At the moment, he was in the mood to fight. Energy crackled over his skin and dug into his bones. It took all his concentration not to let it free, lest buildings topple or some poor sod be suddenly burnt to a crisp or frozen solid.
Gods, but he wanted to let out a blast of power though. One good hit, perhaps at the monstrosity that was the Tower Bridge. Londoners would likely thank him. Sin ground his teeth. All this preparation, all these dire warnings that Layla needed protecting, and what did it come down to? Augustus wanted to see her married off. And he had Sin in mind for the task.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath. Of all the stupid ideas . . .
His fist flew out and he punched the side of a building as he passed. Brick crumpled, leaving a large hole. A coffee monger yelped at the noise, his eyes wide, but Sin kept walking.
Then there was the treat of Damnation to contend with. This he could manage, though the thought of Damnation coming after Layla left him cold with fear and white hot with rage. Sin had never encountered a damnation demon. But he’d been thoroughly schooled on them.
Fully turned, they possessed blood red skin and batlike wings. Sin’s own sire, Apep, was a sort of grandfather of all Damnation, which meant Sin’s blood was as tainted as it was saved. He might have one day been turned into Damnation, only Apep was trapped in hell and the only being capable of doing the deed. As it was, the appearance of a Damnation demon was so rare, the only being who had seen one in living memory was Augustus.
What worried Sin was that one had no way of knowing what powers a Damnation would possess. He’d have to go in blind when he fought one. Ordinarily that was fine, but Layla’s safety was not something he was willing to risk.
Layla, Layla, Layla. It always came back to her. Thank god she’d rejected the idea of marrying as much as he had. He would gladly guard her, but watch her give herself to another? Sin couldn’t stomach that.
The further into the older warrens of the city he went, the darker it became, the streets so narrow and crowded they blotted out even the strongest of rare London sunlight. Around him the poor went about their business, none of them even bothering to look his way. They never did. It was but a matter of thinking himself invisible to humans and he all but became so. They simply did not notice him.
Sin found himself moving through Covent Garden and heading towards Whitechapel. A shudder worked over his shoulders. That place. A few years back, a deranged demon had done his best to terrorize London with his games, preying on women and ripping them apart in the most gruesome of ways. The press had dubbed him Jack the Ripper. Augustus, Sin, and the Society for the Suppression of Supernaturals, casually referred to as the SOS, knew him as an evil destruction demon with a taste for human organs. His had been the second soul Sin had sent to hell.
The idea that there might be new and violent evil lurking in the already traumatized district did not sit well. The horrid place suffered the lowest sort of poverty and needed no further inducement to misery.
Sin’s nostrils pinched as he moved from Whitechapel High Road into the tight maze of lanes just off it. Here was humanity at its most desperate. Filled to bursting with poor Jewish and Irish immigrants, there simply wasn’t enough room or hope. Filth and sewage ran free in the streets, dead animals lay in gutters, barefoot and ragged children ambled about. Beggars and thieves mixed with honest workers who tried to make their way in this ugly world.
He passed a gaggle of prostitutes, the very type who had been terrorized by the Ripper, their health so poor they were old before their time.
Had they noticed him, he’d have been approached ten times over already, his pockets picked clean by light-fingered babes, while older, more capable fiends would try to gut him.
Humans may not be an issue for Sin but Whitechapel was home to a great many nonhuman fiends as well, demons and strange beings who fed off misery and rage. They hid themselves well, but they were here. And they were watching him.
Yes, something dark and powerful lurked here.
Sin wove his way past idling humans, going deeper into the warren. Ragged linens hung on lines, brushing the top of his head as he walked along. He could hear the cries of children, the discordant yowl of a cat, and the distant clamor of the traffic on the high street. But here, however, all was still and cold.
He did not bother to quiet his steps. Whatever he was tracking had clearly tried to entice him here. It radiated its power in the way a human would ring a bell. A trap, perhaps. But Sin wasn’t easy to take down. He had a feeling this unknown being understood as much.
