Forevermore

by Kristen Callihan

  Augustus stood before her, his gaze burning.

  “I . . .” Her throat constricted. “I . . . I cannot.”

  Augustus’s irate shout rang in her ears as she fled.

  Sin did not join Layla for luncheon. He wondered if she would be cross with him for leaving her to eat alone. He probably should have kept her company, but his appetite was not cooperating, so he’d gone to the library instead, leafing through weighty tomes about Damnation demons Poppy had delivered from the SOS libraries. It made for dry reading, and he currently had a kink in his neck.

  So when Layla appeared in the doorway, he wasn’t about to complain. He did, however, raise a brow at her attire. Dressed in a brown wool sack suit, her glossy hair braided and tucked beneath her collar as he’d taught her, a newsboy cap tilted over her brow, she appeared a young boy just then. If a young boy had luscious curves, that was.

  “Tell me,” she said from her slouch at the door. “What is it that you believe I am?”

  Adorable? Irresistible?

  He set down a book on ancient immortals and crossed one leg over the other. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to elaborate a bit more, little bird.”

  She walked farther into the room, her hands shoved deep into her pockets as though she were emulating him. Definitely adorable. Her slim shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’m not human. What am I then?”

  “Ah. Let’s take what we know for certain into account. You are part Damnation. You crave blood.” Her nose wrinkled at that. “You develop fangs. You are supremely fast and agile when need be. And you have the ability to transform yourself into a flock of birds.” Sin found himself smiling. “Which is rather brilliant, if you ask me.”

  She flushed pink. “Thank you.”

  “Damnation enjoy blood and grow fangs. But as for your father? Perhaps he is the type to grow fangs as well. A shifter or lycan could do that, but they generally hate blood drinking.”

  Her nose wrinkled again as she paced. “Well, that doesn’t narrow it down very much.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Layla nodded as she nibbled on her lush bottom lip. Then her brown eyes met his. “Regardless of what I am, you do have some idea as to what I can endure.” Her eyes narrowed. “Hard hits, for example.”

  He refused to cringe. Sin hated striking Layla. Every single time he’d lashed out during their sparring, his mind had cried out in protest. But he’d ignored that, for he knew she needed to learn. He merely gave her a level look now. And she smiled, her cheeks plumping. Her easy manner and good humor were a constant revelation to him. She was unlike anyone he’d ever met.

  “Could I survive knife wounds?”

  “Yes. You’ll heal quickly, though I don’t advise getting one. It still hurts like the devil.” Though he said it lightly, the idea of Layla being knifed had his innards rolling.

  Again she nodded. “I am stronger than the average human, yes?”

  “Stronger, faster, more agile. Yes.”

  “And aging? Augustus does not. Will I?” Her eyes went wide. “Will you?”

  He sighed, wanting to rub his aching neck. “I will not. As for you? It depends. Elementals do. And some others. But I suspect you will not.”

  She expelled a breathy sigh. “Good.”

  “Good?” He gave a humorless laugh. “Why on earth would you not want to age? For I’ll tell you truthfully, Layla. Those who are forced to see the world age and die around them often go mad. I, for one, do not look forward to that.”

  Slowly she shook her head, her expression soft. “Nor I. But I would hate to think of aging while you remained the same, Saint.”

  Hell, but she could slay him so easily. His battered heart squeezed at her simple words, and his throat threatened to close tight. “Layla . . .” His voice drifted off. He really did not know what to say at any rate.

  Perhaps she understood, because she straightened her spine and faced him. “Right then. Well, thank you for explaining.” With that, she turned and headed out of the room.

  Sin stood. “Where are you going?” He took a step or two, ready to follow. “And why on earth are you dressed in that manner?” He’d been meaning to ask but the woman had a way of distracting him.

  She stopped by the front door and accepted a big, mannish overcoat from Pole. “Out,” she said to Sin as she slipped the coat on. A big, cheeky grin spread over her face. “Dressed as a man, obviously.”

