At the dark mouth of the doorway, lights flickered and shadows stretched. From out of the fog, dark shapes solidified into the forms of men. Four of them. They were tall and thin, their hair flowing free about their shoulders. Eliza needn’t see any more of them to know they were fae; she felt it in her bones.
The leader, a blond-haired man with purple eyes and fangs of black, spoke, his voice soft and melodic. “Aodh, you ought to have known we’d hear the sword as soon as you pulled it free of the iron box.”
“You presume that I did not expect your company.” Adam rolled his shoulders as though he were settling in, his body now loose and ready. His smile was not kind; it was hungry. “Shall we… converse?”
There was no other warning; the fight simply was. Eliza pushed back against the curved wooden wall as the four fae converged on Adam, long swords appearing in hand and whizzing with silver light through the air.
The thrill of the fight surged through Adam’s blood. He laughed with it, even as he sliced and pivoted. God, but he had missed this. Missed the marriage of his body and mind to fight with sword and fists. There were four men, fast and quick. Almost too fast, but the chains had been broken and the effect immediate. He was strong now. As he’d been as a knight.
Adam feinted right, kicked left. And then blocked a jab with his sword. One fae thrust his sword, aiming for Adam’s gut. He grabbed hold of the blade, the dull edge made for jabbing, not cutting, and wrenched the weapon from the fae’s grasp. Novices, he thought with disgust as he swung around and beheaded one man. An ordinary sword wouldn’t have done that, but this was fae iron. It cut through them like they were soft bread.
Sweat trickled down his spine as Adam hacked his way through the fae. His side stung, likely cut, but he didn’t slow. Until there was one. Their swords met again and again, a clatter of metal upon metal. Adam backed his opponent into a corner, his blows never ebbing. This he knew. It was rote. Even after all these years. And with an upswing, he caught the fae’s sword on the hilt, slicing away fingers. The fae male screamed, dropping his sword and clutching his hand.
Mellan sends me mere boys.
Adam stopped and pressed the point of his sword just at the base of the young fae’s throat. The lad stilled, his chest lifting and falling in a rapid pant.
“I’ve a message for Mellan,” Adam said. “I’ve bested him by this sword once before, and I’ll do it again. Come after me and what is mine and I’ll cut off his head.”
Licking his pasty lips, the fae gave a faint nod.
A soft, feminine scent stirred the air, as Eliza moved to his side. He’d kept Eliza in mind the entire time, knowing precisely where she was and making certain to draw the fight away from her. But he’d never looked her way, the threat of distraction too high.
Adam did not turn to acknowledge her now, but his body seemed to broaden, as if to form a wall between her and the fae warrior. The soft touch of her hand upon his elbow merely heightened the need to haul her out of harm’s way. Adam stayed the course.
“I’ve a message for Mellan as well.” Eliza’s voice was low yet strong. “We are through. I’ll die before doing his bidding again.”
A chill went through Adam at her words, and he leaned his weight towards her, letting his shoulder butt up against hers.
“Go on, then,” Adam told the fae, gesturing towards the door with his sword. “Before I simply send him your head instead.”
The young fae left on swift feet, a mere blur in his terror. If only he’d utilized that speed while fighting Adam, he might have had half a chance.
Winded, his body warm and pleasurably humming with the exertion of the fight, Adam let his sword arm lower and finally turned to Eliza. She glanced down at the bodies littering the floor. Tears stained her cheeks, reddened tracks against her skin.
“Love,” he began, taking a step in her direction. But then halted when she opened her mouth and began to laugh.
The sound lifted the hairs upon the back of his neck. It wasn’t a natural laugh, but a mad, crazed cackled. Something about it shriveled his insides and drew his cods up tight in terror.
Her neck arched as she threw her head back and howled.
“Eliza!” His shout came from deep within him, and she reacted as though slapped.
With a flinch, she snapped her mouth shut. Wide, fearful eyes met his, and then she turned heel and fled.
