Evernight

by Kristen Callihan

  She was too far off to see the color of her eyes, but they appeared lively and tilted up at the corners.

  “You know her?” Holly asked a gaping Sin.

  At the sound of Holly’s voice, Sin flinched, and with a tiny shake of his head, looked away from the girl. “It’s Layla.”

  “Layla Starling?” A vague recollection came to Holly. Of a young girl, perhaps six or seven, living on the property abutting Evernight Hall in Ireland. “The American heiress who moved away years ago?”

  Dully Sin nodded. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost. For the first time in months, Holly found herself wanting to smile. Sin had always been shy around others. But she remembered him being thick as thieves with little Layla at one point. “Go say hello to her. I am certain she—”

  Whatever Holly might have said fled in a hot rush as two men entered the room, their arrival causing a stir through the crowd. The younger of the two men was clearly the cause of all the attention. Tall and proud, his strong features striking against the crisp white of his collar, he stood out amongst lesser men.

  Dimly, Holly felt her flesh prickling. A loud buzzing filled her ears. Her vision narrowed down to him. She ought not to have recognized him. His hair was short, combed in a proper English fashion, and plain brown. His skin had an almost ruddy cast, blooming with basic human vigor. Nothing that resembled the man he once was. Oh, but his face, that blade thin nose, the sharp angle of his jaw, the narrowed gaze, and the firm lips that had touched every inch of her body long ago. Those things remained.

  William. Her mouth moved over the name, but she hadn’t the heart to utter it.

  A lady whispered something in his ear, and he canted his head, giving the woman a tight smile.

  Thorne. Her wicked Thorne.

  Holly’s breath caught with such force that it shredded her throat. The floor beneath her swayed. Blindly, she turned on Sin. “You bastard.” She could barely speak through her rage. “You bloody, sick bastard—”

  He caught hold of her arm—the one she’d raised to strike him with, though she hadn’t recalled lifting it—and tugged her close as those around her started to stare. “I know,” he said under his breath. “I am, and you can hate me all you like.” His head dipped closer. “But I could not watch you waste away any longer. Not when it could end here.”

  “I cannot…” She struggled not to cry. She would never cry again. That much she had promised herself. “Do you mean to torture me? Do you have any notion how much it hurts, Sin?” So bloody much that she felt as though a barely scabbed-over wound had ripped open upon her chest.

  “I mean to set you free,” he shot back. “Go to him.”

  Holly wrenched her wrist from his grip. “He cannot see me,” she hissed. “You know this. If I let him see me, it will undo everything we sacrificed!”

  Damn Sin to hell, but he knew better.

  Her stubborn cousin simply shook his head. “No. I’ve been thinking on this. You aren’t remembering Mab’s words properly. She said that you couldn’t remind him of who you are. It cannot be your doing. But he”—Sin inclined his head towards the other end of the room where William roamed—“he is not bound by those rules. He can remember on his own without breaking the bargain.”

  Holly flinched, Sin’s words a hard punch to her belly. “He won’t remember. Those memories are gone.” Just as Will was from her life.

  “Fae tricks,” Sin said. “The memories are there. Only obscured.” His mouth tightened. “Believe me, I know this well.” And Holly remembered that Sin’s real father had been a master of altering memories and of playing with fates.

  “Go to him, Holly.” Sin stared at her. “There is nothing in your agreement that says you and Thorne cannot be together. Is it not worth the risk? Is he not worth it?”

  She was afraid. Afraid of coming face to face with him and seeing nothing more than bland politeness. Of missing the way he used to look at her, as though she was the world to him. As he was hers.

  As if pulled by a cord, Holly’s gaze went to William, tracking him as he slowly made his way through the crowd with the reluctance of a man merely doing his duty. Dear God, but he was beautiful to her. So very foreign now, with his short brown hair and darker human skin, but so very familiar in the way he moved, in the stark planes of his face. Her breath hitched.

  Though it was impossible, it was as if he’d heard her, for he suddenly stilled and turned his head. His gaze collided with hers with the force of a bullet. And held. She could not breathe. Could not think past wanting him. Yet somehow, she found the strength to put one foot in front of the other. To go to him.

