Evernight

by Kristen Callihan

  “Satan’s balls,” he ground out, as his fingers lightly touched her battered flesh. “At least she raked you over the ribs.” Which was a blessing. Had the demon hit her softer flesh, she might have been eviscerated. And they both knew as much.

  Felix bustled in with hot water and clothes. He frowned down at Holly. “Been playing with demons, Miss?”

  Holly’s snort turned into a groan as Thorne pressed a hot cloth to her side. “I don’t believe she appreciated my definition of play, Felix,” she said.

  At her side, Thorne was bent over, his face close to her skin as he cleaned the wounds. “Sod it all, you are shredded.” He pressed a hand on her belly, holding her in place, and such was her awareness that each of his fingertips seemed to burn into her skin. “It will need stitching, which I am abysmal at doing with any neatness.”

  Holly almost smiled at his put-out tone, save she was feeling rather foul.

  Felix went to the long counter running down the center of the room. Several workstations were set up along it, each with a different purpose and experiment. Felix extracted a black, glass bottle with white wings etched upon it. “This will help.” Felix tried to hand him the bottle, but Thorne eyed it as if it were poison.

  “What is it?” Before receiving an answer, Thorne snatched it up and pulled out the stopper. His nostrils flared as he sniffed. “This is Jack’s blood.”

  She huffed out a small laugh, and immediately regretted it as pain lanced her side. “You can recognize the scent of Jack’s blood, but not the fact that I was bleeding all over the coach?”

  “I drank from you. The scent of your blood has been haunting me ever since.” The set of his mouth turned mulish. “I thought I was imagining things.”

  “Oh.” She would not flush.

  “Never mind the fact that you’re covered in rotten-smelling raptor blood.” He studied the bottle one moment more, then black eyes glared down at her in accusation. “How did you get this?”

  “Oh, that’s rich, accusations coming from the likes of you.” Despite this truth, Thorne did not flinch. And her ire grew. “You needn’t look at me as though I’m a thief.”

  One of Thorne’s brows rose eloquently, and she rolled her eyes. “He gave it to me.”

  The brow did not lower. “Gave it to you.”

  Jack Talent was notoriously reticent about letting anyone near his blood. For good reason. Demons had captured and tortured him for it, as it had incredible powers. The one that interested her was its ability to heal.

  “He felt he owed it to me.” For Amaros had been after Jack when he’d taken Holly. “I refused, but Jack wanted me to use some for research as well.”

  “Why the bloody hell would he desire that?” Thorne appeared incredulous, but he’d reached for a rag and poured a bit of the bottle’s contents upon it. The liquid was reddish black and viscous.

  “It may not occur to you, Mr. Thorne, but Jack would gladly sacrifice a bit of his blood if the result helps his fellow regulators who have been wounded in the field. He wanted me to see if there isn’t a way to replicate the healing properties for use in a healing balm.”

  Thorne frowned as he dabbed at her wounds. Instantly, her flesh began to heat and tingle. He made a noise of wonder and poured a bit more blood directly onto her skin. “You won’t even need bindings in a few moments.” Then he glanced at her. “You believe that Nex agents do not look out for each other?”

  “Do they?” The Nex had abandoned him to Amaros. And yet Thorne had come after her. As if she were somehow accountable where they were not.

  Wiping her as clean as he could, Thorne then dropped the rag and sat back on his haunches. His expression was inscrutable, his eyes dark and striking against the white of his flowing hair. “I betrayed them,” he said, answering her unspoken accusation.

  “You helped an old friend in need.”

  Thorne blinked. “Aye,” he said slowly. “I did.”

  “Do you regret helping Jack?”

  Thorne’s head bent as if he’d lost the strength to hold it up. “No.”

  Holly rested her hand on top of his. “Tell me more about the Alamut.”

  “We don’t speak of us. Most never hear our name, and if they see us, it is their last sight.”

  “You never let anyone live,” Holly said dully. How could they, when they were the ghosts of the underworld. The SOS hadn’t even heard of them.

