Soulbound

by Kristen Callihan

  Somehow her mouth formed words. “And what do you believe me to be, Mr. Stone?”

  His eyes gleamed, a mesmerizing brilliant peridot. “Quarteron. Gens de couleur.”

  Though his remark was the last thing she expected, the tension along Eliza’s neck released.

  “Your golden fae hair makes it harder to detect,” Lucien observed. “Then again, les quarteron are as varied as they are beautiful.”

  “I’ve never tried to hide it, if that is what you were implying.” Eliza was proud of her parentage, but to use it for sympathy or gain she would never do.

  “No, I do not suppose that you have. Nor would I.” Again that wry smile. “Birds of a feather, are we not, fille?”

  Eliza had known Lucien was quarteron as soon as she’d laid eyes upon him. “I’d say you were more of a peacock to my plain plumage.”

  Lucien chuckled. “You are exquisite. And this?” He waved an elegant hand along his frame. “Is stolen. Long ago, my body and that of my lover were destroyed. Murdered for being blights against God and nature.” For once, Lucien’s expression was stone. “I chose to inhabit my lover’s body instead of my own.”

  A pulse of surprise went through Eliza’s middle. He saw it, but merely blinked, as if bracing himself for her censure. She did not blame him for that assumption; by English law, what he’d revealed to her could land him in prison. It most certainly would have him spurned by society. Eliza gathered he cared little for either the law or society. As to why he felt the need to tell her, she did not know.

  “And your lover?” she asked.

  “He chose to move on.” Another negligent shrug. Then his gaze pinned hers. “Do I shock you?”

  “A bit.” She too shrugged. “That you chose his body instead of your own. It is… odd.”

  Lucien’s lips twitched. She’d surprised him again, it seemed. But his tone was insouciant. “His was far more beautiful. And it was quite an effective reminder of… many things,” he finished quietly. “It was Adam who suggested I go to London, away from the oppression of America.” For a moment, he looked lost in the past; then his expression grew thoughtful. “Had Adam understood your family history, he might have treated you differently. Most certainly he would have not kept you in chains.”

  Eliza had her doubts about that. “My familial origins ought not matter. No person ought to be enslaved.”

  The gems on Lucien’s rings flashed as he slowly drummed his fingers. “You sought to test him.”

  “Hardly. He ought to have released me from those chains because I asked. And for no other reason.”

  “This is true, and yet I’m thinking you have not experienced the ribald fear of losing your heart’s desire. You do not understand how such fear can shatter logic and make a man do what he might not otherwise consider.” With unexpected tenderness, he reached out and cupped her cheek. Eliza stared back, unable to move as the glow in his eyes intensified. “Tell him, ma chère.”

  “Tell me what?” Adam’s deep voice sliced through the air like a scythe, and Eliza jumped within her skin. But she was slow to turn her head. His expression was dark; his eyes copper bright in the dim light and fixated on Lucien’s hand upon her cheek. A muscle along his jaw twitched. “I assume you are referring to me. Or are there other men you’ve kept secrets from?”

  Lucien, sly devil that he was, did not let go of her, nor look away from her face. “We were referring to you, mon commandant. As to what?” He raised a dark brow, giving Eliza a pointed look, and waited.

  Eliza glared, not taking her gaze from Lucien either. “I was telling Lucien that he was as pretty as a peacock.”

  The room fell to heavy silence, Lucien grinning wide and pleased, and the weight of Adam’s displeasure pressed against her back.

  “Oh,” whispered Lucien, “you shall do nicely.”

  The pocket watch Lucien had given her ticked along with a tiny click, click, click, and then Adam’s voice, hard and rough, crashed over her. “Are you going to tell me the truth?”

  Fists pushed deep into the pockets of his ratty jacket, Adam forced himself to remain still, to not take hold of Lucien, the little pismire, and pummel him. He knew full well that Lucien sought to antagonize him. The man was in a mood over some transgression Adam had unknowingly made, and this was his revenge. It had bloody well worked.

  “I do believe,” said the canny bastard, “that I shall leave you two to your tête-à-tête.” Swift as a bird, Lucien rose and gave Adam a bow. Adam waited until Lucien glided past to grab him by the elbow.