  Being the center of attention, Will decided, was hell. A very pretty version of it, but hell all the same. People pressed in on him, their sour scents and heavy perfumes clogging his nostrils and making it hard to breathe. His insides heaved, though he was starving. He never ate well. Aside from soups and soft, whipped vegetables, he could not tolerate many solid foods.

  His sole delight, he eventually discovered, had been hot chocolate. Until the day he’d taken a sip and a spring breeze had drifted in through an open window, carrying with it the sweet fragrance of lilacs. He’d dropped his cup then, unable to stand the rich, warm taste of chocolate a moment longer. His heart had hurt so badly, a deep, unending ache that had him wanting to cry like a lad. So then, no more chocolate for him.

  Yes, Will thought, as he bowed over yet another gloved hand in greeting, he was in hell.

  At his side, Mason leaned close, his breath stale with the stink of old cigars. “At least try to smile, my lord.”

  Smile? He didn’t know how. He’d never felt the urge. But he tried.

  And then he felt the weight of a stare. It tickled the back of his neck, a hot finger of awareness stroking his skin. He hadn’t felt heat, not in all his living memory. Shock had him tensing. He turned, seeking the source of this heavy gaze. And caught sight of the woman.

  Everything within him tensed, prickling in an alarm that was close to panic. His breath stilled. Deep inside of him, a voice seemed to scream, yes, her, that one. Will blinked, trying to focus on the woman who stood at the opposite side of the ballroom.

  Surrounded by ink-black hair, her face was a pale oval, solemn and sorrowful. And beautiful. She was heartbreakingly beautiful to him. Delicately wrought features and a direct gaze that bore into him and set his flesh aflame.

  The deep crimson color of her gown stood out amongst duller colors. She stood out. Apart from everything, as though she was the only one in the room with him. And then she was moving, her stride slow but as confident as a man’s. Something shifted in his mind, like a breeze blowing through, trying to stir the cobwebs. But then it was gone.

  It did not matter. She was walking towards him. To him.

  Will broke out of his stupor, and without a backward glance, went to meet her.

  Anticipation clenched low in his gut. He wanted to break into a run, so great was his desire to get to her. He forced himself to remain calm, lest she find him as mad as he suspected himself to be.

  Closer. Closer.

  They met in the middle of the room, stopping when there was little more than a foot between them.

  Hells bells, but she was even lovelier up close. Her eyes were blue. A dark blue that called to mind cool lakes and twilight skies. A man could lose himself in such eyes. And not even mind if he were drowning.

  “Hello.” He found himself smiling. Like an idiot.

  She blanched, her gaze going to his inane grin then back to meet his eyes. Ruddy, bloody hell, he’d bolloxed this up before it had truly begun. But then she cleared her throat and spoke. “Hello.”

  Her voice sent a shiver through him. It was calm and smooth, just as it ought to be.

  Will fought not to lean forward and crowd her. Awkward silence fell over them. He ought to ask a mutual acquaintance for a proper introduction, but she was alone, and he was impatient. From the sweet swells of her bosom, gloriously displayed by her evening bo
dice, came the scent of lilacs and something sharp that he couldn’t quite recognize but somehow gave him comfort enough to blurt out the first words that came to mind. “I feel like a fool.”

  She blinked up at him, the black wings of her brows knitting in confusion.

  Will’s face heated. “What I meant is that I feel as though I know you. I have so much that I want to tell—” He broke off, mortified at his inane babbling. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  Her lips twitched again. Likely she thought he’d escaped Bedlam.

  Will pulled himself straight. “Let’s try this again. I am William Thorne.” He extended his hand, propriety not allowing him to take hers, but hoping she’d offer it all the same.

  She hesitated, the tendons on her neck moving as she swallowed, but then she relented. Her slim, gloved hand rested lightly on his fingers. Just that small touch sent a shock of feeling through him.

  “The Marquis of Renwood,” she acknowledged faintly.

