Evernight

by Kristen Callihan

  “Accepted. Now take your drink.”

  He did not say a word as he took the cup from her and gingerly sat upon the sofa. As it was the only place left to sit, she took the spot next to him.

  His hand shook as he lifted his cup and drank deeply, his strong throat working on a swallow. The heavy fall of his silky hair pooled at the tops of his bare shoulders. Extraordinary how differently an unclothed Thorne smelled. Like baking bread, stoked fires, and pure, clean platinum.

  A lock of hair hid his eyes from her, and she had to resist the urge to tuck it back behind his ear. Such strange hair. Not coarse or tinged with yellow. It was the pristine white of fresh snow, shiny, smooth, and thick. Up close, one could detect glints of silver and pale gold highlights in the strands. The effect of his hair was even more startling in contrast with his unlined, dusky ivory skin and dark bronze brows.

  “How do you get away with this hair in society?” she found herself asking.

  His head jerked up. Eyes more silver than black stared at her. “You would be surprised by what one can get away with when one carries themselves with enough aplomb. Most think it some sort of infirmity or defect. Not,” he added, with a trace of amusement, “that I keep company around many humans.”

  “You never thought to cut it short?” At the very least, it would be less showy.

  His lip curled in distaste. “So I can look like one of them? A proper sanguis male would rather go to his grave than live with such an affront.” He glanced down at where his hair ended just below his collarbones. “It used to be longer, reaching the small of my back. But it…” He winced and touched his forehead. “I… cut it.” His elegant fingers, tipped with little claws that had shot out with shocking speed, rubbed a spot on his head. “I think because it was a detriment to fighting.”

  Confusion and irritation clouded his eyes as he lifted his head. “I don’t know.” His gaze flicked away. “Thank you for the chocolate. For remembering.”

  “Thorne.” She set her own cup of coffee down. “Have you any memory of attacking me just now?”

  The corners of his eyes tightened. “It wasn’t an attack. I wanted…” He shrugged. “I knew you’d take away the pain.”

  Knowing he needed more relief, she set her hand upon his platinum-covered biceps. His arm felt like flesh but was cold and entirely smooth. Holly curled her fingers around the corded muscle there, and a shiver went through his arm. Demon hot skin soon greeted her palm.

  He held still as she traced her fingers down his smooth and taut forearm. Even here, veins stood out against hard muscles. Gently, she turned his arm, exposing the soft, ivory inner flesh. At his wrist was a tattoo of a stylized crimson “N” circled by a crown of thorns. She’d seen this image before. On Amaros and his minions. Only the “N” had been in different colors and circled by different images, depending upon the person. Amaros had a pair of black wings sprouting from his.

  Thorne peered down at it dispassionately. “To signify my membership in the Nex.”

  The Nex, an order dedicated to bringing down the reign of humans and letting supernaturals live in the open. An idea that Holly could find merit in on principle, but in practice, knew that it would upset the world order. Despite their weaknesses, humans were far more plentiful in number, and they would not be able to tolerate the idea of the supernatural. Nor did Holly agree with the Nex’s methods, which favored fear, torture, and slaughter.

  “And the thorns? For your name?” Absently, she stroked the spot. Thorne broke out into gooseflesh, and she let her touch drift off.

  “No. It represents sanguis.” His expression gave none of his thoughts away.

  She moved on to his other arm where the flesh was still entirely platinum. Cold seeped into her hand as she rubbed along the surface, leaving ivory skin in her wake, and revealing yet another tattoo, this one larger. Thorne gave a small start as the black ink appeared. The design was of a long, wicked dagger, wrapped with more thorns. It traversed the length of his forearm, bisecting it with its darkness.

  Holly held his wrist in her hand, feeling the pulse beating there, and watched his expression alter from surprise to confusion to a deep frown. “And this one,” she asked in a low voice. “What does this one signify?”

  “I…” The soft curve of his bottom lip caught on a fang. “I cannot recall. When I try to think of anything more about that part of me, I simply see another wall of black.”