The wind changed, and with it came the unmistakable scent of blood. Deeply metallic and tempered with the fug of offal, the blood scent was clearly that of a gutted human. His steps quickened and then halted.
The body was spread over the alleyway. A bit here, a bit there. Nothing recognizable as the human form. He swallowed convulsively. Such carnage. He’d seen the like before, but not to this level. Blood dripped from the rough clapboard walls and ran along hard-packed dirt.
He was not an expert on death. But the kill appeared to be a few hours old. Already the rats and bugs were at it, lazy flies circling, the blood black and congealing.
The sound of footsteps had him stilling. Sin looked around then leapt up to a roof overhang tucked into a nook. Perching lightly, he watched as a tall, hulking form appeared out of the gloom.
Fists clenched at his sides, the man was scowling, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scene. Sin watched him for a moment, then cleared his throat—not wanting to startle the man, for Sin knew him, and his strengths, well.
Jack Talent started then glared up at him. “Piss and shit, Sin, what the hell are you doing up there?”
Talent was SOS, tasked with hunting down rouge supernatural beings and strange anomalies. At one point, he had also been Sin’s friend. Not so much now, since Talent was Ian’s adopted son, which also made him Daisy’s brother-in-law. Talent had kept his distance once Daisy had stopped speaking to Sin.
Sin jumped down easily. “Watching you. Honestly, that was badly done, Talent. I could have had you without a fight.”
Talent’s brow rose. “Oh, it would have been a fight.” He glanced at the mess of body parts as his nose wrinkled. “What’s all this, then?”
Sin knew what he was asking and was grateful that Jack hadn’t immediately thought it was Sin’s doing. “I’m not certain,” Sin said, surveying the scene again. “I followed a trail of darkness here.”
Jack gave him a look but nodded. “I did too. Felt it in my gut.”
Jack was the son of a fallen angel, and thus, like Sin, had immense power running through his veins. Jack could sprout wings, which had the same characteristics of Damnation, blood red and batlike. But Jack was honest and hunted down evil. The only true difference between their jobs was that Jack simply killed offenders. Sin took their souls as well.
Jack set his hands low on his hips. “Ian sent me out, truth be told. Said he smelled something off in the air. But he was headed to the theater with Daisy and didn’t want to leave her.”
Sin snorted. “Had you do his dirty work, eh?”
Jack almost smiled. “He’s a king, after all. I’m but a servant of justice.” His expression grew serious. “Ian wondered if I’d see you here.”
“I met Ian a few nights ago,” he said to Jack. “Both of us chasing an unknown being who I came upon gorging on a dead human. The scent was much like a lycan’s but off in certain ways.” Sin tried to breathe in the scents around them and catalogue the different notes but it was impossible, and all he got for his efforts was a rolling stomach. His lip curled. “I smell nothing but death and rot.”
Jack let out a short laugh. “Me as well. But I sense something dark. Something . . .” Jack rolled his massive shoulders. “Like us.”
“Yes,” Sin said. “I think it might be Damnation.”
Jack’s green eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard of those bastards but never seen them.”
“That is where you are wrong,” Sin said, turning away from the carnage. “Amaros, the fallen you destroyed, was Damnation. Or so says Augustus. Had Amaros been at full power, that is.” But the fallen had been cursed and was both weak and mad.
Jack cursed sharply. “Are you telling me that whatever did this . . .” He gestured towards the ground. “Could be more powerful than that sick fuck?”
“That is exactly what I’m saying.” And Augustus had seen it coming after Layla. Sin had the sudden need to get back to her and to stay at her side come hell or high water.
Jack ran a hand through his brown hair. “Right. I’ll alert the SOS.”
“Don’t bother. Augustus is the one who warned me, which means the SOS already knows.”
“Well, I bloody didn’t,” Jack snapped.
