Evernight

by Kristen Callihan

  “You are the one person in the world who can control me. Hit me with everything you’ve got.” He stepped close enough that his legs brushed her skirts, and his warmth washed over her. “It won’t hurt when I bite you. That I promise.”

  The trepidation ebbed from his eyes, replaced by a gleam, hungry and intent. “I will only take enough to make it look convincing.” Fangs descended, needle sharp and brilliant white against his lips. Holly’s heart skipped a beat. His voice grew darker, altered. “I swear it.”

  She knew he’d try. Determination tightened his shoulders and creased the corners of his eyes. She knew this, and yet her heart raced, her breath growing short and making her breasts heave against the tight confines of her bodice. As if called, his gaze moved to them, and his eyes went black as pitch.

  Heat bolted down her center. Dear God, she was in trouble. Because she was going to let him drink from her.

  Perhaps she’d spoken the fact aloud or perhaps he’d seen the capitulation in her eyes, for his warm, strong hands wrapped about her bare shoulders, hard enough to feel his intent but not to bruise, and he was drawing her in. Her palms hissed up his silk lapels, as his head dipped.

  Gently, he wrapped an arm about her waist then cupped the top of her neck with his free hand, tilting her head to the side to give him access. Holly’s pulse leapt wildly. This was too intimate. She wanted…

  Warm breath buffeted her skin, and then the brush of his lips. Her sex clenched, her fingers convulsed on his shoulders. When he spoke, it was low, rough, his mouth tickling her sensitized flesh. “I won’t harm you. I won’t.” Then he struck.

  She expected a bite. He kissed her neck instead, a soft, warm press that made her belly flip. With a little noise that might have been a moan, he angled his head further. The tip of his tongue flickered over her skin just before he suckled her, and she let out a strangled cry, clinging to his lapels for fear of falling.

  “Easy.” It was a murmur, hot and moist against her neck. “Easy. I’m preparing you.”

  She tried to ease but he licked her again, and everything within her grew tight and achy. Her head fell back, allowing him more. Thorne took a shuddering breath. And then, without warning, needle-sharp fangs broke through her skin with an audible snap. It ought to have hurt. It didn’t. She felt… penetrated.

  Holly rose up on her toes, pressing her aching breasts against his chest, and his fangs sunk in deeper. And they both moaned. Gods, but she could hear him swallowing her life’s blood, feel the possessive grip of his hands upon the small of her back and the base of her skull. Her fingers tangled in his silky hair, bringing him closer.

  Each lap of his tongue, each drawing suck, felt as if it were against the swollen bud of her sex. To her horror, her hips undulated, rocking in time to every pull. Thorne gave a soft grunt, an acknowledgment of her need. The world seemed to dip and sway as he pushed her back against the wall, his thick, hard thigh inserting itself between hers. Relief. And not enough.

  Holly trembled. More. She needed more. His fingers dug into her hip, his breath coming faster, sucking harder. She grew dizzy. Her head light. Fear tinged the edges of her perception with hot licks.

  “Thorne.” She could barely speak, barely think. The little carved putti grinned down at her from their perch in the ceiling. “William…”

  In a burst of movement, she was free. Thorne staggered back. His eyes were ice blue and wide, so wide, as if he’d seen a ghost. Or perhaps he was one, with his phantom’s hair flowing about his face like a shroud.

  Holly sank, her knees too weak to hold her upright. And then he was back, drawing her into his arms. “Easy,” he said again. A shiver ran through him and into her, and he tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder. “Easy for a moment. One is often overcome when giving blood.” As if her intense reaction was something mundane. “It will pass.”

  He did not sound so sure. Neither was she.

  It took all her strength, but she pushed at his chest. “Please,” she said, when he wouldn’t budge. “I need air.”

  Only then did he step away, frowning as he did.

  Holly leaned against the wall and took deep, cleansing breaths. Silently, he watched her. Not a drop of blood marred his lips. A fastidious eater? She snorted inwardly at her macabre little joke. “I need water.” She couldn’t phrase it nicely; she was too weak.