Adam found her at the end of the long, narrow hall, just before it opened onto the fore deck. Her slim figure was a dark silhouette against the bright entrance. She stood, hand upon the wall, back stiff as washday starch. She might have simply been waiting for him, but it was the steady way she held herself, as if taking too deep a breath would make her crumple, that had him approaching her with care.
She stiffened further as he stepped near, but she did not turn. Pale sunlight shone down on the tops of her cheeks, giving them a soft peach blush. There was something about the curve of her cheek, the vulnerable delicacy of it, that made him want to cup her there, stroke his thumb along the sweet, cupid’s bow of her upper lip.
He shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets instead. “Would you like to talk?”
For a long moment, she stared off into the distance. “What is there to say?” Her voice was too low, almost defeated.
Adam took a step closer, coming alongside her. At his back, the barge was cold and dark. Fresh air and warm sunlight caressed his face. He closed his eyes to the light and took a deep breath.
And her small, pained words reached him. “I laughed.”
He opened his eyes. “Yes.”
Their shoulders nearly touched, and he could sense her shiver.
“I laughed at their deaths like a mad woman.” A shuddering sigh broke from her. “I couldn’t stop myself.”
Hands still shoved in his pockets, Adam glanced down at his blood-splattered shoes. He rather thought she wouldn’t like it if he made eye contact just now. “And you think this somehow makes you evil?”
He felt her turning. Only then did he do the same. Wide, brown eyes gazed up at him. “Doesn’t it? What sort of person laughs at death?” She was almost shrill, panic creeping into her words.
“Are you telling me that you felt pleasure at seeing their deaths?” Adam asked.
Instantly her nose wrinkled. “No. God, no.”
He shrugged. “Then you are far better than I. It gave me great pleasure to cleave their heads from their necks.”
She made a noise of irritation. “But I laughed —”
“Eliza, love, people have all sorts of reactions when distressed. Some even laugh. I knew a warrior by the name of Godfrey. Brave, strong, skilled with the sword. Wore his flame-red beard long and pointed, and his foes often thought him the devil come to claim their souls.” Adam’s throat constricted as he thought of his old, long-dead friend. “And he was pious, devoutly so. Yet every time we’d pray after battle, he’d laugh.”
A smile lit through him. “He’d try to stifle it. His great shoulders would tense. A gurgle would sound at the back of his throat. And then, a small snort.” Adam glanced down at Eliza, and he found himself chuckling. “All it took was that one snort, and he’d go off like a lit fuse. Worse, once he laughed, we all fought not to, too, for the poor bastard had a laugh like a braying ass.”
Eliza bit the bottom of her lip, clearly fighting back a smile as well. “I cannot imagine a big, bad knight braying.”
“It was how he reacted after a battle. Understand, we’d work up this tremendous energy, victory and the thrill of the fight rushed through our veins. With no outlet but quiet reflection.” Again Adam shrugged. “Were we ordinary knights, we might have tupped it out of our system as other warriors did.”
Eliza’s cheeks pinked, and he leaned in a bit, unable to resist. “Lust, and the instinct to bed a woman, is a common reaction to fighting, you realize.”
One of her golden brows rose. “You were making a point about Godfrey laughing,” she said tartly.
; “We were Templar, sworn to live chaste and in service to God. Godfrey found no more humor in prayer than you find in murder. It was simply his way of releasing. Yours as well, apparently. The problem was that to laugh during prayer was considered blasphemy. Which was the last thing Godfrey meant to convey.” Adam thought of Godfrey and lowered his voice. “He might have been sentenced to death. Might have been accused of possession.”
Eliza’s eyes went wide. “What did he do?”
“Nothing for it, really.” Adam shrugged. “So every time he started up, we’d all laugh too. ’Tis one thing to lose a single knight. But to do away with the lot of us would have been too high a cost.”
“You protected him.” Her voice had a note of wonder.
“Aye, Eliza May, that we did.” He reached out and slowly took hold of her waist, drawing her to his side where she belonged. Perhaps it was testament to her being upset, or perhaps she was growing accustomed to his touch, but she did not resist. Adam rested his palm against the warm crown of her head and held her tight. “I will protect you as well, dove. Always.”