  “Care to elaborate where ‘out’ entails?” he snapped, accepting his coat from Pole before doing a double-take. The butler had had the coat in hand, brushed and ready to go. Sin wrenched it on as Layla left the house.

  She set off down the walk. “To wander the city. Get some fresh . . . well, not fresh air, but some air.”

  “Why not take the coach?” Sin did not like Layla so exposed.

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “St. John Evernight, you’ve just told me that I am an immortal woman, stronger than the average male. Do you really believe I’d hide myself away in a carriage anymore? When I can walk free as I please, without fear of being assaulted?” She shook her head as if he were daft. “You cannot understand the freedom I’ve just been given.”

  “Keep your voice down,” he said as they wove past a pair of slow-strolling women. “And I do understand. At one point, I too went from believing myself mortal to understanding there was a new world waiting for me.”

  “No,” she said. “You only think you understand.”

  “You’re reading my mind now, are you?” he said with a small laugh.

  “You are a man, Sin. Which means, even at your weakest, you’ve never experienced the worries that women must face.” She took wide, swinging strides and grinned down at her legs, encased in loosely cut trousers. “Even your clothing is not the constricting torture chamber that is a woman’s gown.”

  “All right, then, Miss Newly Emancipated. Where shall we go?”

  Unfortunately, as Sin suspected, she led them to one of the worst parts of London.

  “You’re actively trying to drive me mad, aren’t you?” he grumbled as she insisted on heading for the London docks.

  “Hardly.” Layla leaned close, her voice low but pleased. “We have to go somewhere rough. How else are we going to be attacked?”

  Sin stopped short, grabbing hold of Layla’s elbow in the process. She swung around to face him. “Now see here. Pretending to be a young lad out for a walk is one thing. Actively looking for trouble is another.” She moved to protest, and he hauled her closer. “You do not have to worry about most humans, little bird. But there are monsters out here more than willing to take a bite. It is nothing to treat lightly.”

  Her wide, brown eyes searched his face. “I know that, Saint. It is the monsters I intend to fight.”

  His blood ran cold. “Jesus, Layla. I could put you over my knee for the very thought.”

  She laughed then, a seductive, drolly amused sound. “Oh, dear Saint, I should like to see you try.”

  “There will be no trying involved, Layla.”

  Her lips twitched and, God help him, he wanted her to needle him just a bit further. He liked the idea of spanking her round arse until it was pink. And that caused his blood to run cold. Mab had loved to tie her men up, inflict pain until they pled. Had she turned him so vile?

  He blinked and straightened enough to put a reasonable distance between him and Layla. Not that she noticed. She frowned up at him, a little furrow working over her brow.

  “Saint, sparring with you is well and good, but it isn’t real. When I sang for my instructor, it was not the same as standing on a stage in front of others.” She let out an exasperated breath. “One might well freeze under the strain. Applicable experience is necessary.”

  Sin’s ire deflated. She was right, of course. Augustus had trained him in the field.

  “All right,” he said. “We’ll wander around. But you listen to me. If we encounter something you cannot take on, we leave. No arguments.�
��

  Her eyes flashed with excitement. “And you expect them to simply let us leave?”

  Sin gave her a look. “No. I expect to knock them senseless, and then we leave.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Layla had expected Sin to follow her out of the house. She’d counted on it, in truth. To the point where she’d asked Pole to have Sin’s coat ready as well as hers. What she had not expected, however, was his capitulation when it came to seeking out a fight.

  Oh, he’d fussed but she suspected that had far more to do with his enjoyment of verbal sparring with her rather than any true objection. So then, they were going to hunt for monsters.

  Layla could not think of them as anything else. It was simply too fantastical for her to wrap her head around, this whole notion of demons, werewolves, and beings capable of changing shapes. How extraordinary that she too was one of these strange fiends. She wished she remembered the change. She wanted to look at herself in a mirror and see what she became.

  “Do you miss singing?” Sin asked at her side. They were walking through a crowded section of The Strand, headed towards Covent Garden. It was nearing five in the evening and many a clerk were already at the pubs. Men spilled out onto the streets, mugs of ale in hand.

