped hilt that appeared to be made of iron.

  “Ah, now,” crooned Adam, “here we are, then.” With infinite care, as though he were handling a babe, he lifted the sword out, and a sigh seemed to go through him. “Ah, my lovely, it’s been far too long.”

  “Shall I leave you two alone, then?” Eliza’s lips twitched. She’d never seen such a look of reverence mixed with old familiarity. It was nearly indecent.

  Adam spared her a glance. “Quiet woman, a man’s relationship with his sword is a sacred thing.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Saucy wench.” But his words held no anger. Almost tenderly, he ran the tips of his fingers over the plain hilt, and his breath visibly caught. “We’ve been through a lot together, this sword and I. Many a battle won with her in my hand.” He grasped the hilt and held it firm. In that moment, his eyes closed, as though it were almost too much for him.

  When he opened them again, they were bright with emotion. “I claimed this sword in Jerusalem, after a skirmish. It called to me, felt right in my hand.” He made a sound of wry amusement. “Perhaps it was fate, after all, for I later learned that this is a fae weapon, crafted in their world. How it came to be in Jerusalem, I know not, but it has been mine ever since.” Adam held the sword out to her, presenting it with two hands. “A fae-made sword ought to cut through these chains like a knife through pudding. Strike the cuffs directly.”

  Eliza blinked. “What? You expect me to cut them off?”

  He looked at her as though she were daft. “Only my bride can cut the chains. Or do you think I’m capable of doing this myself?”

  Well, of course he couldn’t. Only she’d never wielded a sword in her life. Eliza kept her hands upon her lap. “And if the sword does as you predict, I could end up cutting off your hands in the process.” She swallowed reflexively. No, she would not be ill now. Save that for later.

  His eyes gleamed with humor. “You’re wise to worry, lass. I can assure, you do not want me to lose my hands.” He grinned broadly, looking darkly handsome, before sobering when she paled. “Have faith, Eliza. You’ll not injure me. I promise.”

  Muttering things best not said by ladies, Eliza took hold of the ancient weapon. The leather-wrapped hilt slipped against her damp palms, and she fought back a wave of mad laughter. She could do this. Adam laid his arms across the iron box and waited for her, his strong, corded forearms relaxed, the thick cuffs around his wrists glinting in the torchlight. One strike. She’d come at it in a slight angle, hopefully missing his hands, and, please, dear God, with just enough force to cut the metal and not through his limbs.

  Adam’s deep voice came as if from a distance. “Swift and true, Eliza May.”

  Taking a breath, she lifted the monstrous sword and struck. The blade hit with a shower of sparks and the clear ringing of steel. And then Adam bellowed, his great body falling back as he clutched his arms to his chest, curling over them as if in agony.

  Eliza cried out in terror, tossing the sword aside, and flinging herself upon him. “Adam! Where did I hit? Let me see.”

  She got as far as touching his head before her caught her up and tumbled her back onto the ground, his arms – quite unharmed – wrapping around her as he laughed with abandon. Shocked, Eliza stared up at him, his head thrown back, his eyes crinkled into half-moons by his laughter. And then she broke.

  “You complete and utter bastard,” she shouted, pounding her fist against the curve of his shoulder. He only laughed harder, tearing up with it, his solid body shaking on top of her.

  “Oh, but you should have seen your face,” he got out between chortles. He pulled back then and made a ridiculous expression of wide-eyed horror. Eliza would kill him now. As soon as she was free. She wiggled against him, trying to get in a good hit, but he held her too close as he laughed on.

  “Vile, hateful… shitting pig!” Her blows grew to light slaps as a small snort left her. No! No, she would not laugh. But his laughter was too infectious, and she found herself joining in. They lay upon the ground, cackling like loons, until her side pinched. She didn’t want it to stop. He was all around her, his body protecting hers, his joy flowing like a warm wave. Nothing else mattered. She needn’t think of who they were or what they were doing. She could just be.

  Eventually, her laughter ebbed, leaving a pleasant ache within her chest. “That was a terrible thing to do, Adam.” But she was no longer truly angry, and her words came out low and easy.

  At the sound of his name, a pleased light entered his eyes. “Yes, I know.” The way he looked her over, as if luxuriating in the sight of her, sent a small but heated shiver down her spine.

  “I’ll not be sorry,” he said so softly, it was a caress. “You were wound so tight, fear and guilt making those warm brown eyes of yours go cold. I’d rather see them alight with life, even if it means you’re railing at me.”

  His thu
mb stroked her temple, slower now, and his gaze grew slumberous and hot. “I like playing with you, Eliza.”

  Everything inside of her became slow and quiet, until each breath seemed to brush along the small space between them. “I know.”

  He’d been a virtuous knight and an isolated king. When had he ever been a mere man but when he was with her? As for Eliza, she’d never been able to laugh or play with carefree abandon. Not since she was a child.

  She did not feel like a child at the moment. The hard press of him against her soft, aching places grew more pronounced. She wanted to spread her thighs, let him sink farther in. He, who she’d resented for so long. Resented, yes, but never hated. She could admit that now. This man, handsome as sin, heady as spiced rum, had always tempted her.

  As if he knew her thoughts, Adam studied her face, his lips soft and parted. He leaned in, his attention set upon her mouth, and Eliza’s breath grew agitated. Yes, now. Past all logic that told her to retreat, Eliza slid her hand along his shoulder to cup the heated skin on the back of his neck, drawing him closer.

  At her touch, a sigh seemed to flow through him. “Eliza.”

  She loved the way he said her name, as though it were a song. She might have answered with a kiss. Only a sudden cold invaded the room, strong enough to halt her progress. He felt it too, for they turned as one, in time to see a low, rolling fog creeping along the floor. Tinged an ugly pea green, the fog seemed as though it had a life of its own. Adam made not a sound as he came to his feet in one smooth movement. Adam’s gaze stayed on the door, but his hand reached for her, and she took it, letting him help her up.

  “Eliza,” Adam said, his deep voice hard yet steady, “get well behind me.”

  She did not hesitate. Something was coming for them. Already the room grew icy.

  Adam picked up his sword, his grip on the hilt not tight but firm. He stood, feet planted apart, sword at the ready.