“Well now,” drawled a voice Adam had nearly given up hope of hearing again, “I never thought I’d see the day the two of you would cozy up together.”
Adam grinned down at Eliza and then turned his head to greet the man who’d interrupted them. “Lucien.”
Chapter Seventeen
Adam’s happiness in seeing Lucien, his right-hand man, was infectious, and Eliza could not help but smile as well as she greeted him.
“Hello, Lucien.” Despite her disgruntlement at Adam during the time he’d kept her captive, she’d always liked Lucien. A Southern Creole, the man was utterly beautiful, so finely formed that his features were almost feminine.
As always, he was dressed as a gentleman from the last century, wearing a satin frock coat and tight knee britches paired with white silk hose. However, there were circles under his eyes and a thinness about his mouth.
“Miss May.” He made a leg, bowing with grace. “Enchanted as always.” He glanced at Adam, and his mouth thinned even more. “Mon capitaine. I see you’ve decorated my barge. I cannot say I approve of the adornments, but our tastes have always differed, no?”
Adam smirked. “Were it you doing the decorating, the adornments would be far more lavish, I’m sure.” Adam’s grip upon Eliza’s waist tightened. She’d been aware that Adam kept his hold upon her as if she were his. But she did not want to shrug him off, not yet. Not when he was so happy. His voice rumbled over her, the vibrations humming along her side. “But where have you been?”
Lucien’s expression shuttered. “Away. I did not realize I was needed until I began to weaken.” He leaned against the wall. “You are aware that the GIM are not well?”
“Aye,” Adam said softly. “And there’s not a damn thing I can think to do about it.” His body tensed at Eliza’s side. “Other than find a way to destroy Mab.”
“Hmm…” Lucien glanced at Eliza, and the look in his eyes was calculating. Eliza eased away from Adam, feeling his resistance in the matter, but he let her go.
Lucien’s golden brown brow lifted a touch, but he looked back to Adam. “Her merry little band of fae, I am told, tore through my home.”
“It appears so,” said Adam.
“Looking for you?”
“That, and she wants the Golden Horn an Bás.”
Lucien walked past them in his gliding way, and they followed as he strolled down the dark hall to enter his dining room. He took in the destruction with a jaundiced eye. “I’ve heard of the horn, but some say it is one of the true myths.” With ease, he righted his pearl-inlaid chair and then went to pick up the others littered around his massive dining table. “Other stories insist that it is not an object, but a power, just as the GIM can leave their bodies.”
Adam guided Eliza to a chair and held it out for her. Rather macabre for them to be seated around a dining table, considering the bodies on the floor, but she took her seat.
“Mab thinks I know of its whereabouts.” Adam helped Lucien pick up other bits of overturned furniture around the table. “However, I am wondering if Mellan is leading her on a goose chase to occupy her while he plots his own little games.”
Lucien stopped in the act of righting a wine bottle. “That cunnard is here?”
“Unfortunately.” Adam glanced at Eliza. “He ordered Miss May to kill me.”
Lucien’s laugh was slow and full. “Oh very delightful.” He glanced at Eliza. “Biding your time, are you?”
“Perhaps I’ve decided to be rid of Adam’s cohorts first.” She smiled. “Starting with you.”
Undeterred, Lucien winked. “Eye sockets are quite vulnerable. I taught my lovely Mary Chase that when she was a mere GIM bebé.”
Eliza laughed, until Adam leaned a hip against the back of her chair, distracting her into abrupt silence.
“Mellan wants my sword,” Adam said.
“Doesn’t everyone,” Lucien muttered under his breath before brightening. “And your head, yes?”
Slightly pink in the cheeks, Adam answered curtly. “Yes. But I think what he really wants is a weapon to destroy his sister. With Mab gone, he’ll have total control over the throne.”
“Which means that he won’t stop until he’s taken the sword from you,” Eliza said.
Adam glanced down at her. The thick, black lashes rimming his eyes made the gold of his irises appear brighter. “Which means we must find a way to destroy them both.”