  “Yes,” she said simply. A thud of pain hit her chest. “Deeply.”

  Frowning, he glanced at her. “I’m sorry, little bird.”

  She could not speak so she gave a tight nod.

  “What happened?”

  Layla cleared her throat. “Augustus tells me it is because I reached my immortal maturity. All I can tell you is that one day, I opened my mouth and instead of hearing sweet, clear notes, ugly garbled sounds came out.”

  She shuddered, burrowing deeper into her overcoat. “I didn’t know what to think. Perhaps I had picked up a throat chill. Which would make better sense if I’d felt ill. I was fine, however, save for my voice.”

  Sin’s arm brushed against hers. Though they both wore suits and heavy coats to ward off the frosty air, she felt the touch along her entire side. And when his gloved pinky found her gloved pinky and he hooked his over hers, her body went warm.

  They walked for a time, linked by that small contact. And then Sin spoke again. “Do you miss the stage?”

  “No,” she said without hesitation. When he raised a brow, she shook her head. “Honestly, I do not. When I first took to the stage, it was . . . How can I explain? It was exhilarating, exciting. All those people watching me, rapt and adoring. I had them in the palm of my hand, just by singing them a song.”

  Oh, she did miss that bit. She missed the way her body would flush with heat, her nipples tightening along with her sex—the way her heart beat strong and the sense of pure power that flowed over her when she sang. But she could not explain that to Sin, not without blushing, hot and red.

  “But it was exhausting,” she said truthfully. “And the pressure to perform taxed my nerves. For there were always those who loved nothing more than to pick me apart.”

  Sin’s pinkie twitched as if he wanted to fist his hands. “Critics, you mean.”

  “They are a part of the world.” Layla took a breath. “At any rate, I was ready for a long rest. But to never sing again? For my personal enjoyment? That does hurt.”

  Sin threaded all of his fingers through hers, clasping her hand in a firm but gentle grip. “Little bird.”

  That was all he said, but it was enough. She held onto him. “Do you ever sing, Saint?”

  His lips curled, just a bit. “Sing? No, I cannot say I’ve ever tried it.”

  “You should try. I would love to hear you sing.”

  Those green eyes of his crinkled at the corners. “And what would you like to hear me sing?”

  “Oh, anything,” she said with a sigh. “As long as it was for me.”

  “Who else would I sing for, if not you?”

  Layla smiled at that.

  The streets grew close. The light was dim, the foul smell of rotting food and waste thicker now, the clothing others wore thinner and ragged. Women lounged around doorways and street corners, while men idled in groups, laughing and eyeing people who walked by.

  An emaciated dog skittered past, chasing what appeared to be a rat.

  “No one is looking our way,” Layla murmured. She’d expected to be noticed. Hers and Sin’s clothes were too fine, their good health too apparent. People here were sallow of skin and thin to the point of being gaunt.

  “We are cloaked,” he said. “Humans will not notice us unless I let them.”

  “Can I do that?”

  His lips curved up at one corner. “Sorry, love, that’s a Judgment power.”

  “Drat.”

  His low chuckle cut short as the wind changed and a terrible odor drifted past.

  “What is that?” she asked, pinching her nostrils closed. It was thick, foul, with a sickly-cloying tinge that had her nerves twitching.

  The square hinge of Sin’s jaw bunched. “Death.” He eased her behind him as he stared down the dark maw of an alleyway. “Stay close.”

  Layla followed him deeper into the alley, and the narrow walls seemed to close in on them. The sounds of the streets dampened, the air growing colder, fouler. The passage veered to the left and then opened up at a crossway behind a set of dilapidated buildings. There, in the middle, a woman’s body lay sprawled upon the dirt.

  The body was clothed in a tatty dress the color of mud. Her neck was torn open, and thick, glistening blood painted the front of the woman’s bodice. A lake of blood spread out beneath the body, little eddies of it running along the crevices in the dirt.

  Layla knew she ought to be disgusted. And part of her was—her skin going clammy, her insides lurching. But the moment her gaze strayed to the blood, her gums began to ache, her heart pounded hard and insistent.