  Thorne nodded, then pinched the thin bridge of his nose. “We certainly don’t vow to protect our target, nor take up residence in their houses, unless the ultimate goal is disposal.” He laughed darkly. “Though what is one more broken rule?”

  Holly blanched, and he caught the sight. His mouth canted on a smile. “Still doubt your safety with me, love?”

  “No,” she said with feeling. “Only… what shall happen to you? Once this,” she waved a hand between them, “is over and done with?”

  Thorne’s expression went cold and tight. “Worried? Over me? I can’t quite believe it.”

  “Stop it.” Holly frowned. “Answer the question.”

  He sighed. “The pertinent point of discussion is that the Alamut has no set number or leader. They rule by consensus vote. To fight them is like slashing at the heads of a hydra. Cut one down, dozens more take its place. Once hired out, the Alamut stop at nothing.”

  “How heartening.” Holly traced the pattern on the throw before meeting his eyes again. “What shall we do?”

  “Just as we’ve always planned. Convince them that you are no longer a desirable target.” When she scowled, he gave her a half-hearted smile.

  It did not help. The base of Holly’s spine went cold. “It does not sound as though they’ll agree to your way of thinking.”

  “Ah, petal, both of us are fighting an uphill battle, are we not?” The hopelessness that deepened his voice was new, frightening, but then he glanced over his shoulder, preventing her from saying anything further. In a fluid move, he rose to his feet just as Nan bustled in tutting and cooing under her breath and holding out a thick flannel nightgown.

  “There now, lass,” she said, coming close. “You’re home, safe and sound.”

  Holly could have sworn she heard Thorne snort, but did not meet his gaze.

  Nan sat on the edge of the settee and touched Holly’s rapidly healing skin with careful fingertips. “A bit pink and puffy but you’ll do. Here then, let’s get you into this and settled down for the night.”

  Thorne pivoted on his heel and gave them his back, making it equally clear that he would not simply leave.

  Nan frowned at him but then quickly eased the soft gown over Holly’s head. As Holly slipped her arms through the sleeves, Nan took off her muddy skirt and boots, and put thick, woolen stockings on her feet. “There, now,” Nan announced, “a good cup of tea and some hot cross buns, and you’ll be right as rain.”

  At that, Thorne turned back around and, without asking, bent down and scooped Holly up. She hadn’t been carried around in such a manner since she’d been in pinafores. The desire to snuggle against Thorne’s hard chest was alarming. And unwise.

  “I can walk, you realize,” she found herself snapping.

  He didn’t even look at her. “If only you’d lost use of your mouth.”

  Touché, Mr. Thorne. Holly stayed his movements with the touch of a hand upon his chest. “Don’t take me up to bed.” An unfortunate choice of words that had her grimacing. “I’m too wound up to sleep.”

  He frowned. “You need rest.”

  “Then I will take it here.” With her chin, she pointed towards the shadowed end of the glasshouse, where clusters of potted orange trees bore their summer fruit. “There’s a little salon arrangement over there.” She gave his dubious visage a ghost of a smile. “My parents love the scent of growing things and spend an admittedly inordinate amount of time out here when in residence.”

  “All right,” he answered slowly before his jaw firmed up again. “But if you think I’m leaving you alone, you had
better have your head examined.”

  Holly found the idea of Thorne staying by her side far too comforting.

  The far end of the glasshouse boasted a small area set up with two long davenports made of carved teak and padded with linen-covered pillows. Holly’s parents had imported the set from the Polynesian Islands, and they weathered the humid environment just fine.

  After Thorne deposited her on one couch, he settled down in the couch catty-cornered to hers. A maid brought in tea and sweet buns for Holly and a pot of chocolate for Thorne. And there they stayed, their heads close together due to the placement of the couches, while drinking their tea and chocolate and talking of nothing in particular. At some point, it began to rain, filling the cavernous space with the rhythmic sound of tapping and making the thousands of glass panes fog over.

  “You had a happy childhood, didn’t you, Evernight?”