  Lucien halted, his expression impassive, but there was a challenge in his eyes. He wanted a fight. Adam leaned in, hovering over the slighter man. “I want you to send word to Augustus. You know how to do this, I assume?”

  It was almost amusing the way Lucien’s face clouded in confusion, save Adam wasn’t in the mood for levity.

  “I do,” Lucien said finally.

  “Good. Tell him that St. John is under Mab’s control. A blood bond. He may well know. But perhaps not the extent.” Adam had thought of St. John when he’d told his tale. The boy likely suffered more than simply heeding the bitch’s orders.

  Frowning, Lucien gave Adam a short nod of acknowledgment. Adam let him go, giving him a warning glare that conveyed his displeasure and the knowledge that he’d soon lose his temper were Lucien not out of his sight. Smartly, his second in command quit the room with due haste, leaving Adam alone with Eliza.

  “What did you say to him?” Her tone was accusatory, as though she’d protect Lucien if she must.

  Adam ground his teeth together until his jaw ached. The bastard had been cupping Eliza’s cheek with tender familiarity. Touching smooth flesh that Adam ached to… He took a deep breath, fighting off the urge to roar. It did not matter that he knew Lucien had no desire for women; in his mind, Adam could almost feel the shape of his old sword handle against his palms, the weight of it and how much force he’d need to slice it. Clean through Lucien’s neck.

  Temper, temper. Adam slowed his breathing and brought his attention back to her. Whether or not that was wise, he did not know. As always, simply looking upon her was a kick to his gut. From the beginning, he’d felt the primal instinct to claim. A call within that shouted: mine. As a warrior, he’d trusted his instincts. They had kept him alive in battle. But the fiend he’d been for centuries had lived by cold calculation and logic. And his mind told him to proceed with caution. Eliza May had softened towards him, but she was still skittish.

  As it was, she sat, half turned in her chair, a slender arm draped over the back of it, and glared at him, those luminous brown eyes full of wariness. It had been unsettling to see her and Lucien together, their heads nearly touching. Neither of them possessed the milk-white skin of Londoners. They shared a golden, honeyed glow, as if the sun had blessed them with its favor. Beautiful creatures both, with bold features and full lips. A pretty picture, they made. As if they belonged together.

  Though Eliza held the look of the fae as well. It was in the satin gloss of her dark gold curls, and the way her eyes tipped up at the corners, their color so deep brown they held a hint of purple. And she’d been sharing a confidence with Lucien.

  “Answer my questions, and I shall answer yours.” His voice sounded like rust, his throat raw, as if he had been shouting. “Is this about the fae?”

  “No, not the fae —”

  “Then what? You will tell me now, Eliza. I am weary of your secrets.” As soon as he made the demand, he knew he’d erred.

  Her nostrils flared on a drawn breath. “You realize that I am under no obligation to tell you anything.”

  Adam ran a hand over his tight jaw. “I lashed out in jealousy, dove. You ken? It… you have the unique ability to steal my reason, if I’m speaking true.” And wasn’t that bloody inconvenient, when he needed all his wits about him.

  She held his gaze for a moment, then the starch went out of her shoulders, and her tone went soft. “It was nothing. I suspect Lucien was merel
y trying to annoy you.”

  She stood, and the movement sent the light of the sun across her skin. Something glimmered there, a flash that caught his eye. Perhaps he’d seen it because his paranoia ran high at the moment, but Adam could not stop himself from reaching out and tracing his fingers along her collarbone.

  Eliza stiffened, but did not back away from him. His fingers snared the invisible chain, and when he lifted it off her skin, the tiny pocket watch dangled before him. Adam stared at it, memories and a strange heaviness clamped down on his heart.

  “Lucien gave it to me.” Eliza’s tone was defensive, if not slightly shaken. She was wary of the watch. Wary of him once more.

  “This is mine.” You are mine.

  Her pert chin raised a notch. “Then why was it in Lucien’s possession?”

  “He was keeping it safe for me.” Adam’s mind drifted off, thinking of those dark hours when Eliza had first escaped him and he knew he must give himself over to Mab. It was then he’d placed the watch in Lucien’s reluctant hand.