  “Has your memory been tampered with, do you suppose?”

  His brow quirked. “Tampered with or damaged?”

  “Your memory is certainly damaged. But the fact that you cannot recall even a glimmer of what this tattoo means suggests that certain memories may have been wiped clean.” There were supernaturals who could do such things. Primus, fae, witches.

  “It just becomes better and better.” Scowling, he looked up at her. “How long do I have, do you reckon? Before the metal takes over again?”

  Holly stared off into the dying embers behind the grate. It occurred to her how cold the room had grown. If not for the heat emanating from Thorne’s good side, she would be shivering. “I have not had a chance to study you.”

  A low growl rumbled in his throat. “Study me,” he scoffed. “As if I were a specimen under your scope.”

  He pulled away and went to search for his tunic, only to swear and toss it down upon finding it torn.

  “I cannot give you a precise answer unless I have gathered all the facts. Facts require study.” Holly sighed at his steadfast scowl. “All right. When do you think you fell asleep?”

  His mouth tightened. He would not look at her. “The last chime I remember was at five in the morning.”

  “You could not sleep?”

  He looked at her sidelong. “Sanguis are creatures of the night, love. Day, with its burning sunlight, is the time for slumber.” Thorne set his hands on his narrow hips and frowned at the mantel clock. “I must have passed out closer to six.”

  “Because your pain had started to increase?”

  “Darling,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “the sad truth is that it started the moment you took your little pinky off me, and it did not ease until you touched me this morning.”

  Which was most unfortunate.

  “So then,” she said as if not affected, “we parted ways at around two in the morning. You lost awareness at six, but did not rise until,” she glanced at the clock, “seven, which is presumably when the metal fully invaded your brain. Which, all other variables aside, gives you roughly—”

  “Four hours of lucidity,” he finished. “What do you mean, ‘all other variables’?”

  “Things that speed up or slow down the process. Last night, I observed that your agitation appeared to make the platinum spread at a more rapid pace. Drinking chocolate seems to calm you down, and thus the process as well.”

  He made a noise of reluctant agreement and turned away from her, as if he did not fancy her watching him so carefully. Which was ridiculous. How was she to help him if he did not let her study him?

  “I have some memories back,” he said. “There are places we need to visit after breakfast.”

  “But you are sanguis. You cannot go out in the day.”

  “No,” he answered with false patience, “sunlight burns my kind. It is raining,” he gestured to the window, “and I’ll be well covered by my clothing—Hell, I need clothing.”

  Holly stood. “We’ll find you something until you can get your own. My cousin St. John is about your size. I believe he’s left some things in his room.” She started for her door, not wanting to face him. “However, I shall stay here. I have things I need to do—”

  He caught hold of her arm and spun her round. The scent of chocolate and hot metal rose up from him. “You come with me.”

  She didn’t want to meet his eyes. A wall of resistance rose up within her. She needed to get away from him. “You do not need me to come with you.”

  “I need you to touch me.”
His cheeks, so sharply etched and defined, tinted with anger. “To keep me sane.”

  “We’ve just established that you have several hours before insanity occurs.”

  A huff of breath escaped him, and his grip grew almost painful on her arm. “Why are you resisting? Do you plan to bar me from the house as soon as I leave it? Because let me tell you—”

  “My reasons for staying here are my own.” When he moved to speak, she raised her voice. “I have given my word, Mr. Thorne. If you persist in trying to manage me, I shall withdraw it.”

  His fangs lowered a touch. “Try it and see what happens.”

  “I’d rather not.” She did not want to fight him. She simply wanted to get away and hide.

  They stood, facing off, neither one speaking. Her head pounded, panic sending little dots over her vision. He needed to let this go. She could not leave her house. She could not.

  Trying another track, Holly gave him what she hoped was a comforting smile. “I understand that you are afraid—”

  “The devil I am!” He looked appalled.

