Chapter Twenty-Two
Will’s blood was still up as he went to his rooms. He’d teased Holly too far tonight. And not far enough, for she hadn’t cracked the way he yearned for her to do. Perhaps he should have simply kissed her, but he wanted her capitulation. He wanted her to want him. Yet she remained steadfast in her determination to keep him at a distance. But that was not what truly bothered him now. No, it was her “grey” hair. The one resting heavy as a ballast stone in his pocket.
Will caught sight of himself in the mirror above the mantel and winced at the smear of blood on his shirt. It wasn’t Holly’s but the tainted, foul blood of the raptor that had tried to kill her. It upset him down to his marrow.
Women had flitted through his life, bright and brilliant as butterflies. Here one moment, gone the next. He’d loved them, enjoyed their company, but breathed a sigh of contentment when they’d gone. One could only interact with another for so long before it became tedium. A hard tup, a good laugh, a warm body to hang onto his arm when he went to the theatre—that was what a woman meant to him.
Holly was none of those things. Oh, he wanted to tup her, and she made him laugh, and he’d love to take her to the theatre, if only to hear her opinions. But she did not flit, and he did not want her to go. She was weightier than anyone he’d known before. Her being had a substance that stuck to him.
Which made him all the more irritable. Apparently, he had nothing, not even the novelty of sex, to offer her. Only his protection, and once that ended, they’d part ways. Hells bells, but she’d made that perfectly clear.
Will turned away from his reflection and took the long skein of silvery hair out of his pocket.
Two feet long if an inch, the lone hair danced and glimmered like a gossamer thread. But it was not fragile. He pulled on it just to test. No, it was strong as steel. Or platinum. Will’s heart began to churn out a hard pace.
Reaching up, he found a similar shining thread hiding out with his natural white hairs. He plucked the platinum strand free and held the two hairs side by side.
Identical to Holly’s. The heaviness in his chest grew as he entwined the threads—his and hers—together.
Will wound the hairs around his ring finger. Over and over, until they made a band. He tied it off in an unbreakable knot and then curled his fingers into a fist. The ring of platinum bit into his skin. Dread filled him. He could not think of a single harmless or natural reason for Holly to be growing platinum hair.
Worse, Will had no clue in hell as to how he could protect her from the Alamut, a group that never went back on a contract. A group whose very honor rode upon finishing the job properly.
When morning came, Will could barely wait to see Evernight. He found her in her room, perched upon her settee. A tea tray, holding two pots, was on the table before her. Will knew one pot contained his chocolate. The sight of her pouring him a cup as he strode towards her filled him with an almost rabid sense of satisfaction. His chest swelled with it. He wanted to swoop down, claim her mouth, devour it before he drank his cup of chocolate in one gulp, then crawl on top of her and shove himself into her. Like a brute.
So great was his distraction that he almost missed the dagger peeking out from the folds of her gown. She surely hadn’t seen it, or she wouldn’t have sat almost on top of it. Not wanting to startle her, he came close and touched her shoulder before pointing out the dagger.
“Careful now,” he murmured when she stiffened upon seeing it. “Don’t jostle it any more than you have. Ease to the side.”
Eyeing the thing as if it were a snake, she did as he requested and slid to the very edge of the seat, pressing against the bolsters. The blade, though razor sharp, had no sheen, but was nearly black. Etched in the blade was a tangle of thorns. It was a perfect replica of the dagger Darby had dropped.
There was no message attached to it. Not any that was visible, but with a sudden and cutting tightness in his gut, Will understood what was needed. He picked up the blade. It fit his palm, felt at home there. A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine.
He forced his expression to neutral. “I don’t suppose you’d agree to give a length of your petticoats up to the cause, would you?”
She blinked at his odd request, her nose wrinkling in a way that spoke of a forthcoming interrogation. But then she promptly lifted up her skirt, revealing a pristine, white petticoat of fine-spun cotton. That capitulation, the way she’d willingly exposed herself, was like a fist around his cock. He smothered a grunt of surprise and managed to keep his composure as she lifted a brow and looked at him to proceed.