  William. Call me William. Having acted the idiot more than enough this night, he kept his council. “I’ve been… out of the country.” The words were a bitter lie on his tongue.

  But she accepted them with a short nod. “And are you…” Her voice grew fainter. “Have you been well?”

  It was too intimate a question for polite society. But he wanted to answer. He wanted to confide in her. No, I’ve been in hell. Until you came. It hit him then. She made his backward world feel righted. It made no sense.

  Will did not know if he’d ever believed in love at first sight, but he knew with utter conviction that he wanted this woman in his life. “Dance with me.” It was blunt, not at all a request.

  And she blanched. Her twilight eyes going wide. “I… I don’t dance.”

  “You don’t? Or won’t?” The words were out before he could stop them, and Will silently cursed. Satan’s balls, but that was rude.

  Shockingly, she did not frown at him or turn away. The corners of her pink mouth twitched, as though she fought a smile. In turn, it made him smile. “Then take a turn about the room with me,” he pressed. “Tell me about yourself.” It occurred to him that she hadn’t even given him her name. “Come now, love. Surely one turn cannot be so great a task.”

  As if slapped, she closed her eyes, and a look of such utter pain twisted her features that he feared she was ailing. Horrified at the thought, he took a step towards her, his hand moving to clasp her arm, when she opened her eyes and quickly stepped back.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I have to go.”

  No, no, no!

  She was drifting away, being swallowed up by the crowd.

  “Good-bye, William.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Will stared at the spot where the woman in red had been. Every instinct he possessed howled at the wrongness of her absence. From the center of his heart, pain spread. It filled him up then spilled outward.

  He fancied he might find his blood pooling on the waxed parquet floor beneath his feet. But there was none. No, he simply stood alone. Without her.

  Absently, he stroked his thumb over his platinum ring as their strange conversation played within his head, flickering over and over like a child’s zoetrope. Her eyes meeting his gaze without flinching. Her scent, motor oil and metal and lilacs. Her smile reluctant and hard won. Her blood, rich, savory. Blood. Delicious and flowing down his throat.

  Will’s canines throbbed.

  Her voice saying his name. As no other had done save his mum. She’d called him William. She always called him that. Or Thorne.

  “William Thorne, you are an utter beast.”

  Will gave a violent start. Why was he still here?

  His legs propelled him forward before he even had the thought to move. And then he was striding, weaving through the crush of people, heedless of anything but getting to her. She was gone. His gait quickened.

  Out of the house, down the front drive. The scent of lilacs and metal hung in the air like a tracer. He drew it in, his pace turning into a jog. Then a run. Faster. Faster. He needed to find her. His life depended on it.

  Out on the street, people danced, laughing and singing, enjoying the fair weather. May Day. Or the drunken end of it. Brilliant. Will shoved past a Jack in the Green, the brittle foliage on the man’s costume scraping Will’s cheek. Still Will rushed onward, leaving behind a band of dancing chimney sweeps and three foxed May Queens.

  But no sign of a red dress. Frantic, he sped on, following her scent. Not knowing how he could, but smelling it as clear as a bell. His body ached, his lungs burned with effort. Useless, tiresome human body. He hated it. Hated its weakness, when he needed to be fleet of foot and strong.

  He turned a corner, and the edifice of Victoria Station loomed in the distance. And he knew she’d gone inside. Bugger. Her scent took him to an outbound train platform. There, against the soaring arches of steel and glass, was a flash of red skirts. She was headed for a train. She would be lost to him. Again.

  He could not move fast enough, could not get to her in time. Desperation, want, need, rushed up from his chest.

  “Holly!” he shouted without thought, his feet flying over the hard ground. The crimson bustle of her skirts swayed with her quick steps. And his soul cried out in wrongness that she should be apart from him. “Evernight!”

  Holly couldn’t stay. She couldn’t look at William and not have him. So she ran.

  Her corset pinched her side, her legs ached. She ran through Victoria Station, down to the ticket booth. She would go home to Ireland. To her parents. She missed her family. She needed arms to hold her.