“Or pit them against each other,” Eliza countered, quite liking that idea.
His full lips curled in his familiar half-smile. “Or that.”
“Until you find a solution to that little problem,” said Lucien, “you must leave London. Go into hiding.”
“I’ve a mind of where to go,” Adam said. “We’ll be leaving within the hour.” He gave Eliza a small nod and then went to dispose of the bodies. It was a testament to his returning strength that he no longer limped and could easily heave a body over his shoulder.
Lucien, however, stayed behind. “I want to give you something.”
Eliza sat a bit straighter, the idea filling her with trepidation. The man was a known trickster. “Oh?”
Smiling a bit, he reached into his collar and pulled something over his head. Eliza could see him grasping the object, as if it were a necklace he wore, but the actual object wasn’t visible to the eye. With care, he came close, and the faint glimmer of a chain shone in his dark palm. “This is yours now.”
Intrigued, Eliza held out her hand, and he slid his gift into her palm. Shining like spider silk was a delicate cord, upon which rested an ornate pocket watch about the size of a silver dollar and seemingly made entirely of translucent crystal. “It is utterly beautiful.”
She’d never seen the like.
“It was made for you,” said Lucien with surprising gentleness.
Her head snapped up. “Me?” Her fingers curled around the watch, warmth infusing her hands. “But this is… It must have taken time to make this.” Years perhaps.
“I believe it took a century.” Lucien gave a lazy shrug. “But made for you, it was. Go on, ma chère. Put it on and let it rest against your heart where it belongs.”
Eliza was wary of doing so, but something about the watch called to her, and it was too great to ignore. She slipped the chain over her head. The instant the watch settled on her skin, it disappeared.
“Magic,” Lucien said with a smile. “And protection, so that no other might see it and be inspired to snatch it from your pretty neck.”
Unbidden, Eliza’s hand flew to her throat, and she touched the chain as if to assure herself that it was still there. “I do not understand why this is mine.”
Again Lucien shrugged. “I am not of a mind to explain at the moment.” He gave her a kind smile, however. “Wear it for me and keep it safe? You need not keep it when all of this is over, but for now, do an old Creole this one favor.”
“Well, I can ha
rdly ignore the request of such an aged gentleman,” she muttered, unable to quell her smile.
“You are as wise as you are beautiful,” Lucien said with a jaunty bow. Then, with liquid grace, he flowed into the chair, set an elbow on the table, rested his chin in the palm of his hand, and proceeded to look her over in frank appraisal.
Amused, Eliza settled more comfortably in her seat and returned his stare. Lucien’s full mouth pulled into a small smile. Frilly lace cascaded over the grass-green satin of his sleeve, the color offsetting his brilliant jade eyes. He really was extraordinarily beautiful for a man. It was in the deep honey of his skin, the sculpted features, but also the effortless way he carried himself.
His smile grew. “Careful now, mon fille, if Adam sees you looking at me in that manner, he shall become quite jealous.” Lucien’s expression said he would not mind that consequence one bit.
“How could he blame me?” she replied with sauce. “It is like gazing upon a piece of art.”
A laugh burst from him, and he slapped his be-ringed hand upon the table. “Ah, but you are delightful.” A fine rose tint rode along his cheeks. “I cannot remember the last time a woman had me blushing.”
Eliza had hoped her honesty would deter him from his study of her, but it did not. Glowing green eyes watched her once more. Though the humor remained, his voice was smooth cream. “I did not allow myself to fully look upon you before. He would not allow it.”
“But now you may?” she asked, not understanding why he would bother.
He gave a lazy shrug. “You are no longer attached to him by means of a chain. And as he is not around at the moment, I may look my fill.”
She spread her arms in an exaggerated fashion. “By all means.”
Lucien made a hum of amusement. “He knows not what you are, that much is clear.”
His statement drew the air from the room, replacing it with ice. Eliza struggled to breathe, to not jump up and run. How did he know? She wanted to shout the question. Worse, she wanted to beg him to give her answers. What was she truly? What did he see in her? The darkness? The dread?
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