  With a curt nod, Thorne burst into action, doing as bided. He left the room, and lovely silence surrounded her. She staggered to the settee and gratefully sank into its silken embrace.

  No sooner had she settled than Thorne rushed back into the room, glass in hand, his gaze darting about until he found her. When he did, he headed directly over. His expression was so like Nan’s when she was of a mind to mother that Holly bristled.

  She’d been in danger of reaching an orgasm, still felt the effects in the form of a delicate throbbing between her legs, and he was fretting about, not stimulated in the least.

  “Your water.” He placed it in her hand as though she were an invalid. Holly bristled further.

  “You took too much blood.” Without waiting for his answer, Holly took a long gulp of cold water.

  Thorne stood straight. His expression as smooth as fine porcelain. “I took the proper amount. It only feels like too much because it was your first time.”

  She snorted inelegantly. “Virgin no longer.”

  To her shock, Thorne blushed at that, a swath of rosy color that ran across his high-cut cheekbones.

  She lifted her glass in cheers and finished her drink. The empty glass made a little clink when she set it on the table. “Well. Are we off, then?”

  “You’re well enough?”

  Another heavy, sticky-hot wave of embarrassment washed through her. She’d moaned, writhed in his arms. And he might as well have been having a midnight snack.

  “I am fine.”

  Thorne’s lips thinned. “When a woman says she’s fine, an intelligent man runs in the opposite direction.”

  “Too bad for you that we are stuck in this together.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Walking beside Evernight on the way to the Tower Subway, Will felt anxious. An emotion he loathed. He was bringing Evernight into a world of danger. She was brave; he’d give her that. It was a quiet sort of courage that she possessed. Slow and steady. Methodical. And she’d given him her blood. Her blood to warm his body and give him strength.

  From the time Will turned thirteen and his voice began to drop, he had imbibed blood to survive. The first taste of it had made him weak at the knees and shiver with pleasure such as he’d never before known. Here, he’d thought in that moment, was the nectar of life.

  The taste of blood varied from species to species. In general, however, the flavor did not vary much more than, say, different types of wine. And every sanguis had a blood preference.

  Sanguis blood tasted of watered down wine, and rarely satisfied, which was likely due to some innate repulsion for feeding off one’s own kind. Lycan had a rather gamey flavor. Raptor’s blood was unpalatable, like bitter coals mixed with mud. Shifter blood was rich and full, like the darkest chocolate and the finest wine. And angel’s blood was fruity, delectable, and as addicting as opium.

  Human blood, however, was Will’s favorite because of the variety offered. He was convinced there were a few set types of human blood, for he’d encountered certain but varied base notes over and over again. However, diet and health could alter the richness and flavor within those set types. Wouldn’t it figure that Holly Evernight’s blood was utterly divine? A cosmic joke upon him.

  Her flavor was subtle, elusive in the beginning, before growing savory and exciting the taste buds at the back of his tongue as he swallowed. Hells bells, nothing since his first taste of blood had given him such pleasure as drinking Holly Evernight.

  If it were a matter of simply craving her blood, Will would not be the shaking, distracted mess he currently was. It was the act of taking it that had turned his i
nsides to suet and his cock to granite. It was the scent of her surrounding him, it was holding her slim body against his, the long, white column of her neck so willingly tilted to the side so that he could plunge his fangs in deep.

  It had taken far too much control—all of it—not to sink down to his knees and lift her skirts, not to run his tongue along her rosy bud before sucking it to plumpness. And when it had swollen in his mouth, when she was crying out for release, he would have punctured her with his fang and drunk her blood to completion.

  Will’s step stuttered, his cock thickening all over again. Damn it all.

  “What is amiss?” Evernight asked immediately. Damn her observant hide.

  He had to say something. She’d not let the thing go.

  “I hunger.” No need to say for what.

  Her pert nose wrinkled. “How can you possibly be hungry? You just… ate.” She blushed.

  Will had the sinking suspicion that he’d always hunger for her.

  He gave a negligent shrug that belied his inner turmoil. “I’ve always had a voracious appetite.”