Being as careful as he could, Will cut a square of petticoat free with the knife. The section was as large as a piece of stationery. When he was done, he set it upon his thigh, and she leaned in.
“What now?” she whispered, her ubiquitous curiosity high.
He gave her a small smile. “Now the fun part.” Before she could ask more, he sliced through his palm, quick and deep enough that blood welled up and dripped down in crimson splotches on the snowy white.
Evernight made a noise of protest, reaching out to grab his hand, but her gaze strayed to the linen. There, where the blood pooled, a dark, ruby glow began to emanate. Before their eyes, the blood moved, wriggling and shaping itself, much like metal did for Evernight. But here, it formed words.
William Halvor Thorne and Hollis Penelope Evernight,
Your presence is required. Abbot Theatre. Box 12. At the dawn of the coming day.
“Hollis?” he asked.
Her smooth brow wrinkled. “After my grandfather Eamon Hollis Evernight.”
“I suppose it could be worse,” Will offered with a smile. “I could be calling you Eamon.”
The corners of her lips twitched. “Do you always deflect with jests?”
“Come now, love. Don’t ask questions to which you know the answer.”
She made a noise that might have been a snort. “The dawn of the coming day?” she asked him, all business once more.
“Midnight.”
When she frowned, clearly dubious, he smiled faintly. “To most of the underworld, the dawn of each day is midnight.”
Slowly she nodded, her attention on the words written in blood. “We shall meet the Alamut.”
He nodded once. Unease sat heavy in his gut.
“Is it a trap, do you suppose?” Worry creased the corners of her eyes.
“No.” In this, Will was certain. “Someone placed this dagger in your room.” A cold shiver touched his metal heart. “Had they wanted you dead now, you’d be so.” And he’d be seeking vengeance this moment. One thing was for certain: he was never leaving her to sleep alone again.
Evernight balked but swallowed quickly. “Why refrain from killing me now?”
“That,” Will said, “is but one of the questions we’ll seek an answer to tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Holly dressed for the theatre with the slowness of one heading for the gallows. She did not want to face this. Old fear had her wanting to do nothing more than hide away in her laboratory.
With a small curse, Holly tied a black satin ribbon around her neck, a necessary adornment, as the two puncture marks from Thorne’s fangs had yet to fade. Then she left the safety of her rooms.
With his hair tied back in a low queue, Thorne looked younger, the handsome lines of his face striking. But he appeared no happier about the outing.
They were silent as they headed to the theatre. At some point, he’d taken her hand in his, holding it with the casualness of long familiarity. Had he not touched her, she’d feel bereft. Twenty-three years, she’d gone through life without the need to hold onto another, and now the touch of this sanguis demon was essential to her.
She was still frowning when they stopped a block away from the Abbot. Long lines of coaches and cabs clogged the street in an effort to pull up before the theatre. Thorne knocked upon the hack’s ceiling, and it pulled over.
“We’ll walk from here
,” he said, helping her down from the cab.
Fine by her. Holly breathed in the acrid air of congested London, tasting the rot and coal on her tongue, and tried to relax. Around them, people chatted, their heels clicking on the pavement as they bustled to and fro. Hawkers were calling out their wares, and the warm scent of roasted chestnuts drifted on a crisp breeze.
Holly burrowed further into her thick velvet cloak and glanced up at Thorne, who stood unmoving and stiff. In the grey light of the evening, he appeared paler than usual, a platinum sheen glimmering along the surface of his skin. Metal swarming through his blood.
“You’re in pain.” She cupped his cheek and found it cold, even through the barrier of her white silk evening gloves. “Why did you not tell me?”
He flinched. “What difference would it make?”
“Because I want to know.”
“Leave off with it, will you?” Silence rang out in the aftermath of his harsh reply.