“Because Augustus wants me to take it down.”
Jack gave him a long, measured look. “Regardless, you are not alone. I don’t care when or where: you call for me and I will come to your aid.”
Sin blinked a few times. But he did not answer. All his life, he’d wanted family and acceptance. He’d had a taste of it but it had been bittersweet, tempered as it was by Mab’s ugly influence. Now he was accustomed to being on his own, often talking to no one for weeks at a time.
Jack gave his shoulder a hearty slap and then he walked off, leaving Sin alone in that foul alley. He stood for a moment, his spine cold and his shoulder blades itching.
“Did you ever wonder,” said a silky voice in his head, “if you picked the wrong side?”
Sin closed his eyes as a shudder worked through him. It felt like lust, dark and thick and dirty. Not the clean, sweet need he experienced while looking at Layla. It was the familiar ugly sort he’d felt servicing the bitch Mab.
Sweat broke out over his skin. He wanted to turn heel and run but he let the lust ride through him.
“Imagine,” said the voice, “if you were in control? If it were you giving the orders?”
Unbidden came the image of Layla, naked and bound, her peachy arse in the air, waiting for him to strike it. He could see her flesh wobble as his hand smacked.
Sin did turn then, striding out of the alley with inhuman speed, his cock at full mast and painful, his heart thrumming fast and insistent. And he swore he heard laughter follow.
Chapter Five
Layla was very quiet as she climbed the stairs to the top floor of the house. Not because she was trying to hide. Skulking around seemed ridiculous, as if she was doing wrong. She crept because it was part of an old game, one that she found she wanted very badly to resume.
In truth, she wanted her old friend back, the one she could talk to about anything. And he’d tell her anything as well. She missed those interactions with a keen intensity that made her ache all over.
Her heart pounded in giddy anticipation as she reached the topmost landing. Muscles quivering with the effort to hold still when she really wanted to pounce, Layla laid her hand upon the doorknob in front of her.
Only to have it ripped from her grip as the door flew open and a hand reached out to grab her. She gave a little cry of surprise as she all but tumbled into Sin’s arms.
He adjusted his grip, holding her steady by the upper arms, but setting her away from him so that her body did not come into contact with his. “What,” he asked, “are you doing?”
Layla couldn’t repress her grin. “What does it appear to be? I’m sneaking into your room, you noodle.”
His expression remained unaffected save for the very slight lift of one dark brow. “Why?”
Layla broke free of his impersonal grip. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. You are frighteningly obtuse these days.” Strolling away from him, she looked around. “We always snuck into each other’s rooms.”
He watched her with narrowed eyes. “We were children then.”
“Captain Obvious rides again,” Layla murmured. She ignored his response in favor of inspecting the room. Layla had not been up here before and was surprised to find not a warren of small rooms, as was the case in most top floors, but a wide open space that ran nearly the length of the house.
Plain, wooden columns broke up the expanse and obviously held up the roof. The floors were clean but worn and unwaxed. For all its openness, it was downright Spartan in its furnishings.
A brass bed that had been Layla’s as a girl—before she’d discarded it in favor of a pretty, white-enamel, cast-iron bed—faced the set of French doors that made up the wall overlooking the mews. There was a little, old writing desk and chair, and a gaudy black and gold Louis XIV dresser that had once sat in the second floor hall. Nothing more. Not even a rug to warm one’s feet.
“Why do you choose to stay up here?” she asked, walking over to the far side of the room that was completely devoid of furniture. The open space reminded her of a dance floor.
Sin stayed by his spot close to the door, as if he’d like nothing more than to boot her from the room, or perhaps run from it himself. “I value privacy.”
Layla ignored the heavily implied reprimand in his tone. “You should at least make yourself more comfortable. A rug and a few pillows would help immensely.”
She reached one set of French doors and looked out, only do discover a narrow balcony. She hadn’t been aware the house had one, as it was hidden by the roofline. “This, however, is quite nice. I’ve always wanted a balcony.”