  “This is the heart and soul of the GIM. Keep them well. Keep them safe. You are their king now.”

  Lucien’s expression had been grim, angry. “It is your heart and soul as well. I am but a caretaker until you can retrieve it, mon ami.”

  Adam’s hand trembled as he lifted the piece higher, the light catching the crystal and sparking a rainbow of color against his dull coat front. “Do you know what this is?” he asked Eliza in a low voice.

  “Other than a watch?” Eliza shook her head. “Lucien would not tell me. Only that I must keep it safe.” A little wrinkle formed along the bridge of her blunt, straight nose. “He said that it belonged with me.”

  An odd lump filled Adam’s throat. “I suppose it does.” The watch would not have allowed itself to be worn by her if it weren’t so. “Wear it against your skin. Do not let anyone see or know of its existence.”

  He knew his expression was hard, unyielding, but she needed to understand. Thankfully, she gave a solemn nod. “I will. But… If it is truly yours, then you ought to have it back.”

  “No. It isn’t safe.” He met her curious gaze. “Not when Mab wants my soul.”

  The pillow of her bottom lip pushed out enough to catch his attention and hold it. “Adam…”

  God, but he loved the husky way in which she spoke.

  “If I cannot…” She trailed off again, a huff of impatience leaving her. And then her head tilted down as if she could no longer hold it high. “What if I cannot help set you free?” she finished in a small voice.

  A real fear. As he could not force her to want him. He ran his thumb along the smooth edge of the watch. “I wish…”

  Her gaze was a touch on his skin. “What do you wish?”

  Adam’s chest lifted on a breath, and he made himself face her. “That we could trust each other. That you would believe it when I told you I’d never hurt or betray you.”

  Pansy-purple flooded her irises, so fae that something inside him balked, even as he found himself drifting closer. Or perhaps she did. It did not matter who moved, only that the soft rise of her breast brushed against his forearm, that her lips parted, the rosy color and plump curve of them tempting him to taste her again, endlessly.

  “And what of you?” she asked. “Will you put your trust in me?”

  He wanted to say yes. But he’d been alone, without anyone knowing his truths, for hundreds of years. And his throat closed around the word. “Tell me what you spoke of with Lucien,” he found himself saying.

  Instantly, her long lashes swept down, hiding her eyes from him. “No.” She moved to step away from him, and his hand grasped the watch, holding her in place.

  Eliza’s sweet mouth compressed, but she did not look up. “Let me go, Adam.”

  He wanted to. Maybe that was the true way to gain her acceptance, her love. But he could not make his fingers relax. “Why won’t you tell me?”

  Only then did she lift her eyes to his. “When it ceases to matter, then maybe I will.” Her step was so abrupt and swift that the watch slipped from his grasp. And so did she. Again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Do you know where she’s gone?” Mab’s question came out light, almost unconcerned, but the way she pinned Sin with a stare was anything but. She’d flay him alive and enjoy it.

  Sin leaned against the doorframe, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets, his heart thudding against his ribs. “No.”

  “Mmm…” Mab trailed one claw-tipped finger over the green velvet brocade divan where she lay. She’d summoned him to her rooms with the message to make haste. And Sin had complied. Because he could never do otherwise. Mab’s eyes turned fully purple as she watched him now. “Are you certain?”

  “Madam, you’ve made certain that I cannot lie to you.”

  “And yet there are ways to slip around the truth.” Again her pointed claw dragged along the fabric, deeper this time, snagging in the velvet and leaving a jagged scar in its wake. A smile curled over her carmine lips. “Isn’t there, my sweet meat?”

  Revulsion caught him by the cods and held on with an icy grip. He fucking hated that nickname, and what often came after. Sin swallowed back bile. Fuck it all to hell, he was done. Done being her pawn. “Then I shall put it thusly. I made bloody well sure Eliza May would know not to trust me.”

  Rage flashed in Mab’s eyes. And Sin was honest enough to admit that it terrified him. But he held still. And she suddenly laughed, showing her pointed teeth. “Clever boy. Are we growing into a man now?”