  Ticket purchased and in hand, Holly wove through the slower moving passengers, heading out to the platforms. She could not stand still; it gave her too much time to think. Ahead of her, the train waited to take her away, a dark, snaking beast, hissing white steam from its valve.

  “Holly!”

  She nearly stumbled at the sound of his voice, the desperate pitch of it. So quickly had she been moving that she took three more steps before she could slow.

  “Evernight!”

  Sweet pain lanced through her heart. Panting, she stopped, her skirts swaying, even as footsteps pounded up behind her.

  He’d been running like a fiend, for he skidded to a halt as she turned around. Not three feet away, William Thorne stood before her, sweat darkening his temples, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. She struggled to calm her own.

  They stood facing each other, he with a pained expression as he panted, and she likely looking the same. His rapid breath slowly eased, and he straightened, his gaze never leaving hers. “Sodding useless human body,” he said in his dark Northern voice. “I don’t know how you stand it.”

  A half-sob, half-choked laugh broke from her. And his mouth trembled, caught, it seemed, between a smile and a frown. He stared at her for a beat of silence, and then an anguished sound left him.

  “Holly.” His voice broke, and his body moved.

  Two strides and he had her. His warm palms cupped her cheeks, and then his lips covered hers. He wasn’t polite about it, or careful. He devoured her mouth, plundering deep. And it felt so bloody good, like sweet relief and home, that Holly sobbed. He swallowed the sound down, licking it up with the lap of his tongue.

  She wound her arms about his neck, pressing closer to the familiar heat of his body. Time and a sea of people passed them by as they kissed. Until she was dizzy with need and happiness.

  Slowly, taking little nips as he went, Will pulled back. With a broad sigh, he rested his forehead upon hers, his hands still cupping her face as though he’d never let go.

  “Holly,” he whispered. “Petal mine.”

  “You remember.” Her voice cracked.

  “Everything.” Soft kisses peppered her face, the scent and texture of him surrounding her.

  “William.” Clutching his shoulders, she kissed him back. On his jaw, the warm crook of his neck, the tip of his sharp n
ose. “Man of my heart.”

  Impatient fingers plucked at the satin ribbon around her neck. “Let me see my mark, love.” The ribbon slithered away, and he let out a satisfied sigh before tenderly pressing his lips to the thorn-shaped mark that had never faded. “I was lost. So lost without you.”

  Exhaustion washed through her. She rested her head upon his shoulder and let him hold her. “You are my joy,” she told him.

  “And you are my lodestone,” he said. “I will always come back to you.”

  He smiled. And she smiled.

  Until the scent of earth and moss invaded her happy sanctuary. He too caught the scent, for he stiffened and his nostrils flared. Around them, silence fell, the once-crowded train platform now deserted.

  As if struck, Will lurched, doubling up on a sharp hiss before falling to his knees. Holly cried out, sinking to his side as he convulsed.

  “Will?”

  The scent of earth grew thicker, and a fog rolled in, filling up the cavernous iron canopy that made up the depot. Will remained hunched over, his body trembling.

  “Talk to me,” she insisted, trying to ignore the tendrils of fog that tickled her neck.

  “Oh my,” said a feminine voice. “It appears Will Thorne has regained his memory.”

  Mab sauntered out from the billowing fog, a vision in green satin and white bows. Her rosebud lips pursed. “Looking a bit worse for wear, isn’t he?”

  “Shut up,” Holly snapped, her hand still upon Will’s shoulder.

  Mab stared at Will. “You are not supposed to be here.”

  “You have no control over where I go,” Will said between gasps.

  “What are you doing to him?” Holly snarled.

  Mab ignored her. “We had a bargain, Mr. Thorne.”

  “And we kept it. There was nothing in it about me remembering Holly on my own.”

  Mab sneered. “How I hate when you demons wiggle by on a technicality.”

  Again Will writhed, doubling up as though trying to hold his guts in.

  “Stop!” Holly’s cry was sharp and strong enough that Mab paused. “I want another bargain,” she told Mab, knowing a fae could not resist the temptation.