Not meeting her eyes, he looked off in the direction they were headed, where men in top hats and women with intricate coiffures smiled as they walked through the Abbot’s enormous front doors. “I apologize, Holly. That was not…” Clasping her elbow with care, he moved them out of the never-ending flood of people flowing past before speaking again. “I’m…”
A silky white strand of his hair escaped its queue and brushed his collar as he shook his head. An aggrieved look tightened his features. “Tonight, I must let you go, keep my distance, for these men cannot see what you mean to me. Any weakness is assessed and preyed upon in an instant.”
“I am your weakness.” Guilt swamped her anew.
“And my strength.” He took a step closer, and his warmth enveloped her in the cold night. “They cannot know that, either.”
Heart in her throat, she swallowed hard. “I see.”
“Do you?” His thumb slid over her knuckles, and she fought a shiver. “Do you understand how hard it is for me to let you go?” His voice lowered. “To even consider it?”
Thorne’s brows knitted as he peered down at her. “I need my wits about me, and though I am growing more adept at controlling myself, I fear that if I become too agitated, I shall fail tonight. Tell me, Miss Evernight, what shall we do?”
“We prepare you properly.” She drew him into a shadowed corner, and then opened her arms. “Come here.”
He held back for just a breath, then he tugged her close until they were connected from breast to thigh. On a shudder, he rested his forehead against her crown. She cupped the nape of his neck and slid her other hand beneath his overcoat and under his suit jacket. The mad churning of his heart vibrated against her palm. Holly closed her eyes, trying to ignore the soft caress of his fingers along the small of her back, and let all of her power free.
A groan of pleasure rumbled through him as he sagged against her, pressing them into the rough brick wall of the small nook. Warmth, light, calm—she felt it go through her and into him. But it wasn’t enough. She knew it instinctively. He needed more than what her power could give him. Her mind flipped through possible solutions until it screeched to a halt on one.
Blood.
Holly eased back to tug down the ribbon upon her neck. When Thorne lifted his head and frowned, she arched her neck. “Drink.”
Instantly he stiffened. “No. Not from you.”
“Why?” Her breasts lifted and fell against his chest with each agitated breath she took.
He almost snarled, looming over her like a vexed angel. “I don’t need it.”
Stubborn, petulant… “You are sanguis. Blood is nourishment, and you’ve been ignoring your basic nature.”
His mouth tightened, but his gaze lowered to her neck, and again his grip upon her flexed. “What if I take too much?”
Holly caressed his chest, wanting so badly to soothe him. “Did you not once tell me that to withdraw out of fear is to die by degrees? You are sanguis,” she insisted. “Fully grown. You know how to do this without harm. So take it. Take what you need to give yourself strength.” She huffed out a breath when he simply stared. “Do so now, or I’ll cut myself open and pour the damn blood down your throat.”
He chuckled, but when she moved to pull free of the knife tucked into her boot, he growled and grabbed hold of her nape. With blinding speed he struck, sinking his fangs in deep and clean. Sweet, sharp pain lanced down her neck, then turned to base heat as he started to suck. Each pull sent a stroke of sensation over her sex.
Holly pressed her thighs together and tried to breathe through the lust coursing through her veins. She needn’t have bothered. On the next breath, he had set her free, backing off with a gasp. His color was high and flush with health. That alone gave her satisfaction.
Weakly, she smiled at him. “Very good. You have a few hours now, at the very least.”
The ground beneath her tilted drunkenly, and she leaned into the building. Thorne hadn’t taken very much blood. She could tell. No, this weakness, this strange, heavy pain that seemed to push its way through her veins with cold hands was something different. Metal. She could feel it invading her from the inside. Most worrisome. Holly shivered convulsively.
He grabbed her upper arms and drew her closer. “You are too pale. I should not have done this.”
Holly managed a deep breath. “It is not the blood. I told you before. Using my power so quickly takes its toll.”