  Holly stirred from her lethargy and stared up at the painted white iron lattice that divided the windows. “Yes,” she said. “Yes I did. Only…” She paused and worried her lip, not wanting to continue.

  “Only what?” Thorne prompted quietly.

  “Well, it sounds rather petulant when I think to give voice to it now.”

  “If you believe one thing about me, Evernight,” Thorne said with a dry laugh, “it’s that I will not judge you for petulance, either real or perceived.”

  Her lips twitched with a repressed smile. “All right. I was raised with love, surrounded by it, supported and nurtured. And yet, despite the fact that I am not the only inventor in my family, nor the only scientist, I’ve always felt rather apart from everyone. Which is utterly nonsensical—”

  “Evernight,” Thorne cut in, “you think too much. That is your problem.”

  “Whereas you think too little, Mr. Thorne.”

  “Why yes, actually.” Far from sounding put out, it was almost as if he were pleased with her observation. “Not thinking too deeply about anything is precisely what I do. The past, the future—those are dark places full of possible hurts. Stick to the moment is what I say. Concentrate on the here and now, and everything’s safe as houses.”

  Holly did not miss the slight sarcasm in his tone, as if he knew it was an illusion, but one best kept. Surprisingly, she understood the sentiment. Hadn’t she done much the same this past year, focusing on the present and literally cosseting herself up behind brick and mortar so that a dangerous world could not get in?

  “Thorne?” Holly cleared her throat. “I want to… That is, I apologize. For how I spoke to you. Before. After we…” It was hard, getting the words out, but she’d delayed in saying them for far too long. “I don’t find you disgusting. Not remotely. I admire you a great deal.”

  The silence from Thorne’s corner took on a tangible substance. Holly could feel it, feel him listening to her.

  “Your joy for life, the way you look at the world, those things do have meaning.” She cleared her throat again, her skin growing too tight for comfort. “You are brave and loyal—”

  He made a low sound, half-pained, half-protesting. Holly spoke over it; if she didn’t say this now, she might lose her courage. “You are, William. You risked your life for Jack, and suffered greatly for it. Yet I’ve never heard you speak ill of him. You risk your life for me now, even though I’ve done nothing to deserve that loyalty.” For she hadn’t found him a cure. She was beginning to think that she couldn’t, and the very thought terrified her.

  Thorne’s deep voice seemed to touch at her ear. “You know that is not true. When I am nothing but shadow, you are the light that guides me back.” The davenport creaked as Thorne adjusted his position, as though he were as uncomfortable as she was with showing finer feelings. “No one has cared for me, looked out for my well-being and comfort. Until you.” He made an abortive attempt at a laugh. “Hell, Evernight, you know quite well that if it weren’t for you, I’d be a raving beast right now.”

  A flush of frustration swelled within her breast. “That is little more than me being self-serving.”

  “And I could say the same.” His usually smooth voice turned rough. “But I think we both know that our motives are no longer what they were.”

  No, they weren’t. She cared about him, to a frightening degree. But she needed him to understand and did not know how to explain herself. “I can take a dirigible apart down to its gears and screws, but when it comes to interacting with others, I…”

  Face burning, she shut her mouth.

  “I know, petal,” Thorne said. “And even though you possess… ah… slightly maladroit social skills, that does not negate your kinder actions.”

  Holly snorted at “maladroit” but then sighed. “Well, I’ve mucked up this apology, to be sure.” She worried the corner of her lip with her teeth before blurting out, “Will you accept it? Believe that I think highly of you?”

  Though he made not a sound, she could almost feel his amusement. His tone certainly conveyed it, husky as it was. “Yes, love, I accept.” He paused before adding softly, “Thank you.”

  Holly nodded, feeling a weight lift off her even though she still felt awkward about the entire exchange. Then Thorne, who never could stay put for very long, rolled to his side to spy at her from his spot on the other couch. Though she could only see him in the periphery of her vision, she could feel his study of her like a caress upon her cheek. Finally, when she could take it no longer, she turned to her side as well.