  “It isn’t anything to be ashamed about,” she said soothingly. “It’s only natural for you to want your hand held—”

  “Bloody hell, woman,” Thorne snapped, “conduct whatever mad experiments you want. I’ll go without you and be glad of the silence.” He moved as though to stalk from the room but came to an abrupt halt. His chin lifted in a surprisingly regal gesture. “This is my room. You get out.”

  Holly ducked her head demurely. “As you wish, Mr. Thorne.” She left with due haste so that he would not see her grin of victory.

  Chapter Four

  Will hated being shadow. He lost all sense of himself and felt only a soul-deep terror that he’d stay this way, without mind or body. It was a primal thing. And a state of being he did not want to attempt, but he had to if he wanted to travel without being seen. The risk of going mad was less now that Evernight had pushed her power through him. So he thought of a destination, then turned, hoping that his shadow self would take him there. Today he thought of home. His.

  Instantly his body dissipated, ice cold invading him. And then total, absolute blackness.

  He was not aware of time or distance. He came back to himself in a heap upon a cold marble floor with the shadow of a man bent over him. Will reared, claws out, fangs extended. The man stepped back, hands up in a peaceable fashion.

  “Hold,” he said. “It’s Jack.”

  Jack? Will panted, his body shaking and sweating from the effort he’d made to solidify. The man before him was a big bastard, and he knew him. Will relaxed only marginally. “What are you doing here?”

  Jack Talent, his one-time best mate and the man who’d indirectly led him down his current path, laughed wryly. “I ought to ask you the same thing, mate. You’re in my house.”

  At that, Will’s tension left. He stood up straight. “Your house? What the bleeding hell am I doing here?”

  Jack’s speaking look made him realize he’d said that last bit aloud. “So you did not intend to come here?”

  Will rubbed the edge of his jaw, where it was cold and heavy with metal. “I wanted to go to my home.” Clearly he had not perfected this mode of travel. “I’m…” He sighed, feeling tired, old, rudderless. “I think of where I want to go, fall into shadow, and hope that I’ll end up there.”

  With a stillness that would be unnatural on anyone else, Jack watched Will. “What precisely did you think before you turned?”

  “To go home.” Will paused. “No, that’s not it. I thought I should go to where I’ve been living before…” He broke off and scowled at Jack. “Why then did I end up here?” He knew it was no accident. Just as he knew that look upon Jack’s face; it was guilt. Well concealed, but there for anyone who knew the man well enough.

  “Because here is where you’d been. Before you escaped.”

  A snarl tore from Will’s lips. “Escaped? As though I were a prisoner?” He took a step in Jack’s direction, but the big nephil simply stood unmoving. “Did you keep me as one, Jack?”

  “You asked,” Jack said quietly. “You begged me to.”

  Will flinched as if hit in the gut. All his ire fell flat. “Why?” It came out a harsh whisper. “Why would I do that?”

  “You were growing more mindless. More feral,” Jack said. “I agreed to keep you because I cared for you too much, owed you too much, to do the alternative and destroy you.”

  “As if you could.” It was a quip because Will was fairly certain that, if any being had the strength to end him, it would be Jack Talent, half bloody angel.

  Jack’s mouth quirked but he was polite enough not to contradict Will. “I put your possessions in storage. And your funds have been managed by my accountant.” He gave Will a quick and rare smile. “You’ll not want for blunt any time soon.”

  A lump filled Will’s throat, and he had to clear it before speaking. “Ta, Jack.”

  His old friend nodded shortly. “It was the least I could do.” He rolled his shoulders, his expression growing set, as if coming to an internal decision. “Would you like to see where you were kept?”

  Did Will? Cold fingers gripped his ribs at the thought, but he’d landed here for a reason. “All right.”

  They were silent, the air between them solemn, as Jack led Will to the back of the house and down the servants’ stairs. When they’d reached the kitchen, Jack went to the ice pantry and pulled a hook on the wall. Another door opened, revealing another set of stairs going down.

  “So, the dungeons for me?” Will wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t.

  Jack didn’t appear any more pleased. “You screamed too loudly to consider anything else.”

  Well then.