  God, would he ever be clean? Or would he feel the taint of his misdeeds for a lifetime?

  Mab stirred, drawing his attention back to her. A pale green silk dressing gown encased her slim body, and when she lifted her knee, the silk slid away from her white thigh. A pretty sight. It made Sin’s insides heave. She watched him with narrowed eyes as she slowly spread her legs, exposing a wet and waiting quim.

  He wanted to die. He knew that now. Die, rather than touch her. And yet a fierce and sudden rage came upon him. He would not let her win. He’d not end himself because of her.

  Mab drew a finger along her plump, pink seam. “Come along then, sweet meat. I require release.”

  He swallowed down his hate and revulsion. Tapped it down deep inside of himself and went numb. She was nothing. His body was nothing but a receptacle for his soul. He told himself this. And it still didn’t matter. He still felt everything.

  Instead of using the horrid submarine, Adam took Eliza to Kew by way of a pleasure cruise. Dressed now as a lady and gentleman of good stock, they blended in with a large group of people intent upon picnicking at Kew Gardens. However, despite the gaiety surrounding them, the trip had been somber and silent.

  They disembarked without a word exchanged, and Adam set off down the country lane, his back straight and his jaw clenched.

  He was angry with her, she knew. Guilt in regards to Adam was a new sensation for Eliza. Before now, her anger or withdrawal from him felt justified. They’d had a horrible courtship, if one could call it that. But the truth of the matter could not be ignored; he was courting her, if only in his odd, managing way. Eliza supposed as a battle-hardened knight turned immortal demigod – and didn’t that fact make her head spin – he had much to learn about tender feelings and tact. He’d lived his life either taking or demanding. Not that she was inclined to let him off that particular hook. Adam had been a bastard.

  But he was also trying. And he was charming. Charming the knickers right off of me, she thought wryly. One kiss had her so hot and bothered that thinking about it left her slick and wanting. If she let him into her body? She wouldn’t be able to think straight. In truth, she wanted him. Quite desperately.

  She’d hurt him when she’d refused to answer his questions. He was a proud man. Just as she was a proud woman. Had the tables been turned, she’d be stomping about, wanting to brain him with her reticule.

  But the proprietary way in which he’d questioned her ha
d irked, and Eliza had not particularly cared to answer him. Even so, the stiff set of his shoulders and his utter silence left her feeling unsettled. She’d elevated silence to an art form in her dealings with him before. Was this how he felt? Shut out and aggravated and craving a mere word or nod of acknowledgment? She swallowed down a lump of ugly emotion, but it still poured out of her with a sharp tongue. “My grandfather was a slave.”

  Ahead of her Adam halted. The wind pressed his coat against his back, outlining the leanness of it. “A slave,” he repeated in a dull voice. “In the States?”

  “Yes. On my mother’s side. His master set him free upon his death. Later, Grandpa Joseph served as an army surgeon in our Civil War.” A distinction of honor, even if he’d only been allowed to operate on his own kind.

  Adam ducked his head and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

  In the silence, Eliza took a breath. Did he think less of her now? She did not rightly care. Only that, if he did, she’d leave him where he stood, the world and its problems be damned. Typhoid had swept through Boston and wiped out her entire family, save Grandda Aiden and herself. But she still missed Grandpa Joseph, missed them all. And she would never be ashamed of them.

  “Lucien recognized me as a quarteron. I am a woman of color.”

  Adam’s entire body tensed, and it seemed he squeezed the bridge of his nose harder. Then with a sigh, he turned, Eliza opened her mouth – to say what – she did not know, but he hauled her close and pressed his lips against her temple. “I am a wee shite, Eliza. I know that. An utter shite, do you hear?”

  She heard. But he gripped her arms as though he wanted to sink into her skin. “I chained you.”

  He sounded so woebegone that she nearly smiled, but she stood stiffly in his arms, not wanting to yield to his comfort. “Adam, it ought not to matter. Chaining another is wrong, regardless of who their grandparents were.”

  “I know,” he said in a small voice, his words muffled in her hair. “And yet I’m compelled to admit that I still feel worse for knowing.”