His expression turned pained. “Holly—”
“Save your regrets. They won’t help us here.” She allowed herself a moment to rest against the wall before pushing away and wrenching free of his grip. “Do not make my efforts for naught.”
Will used to love the theatre, loved drinking up the laughter, heat, and vibrancy of humans who attended it. The SOS bastards thought that because the Nex wanted to live out in the open, that they hated humans. Maybe some did. But not the sanguis. Other supernaturals never truly understood how much the sanguis loved humans. They were so wonderfully reactionary. Emotions ruled them. Logic only came upon them in hindsight, a convenient little fallback on which they tried to talk their way out of their actions. As emotions were, in essence, energy, a sanguis could walk beside a human and simply soak it up.
And a crowd of humans? Divine. Which was why sanguis tended to haunt public houses, brothels, gaming hells, and the like. Anywhere one could find a guaranteed mass of emotionally charged humans. Theatres were his favorite haunt. The bawdier the better.
Now, however, even the buzz of the humans gathering en masse did little to elevate his mood. Dread held onto Will with icy hands. No matter how he inwardly scolded himself, he could not shake free from the feeling. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Holly that tonight’s meeting with the Alamut wasn’t a trap. He was Alamut, and though he’d forgotten the truth for a time, they certainly hadn’t; an invitation to meet with them was expected. He could guess that they’d want to know why one of their own was protecting their mark.
But to invite Holly? That was troubling. The whole situation bothered him. Why couldn’t he remember the particulars? He was convinced his memory had been wiped clean. But he was starting to believe that it would be revealed tonight. The thought had his head aching, as though the lost memories were trying desperately to return.
Grimly, he guided Holly to their box. The Abbot, though not as flash as some others, was fine enough, with gilt touches, massive crystal chandeliers that hung from the high-domed ceiling. It rose three stories, with public balconies and private boxes ringing the stage. Their box was a small space with only four chairs available. It was empty when they arrived. And as Holly moved to the rail to peer out at the spectacle of patrons finding their places, Will thrust a chair under the door handle.
It wouldn’t hold any real threat out, but it would give him a bit of warning. That done, he moved close to Holly. Cocooned inside the small box with its red damask walls and heavy velvet drapes framing their view of the stage, he felt a measure of calm. Unable to help himself, he placed his palm against the
small of her back where indigo satin lay smooth and tight.
She turned and looked up at him. Still too pale for his liking, she appeared to have calmed as well.
“All will be well.” The words tasted like a lie on his tongue. And when the lights dimmed and the curtains lifted, Will sat close to Evernight and tried again to put away his dread.
By his side she sat, enthralled by the bubbly musical that played out on the stage. But Will couldn’t watch it. Holly had weakened herself for him, and though he understood her motives, and agreed with them, it sickened him all the same. It was his duty to protect her. From all things. Even from himself.
Will rubbed at the cold spot of platinum that ran down his sternum. It ached, going in deep. He glanced at Holly. He had to leave her. When this was done, he had to get as far away from her as possible. She wouldn’t protest, at any rate. The blasted woman couldn’t have made that fact more clear.
Anger, futile and pained, rolled within him. Sod all, he was finished with her. He’d had a life before this. One that he’d return to with relish. She’d soon be a faint memory, one he’d look back on with the sort of wry fondness reserved for those awkward moments in one’s life that eased with the passage of time. She’d be an anecdote he’d tell on some distant day, and his friends would have a chuckle over it with him.
Will grimaced, pressing a hand to his chest again. Hells bells but he hurt there.
No. He would not fall to melancholy. Holly Evernight had no hold on him. No longer.
Then something extraordinary happened. She laughed. She’d done so before, when he’d first come into her house. A lifetime ago, it seemed. He’d forgotten how utterly beautiful she was when she laughed. How utterly freely she did so. Her cheeks pinked with it, plumping up into soft curves. The corners of her fine, blue eyes crinkled merrily. She was utterly without guile.
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