“I remember. Now, are you done with this little impromptu room inspection?” Sin asked, bland as ever.
Layla’s lips twitched—part in annoyance, part because he amused her. “Be warned, Saint. The nastier you are, the more I want to needle you.”
At this, he glared. Their gazes clashed and did battle, and though she refused to show it, the action sent a little thrill through her veins. Staring at Sin was no hardship, after all—he was ridiculously handsome, beautiful in a way a master sculptor would create. But it was the strength of his gaze, all that glaring, green fire, and obstinacy, that hit her solar plexus and weakened her knees.
She wondered if Sin was similarly affected. It was difficult to tell, for his stony expression never altered. How horrid to think of him being unmoved, but she began to notice little things, such as the way his taut chest lifted and fell a bit more quickly, the way his fine nostrils flared just slightly and his irises widened.
Those small signs sent heat throughout her body and quickened her own breath. She drew in more of his scent, which was now stronger, headier. Her gums began to ache—something that had been happening more and more when she was roused. Layla feared she might growl—an utter humiliation which would have her fleeing the room.
But before she could do just that, Sin broke their war by slicing his gaze away from hers. His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “All right then,” he said lightly. “I’ve been an inhospitable arse. Apologies.”
Layla gaped at him, not believing his words for a moment.
Sin didn’t notice. He strolled over to his bed and then plopped down upon it, as if a man without care. Leaning against the headboard, he folded his hands behind his head and gave her a genial look. “I don’t have any tea, but feel free to make yourself comfortable. Perhaps we can tell each other stories. Or you can plait the ends of my hair, as you once attempted one night long ago.”
The words were right, but the delivery cut through the air like a scythe.
Layla’s canines itched. She had the violent urge to remove her slipper and hurl it at his head. But the anger was only second to the blue feeling of hurt.
“You never used to mock me,” she whispered through the pain.
Sin sighed, all the starch flowing out of him like a paper dropped in hot water. “Layla,” he said softly. “I’m here to guard you, not be your old friend who climbed trees and left fake snakes in your bed.”
More’s the pity. She swallowed down a wave of utter disappointment then drew herself up. “As I am in no need of guarding at the moment, I believe I shall turn in. Good night.”
>
She walked across the room with a few long strides, but paused at the door. Nerves fluttered in her belly but she made herself say the words. “I have decided to appease Augustus in his request to see me married.”
Sin lurched up, his black brow knitted and his eyes flashing silver. “What?”
“You heard me.” Her fingers curled over the door lintel. “Augustus is going to arrange for balls, parties, and the like. And I’m going to search for a husband.”
More silver spread through his irises. “You do not have to do this. I shall guard you regardless of whether he is here or not.”
“That is big of you. However, I want to do this. For him. For me.”
“Layla—”
“Protests?” she snapped then, glaring at him. “Forgive me, but you have no say in this.”
Sin shot off the bed in such a quick and graceful movement she wondered how she had not seen his supernaturalness before this. “That may be,” he said. “But do not expect me to hold my tongue when you make foolish decisions.”
“Fair enough. But don’t you go expecting me to listen.” She drew herself up. “Were you my husband, I might feel differently, but since you were quite clear on rejecting that role, I’m afraid you have little recourse in these matters.”
Oh, but his glare was a fearsome thing when he put his mind to it. “Very well, Layla. Ruin your life. Don’t expect sympathy from me when it all goes to hell.”
Sin waited until he heard Layla’s bedroom door shut on the floor below then let out a hard breath. God’s teeth, the woman was going to drive him over the edge. Never had he wanted more than to give in and just . . . play.
When they were younger, she’d use those nimble fingers of hers to tickle him until he teared up, and he’d retaliate by pinching her knees. How on earth he’d figured out she had ticklish knees was lost to time. It seemed as though he’d always just known Layla and what made her tick. Although his idea of play was far less innocent now.
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