  “What is it?” She wondered if he’d been worrying yet again about her wound. She’d insisted several times now that it was completely healed, such was the power of Jack Talent’s blood. She’d even revived enough to give Thorne a punch of power to stave off the ever-encroaching platinum upon his flesh, though he’d protested vehemently about saving her strength before she’d simply reached out and grabbed his hand and done the deed.

  “How old are you, Evernight?” Thorne’s expression was relaxed, almost happy, as though he enjoyed lounging about with her on these old davenports beneath the glass ceiling.

  “Three and twenty.”

  “A babe.”

  She refrained from rolling her eyes. “And you? Don’t tell me your white hair is a sign of advanced age, for I won’t believe you.”

  Amusement lit his eyes. “Seven and twenty.”

  This time she both rolled her eyes and snorted. “So very ancient. I bow to your advanced age and experience.”

  “Now, now, Evernight,” he flicked the tip of her nose lightly with his finger, “I might not be much older, but my experience is by far superior. In that you can trust.”

  No, she would not laugh. She pressed her lips together. “Why did you ask about my age?”

  He began to grin, a slow, impish smile that broke like the dawn over his features. “Well…” He reached out to her. “It’s simply that…” His fingers threaded through her tumbled locks, sending a shiver down her spine. Then he plucked a hair, and she yelped.

  “I do believe I’ve found a grey hair.” He looked positively gleeful about it.

  “You have not!” she exclaimed. “Give it here and let me see.”

  She reached for the strand but he held his hand aloft. “I will not. It’s mine, I found it.”

  “How positively infantile. Found it, my Aunt Francis.” She attempted to grab it again, only to have him leap from the couch and dance away, keeping it high above his head. Holly got up as well, coming after him. “You plucked it from my head. That is theft at best.”

  Thorne burst out laughing, tilting his head back with it. “Theft. I like that. Very well, then.” He crammed the strand in his trouser pocket, still laughing. “I am a thief. But you aren’t getting it back.”

  “You don’t believe I will take it from there?”

  In a blink, Thorne’s gaze turned molten. “Oh, please do,” he said thickly. “I beg of you, go digging around in my trousers.”

  “Snake.” She wanted to hit his head, or dig about in his trousers. Each was equally tempting.
/>   His grin returned. “Trouser snake, you mean.”

  Holly did not want to know what he meant, but she did, and heat invaded her face. “You really are the most coarse, vile…”

  “Handsome?” he supplied with a wag of his brows. “Charming?”

  “Annoying,” she said with emphasis. “The most annoying man I’ve ever met.”

  In a flash, he wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her against him. “Ah, but you like me all the same.”

  Pressed as she was to his body, she felt the rising bulge of his cock and the increased rate of his breathing as they stared at each other. Beneath her open palm, his heart whirred and clicked. Yes, she did like him. Heaven help her, she liked him too well.

  The air grew too close, too humid, and she found it hard to breathe. This was Thorne, the man who viewed relations as a quick release. Did he really? Did it matter? She’d not test the theory. Not when she had to live with him for the foreseeable future.

  With effort, she pulled back, but he tightened his hold with a low, complaining growl rumbling deep within his throat. They paused again, Holly gaping up at him. His dark brows knitted. He seemed almost confused by his reaction, and hers.

  “I am tired,” she said past her tongue that felt too thick. “I want to turn in.” Holly pushed at the solid strength of his chest. “Let me go, Thorne.”

  For a moment, she wondered if he’d heard her, for his scowl did not alter. Then his arms fell to his sides, and he took a deliberate step back. He said not a word but simply watched her go.

  Alone in her dressing room, Holly thought not of Thorne as she peered into the mirror, running a careful hand through her hair. Just behind her left ear, she found another shining strand gleaming against the black locks. Holly’s heart pounded as she reached up and plucked it free.

  Wincing, she kept hold of the strand and went to her room, where her microscope waited on her desk. But she did not need the scope to know. She could feel the truth clutching her heart with cold hands. Setting the strand of hair beneath the lens, Holly confirmed her suspicions, and a tendril of fear snaked down her spine. It was not a grey hair at all. It was pure platinum.