  Her blush intensified. Now that he had part of her very essence inside of him, his connection to her was that much greater. Her scent bloomed stronger, and he could identify a buttery rich note of sexual agitation that had his metal heart churning fast.

  Patience. He needed it in spades. Either she eventually wanted him for the demon he was, or she would not, and he’d find a way to work through the disappointment. Until then, he’d keep his cock in his damned trousers. And wait. Will took a breath and simply let himself look at her.

  Against the bleary backdrop of grey sky and coal black buildings, her profile was a pristine alabaster. Next to them loomed the Tower of London, the great old fortress a dark and hulking shape in the shadows. At his other side, white caps peaked on the greenish waters of the Thames. There, rising up like broken teeth in a dark maw, were the beginnings of two great piers that stretched out to a cluster of barges that held mountains of steel framing. Work had begun on the Tower Bridge. Expected to take years, the project promised a bascule bridge that would give testament to Britain’s industrial might and glory. Which, in Will’s experience, usually meant it would be big and ugly and gaudy, but he’d wait to bear judgment.

  The wind shifted as they rounded a bend, and Evernight’s scent surrounded him with fragrant coolness. How was he going to play the part of her master and keep his fangs and hands off of her? His cock wouldn’t survive the experience. A growl rumbled in his throat.

  Mistaking the sound for hunger, Evernight rolled her eyes. “Here.” Briskly, she reached into her inner cloak pocket and then handed him a wide, brass flask. “That should hold you.”

  He didn’t want vodka, or whiskey, or any other alcohol it might contain. However, not wanting to reveal the true source of his agitation, he unscrewed the cap. “It’s rather large.” Roughly the size of his hand—outstretched fingers and all—the container was bulky and unrefined. “And ugly.”

  Evernight’s mouth pursed, her fine nostrils flaring in that way that told him she was about to blow like a geyser. “There’s gratitude for you.” Her response was clipped, controlled. Of course. No matter how much she wanted to explode, she wouldn’t. What would it take? He fancied she’d be magnificent in a temper.

  “I was simply making an observation. It wasn’t—” Will stopped short, almost choking as the liquid he’d been tipping into his mouth made contact with his tongue. “It’s hot!” Rich, gloriously hot chocolate. He glanced at the flask. The brass surface was cool to his touch.

  Evernight’s smile was smug. A trifle too smug.

  “All right,” he said before taking another long pull at the chocolate. Delicious. “Tell me how you did it. Have you a secret gift for heat conductivity?”

  “Hardly.” Then she glanced at him, her twilight eyes sparkling. “It is a simple matter of form and function. There is a smaller inner flask made of glass. A vacuum is created between the sealed space between the brass flask and the glass container, creating a void, which prevents the conductivity of the—”

  “Yes, all right,” he said hastily. “You are a genius. Understood. Acknowledged.” He took another drink. And then smiled at her. “A bloody, brilliant genius. I recant any dark thoughts or murderous impulses I’ve had about you this day.”

  Imagine; hot beverages that one could carry about without fear of rapid cooling. He wondered if blood could be conveyed in it with the same results. No matter. Chocolate was better than nothing. He drank deeper, loving the feel of warmth filling his gut.

  “I suggest,” she said in measured tones, “that you resist glutting yourself on the chocolate. It is meant to be sipped, and your devotion to that flask has become unseemly.”

  Ignoring her, Will imbibed until only a drop remained, illusively hanging upon the rim on the flask. “I’ve discovered a design flaw.” He tucked the empty flask into his pocket. “It is too small. I suggest a larger size.”

  Unperturbed, Evernight walked along in her even strides. “I have created a picnic-sized insulated flask. But it would not fit in your pocket.”

  Laughing, Will just resisted slinging his arm over her shoulder. “My clever Miss Evernight, you let me sort out the inconvenience.”

  Holly had heard of the Tower Subway. Officially opening in 1874, it had operated as a shuttle service, running beneath the Thames. A long, narrow tube fitted with an omnibus-style car was propelled by cables. Holly had been a young girl at the time, but was desperate to have a ride, wanting to see for herself the mechanics of the process. Her father never got around to taking her, and the business proved a failure in the same year.