  They reached the bottom and a heavy door studded with gold rivets. A door to keep demons in or out. Jack gave him an apologetic look. “Does the gold still affect you? Mary and I were never sure it did any good. You escaped once before when we put you into a gold-lined room.” Gold was poisonous to most demons, sanguis included.

  But Will had been so altered by his platinum heart that he did not know. One way to find out. He walked up to the door and pressed his palm against one large rivet. It hurt, but only faintly, more of a stinging sensation than actual pain. Nor did his flesh burn. “Well,” he held up his unmarked hand, “I suppose that answers that.”

  He stepped away, and Jack turned the handle on the massive door, setting off a series of scrapes and clicks as the tumblers slid open. Inside smelled of a tomb, and something scuttled out of the light.

  It ought not to bother Will at all. His lairs had always been below ground. A safeguard against the sun. But they’d been warm places of unexpected grandeur.

  He’d had a life before. It hadn’t been perfect, but it had been enjoyable. He’d had women, parties, adventures. Now he’d become a thing to be hidden away. A monster that only one woman could control. For one dark moment, he hated Holly Evernight for the power she wielded. But he couldn’t seem to hold on to that hate. Which brassed him off too.

  Thin-lipped, Jack flipped a switch, and electric lights hummed as they snapped to life. Will squinted under the harsh electric glow. Rough-hewn bricks lined the space, which was empty save for a raised platform in the center and, in the far corner, a large wooden box from which several thick wires ran up into the ceiling.

  Jack’s boot heels clicked against the stone as he went to the platform. “Here is where you lay.” He seemed pained by the idea. “It was quite an effective prison.”

  “I simply laid down and stayed?” Will laughed without humor. “I can’t believe that.”

  “No, not until you understand the beauty of it.” Jack placed his large palm upon the black, smooth platform. “It’s a magnet, Will.” He eyed him, solemn and sad. “The power source is in the box over there. One flip of the switch and your metal body was trapped.”

  Will flinched, the words going through him like the recoil of a gun set off. Sourness filled his mouth. “Thi
s magnet, it’s an invention. Was it hers?”

  It was not surprising that Jack knew precisely to whom Will was referring. “You haven’t told me where you’ve been, Will. Please tell me you aren’t planning to go after Holly Evernight.”

  “I won’t tell you that.”

  Jack glared. “Have you tried?”

  Damn, but his friend knew his evasion tactics too well. “Yes.”

  “Shit and piss, Will, if you’ve harmed a hair—”

  “I have not,” Will cut in, “nor shall I.”

  Jack did not appear convinced. Will wasn’t about to try to plead his case.

  “You never answered my question,” Will said. “Is this thing one of her creations?”

  Jack stared at him for a moment longer, as if he was attempting to come up with a better answer. Then he sighed. “Holly created it.”

  A growl, feral and pained, rumbled through the room. Will realized he was the one making it. Betrayal cut deep. “She knew?” She of the innocent eyes and pleas.

  “No,” Jack said flatly. “It was an older invention, designed to lift her dirigible off the workshop floor. I thought it might work on you.” He shrugged, then his gaze turned hard. “We kept you from her because, to be quite frank, we didn’t think she deserved the guilt.”

  “She made me into this!”

  “Is that why you went after her?”

  “Of course it is, you muggins! What other reason would I have to seek her out?”

  Jack’s brows lifted. “You obviously failed at whatever attempt you made on her the first go round. Else I’d have heard of it.”

  “We are working together on a solution to heal me,” Will said through his teeth. He had to give Jack something, otherwise the persistent bugger wouldn’t let up.

  Jack’s expression was grim. “What are you playing at with Holly, Will? For I’ll tell you right now, she is my friend, and I’ll not have her hurt.”

  For a moment, Will imagined telling Jack where he could stuff his questions, but he leaned against the brick wall and ran a hand over his face instead, trying to calm himself. Pain made that hard. Metal forced its way up his neck, towards his brain. Already, when she’d promised him more time. Hells bells, would he be able to return to Evernight before he lost sense of himself? Perhaps. She was quickly becoming his true magnet.