  Sin moved like mist, his long body silent and graceful as it seemed to glide along. She tried to focus on him. But the blood kept calling her attention. Beneath the foul scent of death, it tickled her nostrils, enticing her. Gods, why did it smell so marvelous? Like bitter hot chocolate one moment, then new pennies the next—both delicious and then not.

  Something sharp touched her bottom lip, a point on each side of it. Shocked, she tentatively let her tongue move to one of the protuberances and discovered a long fang. She had fangs. Her breath hitched, which caused more of the blood scent to invade her senses.

  Before her, Sin was crouching over the body, his features tight with concentration. Inky strands of his hair fell over his brow and the tips shone the color of new blood. The strong line of his neck peeked out from the velvet lining of his collar. Layla did not know why the sight fascinated her so, but she could not look away from that exposed flesh.

  His skin was already winter pale. Skin the color of fresh cream, smooth and tight. If she peered hard, she could just see the blue river of his vein. Which was odd. She’d never noticed his veins before. But there they were, flowing with fresh blood. Her gums throbbed, her throat suddenly so very dry.

  “. . . Appears to be a demon kill,” Sin was saying. “They like to steal blood and use it to take on the victim’s identity. The blood helps them take the victim’s shape, you see . . .”

  Blood. That would make this sharp hunger abate. But not that old, cold blood upon the ground. No, Sin’s blood would be better. Warm and luscious.

  “. . . What I do not understand is why this poor woman. Usually they go for wealthy or powerful victims.”

  He craned his head, studying the body, and even more of his neck came into view. Strong flesh, taut skin. A shudder ran through her, and she bit back a groan.

  Sin’s head whipped round and he pinned her with a narrowed gaze of brilliant green. “Layla,” he said in a low voice.

  She shook her head, unable to speak. Saliva filled her mouth, her tongue pushing up against her teeth. It would be so easy to knock him down, press her body against his lean strength, and that smooth skin would b
reak like the finest sugar crust under her fangs, letting hot blood flow over her tongue.

  In a fluid move, Sin stood. “Layla, tap it down.” His voice was hard now. “Look at my eyes, Layla.”

  His eyes? Yes, they were lovely, but not as lovely as his flesh. He smelled divine. She licked her swollen lips and his gaze snapped there. For a long moment he stared at her mouth, and she felt it as if he’d stroked her sensitized lips.

  One taste. Her body flushed with heat. One little sip.

  “Layla!” Sin’s sharp tone made her flinch, and she glanced up at his eyes. Silver-green now, he glared at her. “Do not look away from my eyes.”

  Slowly he advanced on her, never looking away. A strange noise rose up from her throat. A growl.

  “You will look at my eyes and hear my voice,” Sin said in a deep tone.

  She could not ignore him when he spoke that way. He moved closer. His scent surrounded her, smoky-spice like Christmas pudding. She swayed, her vision blurring.

  And then he was before her, his hands clasping her arms hard enough to capture her attention. His commanding voice flowed over her. “Look at me.”

  She did, suddenly frightened and cold. “Sin . . . I want . . .” She licked her dry lips. “I need.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said, soothing but firm. Green eyes peered down at her, his black brows drawing together. “I know, little bird. But you must come back to me now. Focus on my voice.”

  His voice was lovely too, beautifully modulated and clear. A tenor if he sang. His hands caressed the sides of her arms, and she felt she could breathe. She leaned into his hold, letting him brace her. His caresses did not stop—up and down, up and down.

  Suddenly her head was clear. “Saint, what happened just then?”

  “Blood lust,” he said, frowning again. He gave her arms a squeeze then his hands left her.

  “Blood lust.” A tentative flick of her tongue told her the fangs were now gone. “Yes, I wanted . . .” A shudder went through her, and she felt ill. “God, Sin, I wanted your blood.”

  His expression grew wry. “So I noticed.” He touched her cheek, a fleeting stroke. “It’s all right, little bird. I don’t hold it against you.”