  Now it operated as a pedestrian tunnel, where persons could pay a halfpenny fare and travel between Tower Hill on the north side to Vine Lane on London’s south side. Being close to midnight, the subway was closed. That didn’t stop Thorne, who simply shoved the tip of his claw into the locked door at the station entrance. The door popped open, and he slipped inside, fiddling about until a dull, yellow light glowed from the space.

  Thorne reappeared and held out a hand. “All set.”

  It soon became apparent that Holly had not properly thought out this particular task. Inside, the air was dank and cold, smelling of river water and earth. Like a grave. She shivered. A gloomy pit of darkness, visible just over the edge of a rail, seemed to drop to endless depths.

  They descended a wooden, spiral staircase so narrow and steep that the ends of her skirts batted the back of Thorne’s neck. With each step, the risers creaked and groaned, the whole structure vibrating with the movement.

  Perspiration broke out on Holly’s brow, and she swallowed down the discomfort that swelled up her throat.

  “How far does this go down?” Her voice sounded thin and hollow.

  “About eighteen feet, I believe.” Unlike her, Thorne appeared unaffected. The rotter.

  Down, down, down they went, and the air grew heavier, colder, the stench seeping into her skin. A slow, deep shake built within Holly’s lower belly, and the back of her neck tensed to near pain. On all sides, rough-hewn walls oozing with condensation closed in on her.

  When she thought she might scream, the staircase ended.

  “There now,” Thorne said happily. “We are in.”

  In? Holly licked her upper lip, tasting the sweat pebbling there. Gads but they still had to traverse the actual tunnel. It was a horrid space, a little over six feet in diameter, so low, in fact, that Thorne had to remove his hat and duck his head a bit.

  The iron tube stretched out towards the blackness with lines of evenly spaced gaslights fading from sight. Holly let Thorne take her hand, and they walked on. She was going to be ill. The pavers rocked beneath their steps, and every noise was amplified, echoing back at them in this eerie bowel beneath the Thames.

  She tried not to think of the many meters of earth and water that lay just above her head. Or the crushing weight of it. She was a scientist, for gods’ sake. She
understood the principles that kept them safe. It did not matter here. Water dripped somewhere. Drip, drip, drip. The floor pitched, and the tunnel stretched on.

  Her breathing grew strained. Her corset too tight. Blindly, she put out a hand, but the walls curved in and she fell off balance.

  “Hold on there, love.” Thorne caught her arm and tugged her to him. “Take a moment.”

  She couldn’t see him. Everything grew fuzzy. A loud ringing filled her ears. Her heart would burst. It raced too fast, too hard.

  “Evernight?”

  Thorne’s voice came as if from a great distance.

  Warm hands touched her face. “Breathe, love. Breathe.” Another soft touch. “It’s all right. You’re all right.”

  “I’m not,” she blurted out through lips thick with panic. “I want to go.” She pulled at the hand that held her. “Let me go.”

  “Shh…” The hand upon her arm slipped to her palm. “I’ve got you. You are safe with me.”

  Despite her need to flee, she grasped it tightly, crushing the long fingers. “I can’t. I can’t.”

  “Ask me a question.”

  Holly blinked, trying to concentrate. “A question? Why?”

  He laughed, a soft husky sound that drew her attention closer to the surface. “Ask me a better question than ‘why,’ Evernight.”

  Holly blinked again, and Thorne came into focus. He nudged her chin with his knuckle, reminding her of how Sin used to tease her. “Ask me anything. Come now, a good question will put you to rights.”

  She took a shaky breath. Her pulse slowed. Damn it, her mind was a blank. Rubbing a trembling hand over her sweating brow, Holly searched for one. Panic threatened.

  “Surely there is something that must rouse your curiosity,” Thorne persisted. “About tonight, perhaps? Come along, Evernight. Don’t let me down now.”

  Holly scowled up at him. He grinned in that lewd manner of his. It called to mind the last time he’d been lewd. Just before she’d lost her senses and kissed him.