She gave him a quelling look, but he wasn’t entirely incorrect. They sat in silence for a moment, then Sin began to speak, his voice low and slow as if he had to drag the words from within. “Do you remember when you left Ireland?”
“Of course I do. It was the worst night of my life.” She had been fifteen and Sin sixteen. Layla had had great plans for them. They would marry as soon as she came of age and then live in a lovely manor house. She’d known then that she ought to think of babies and looking after their home, but mainly Layla had thought of them dancing and laughing for however long and loud they wanted. Of them traveling the world together and having adventures.
And then Augustus had ruined it all. “Augustus came to me late in the night and said to pack my things. We were to go. Immediately.”
Sin frowned. “I did not know that.”
She shook her head at the memory. “I refused. I did not want to leave you. Oddly, that upset Augustus even more. He put his foot down. We were going. End of discussion.”
It had been the first time she’d had a true row with her guardian. “Oh, how I cried,” Layla said to Sin. “I screamed at him, calling him a heartless rogue, a destroyer of all happiness. All sorts of childish insults. It was useless. Augustus remained firm. He wouldn’t even let me say good-bye to you.”
Sin’s hand moved to hers, and their fingers twined. Layla held on tight. “In the end, he allowed me to leave you a note.” She gave him a watery smile. “Such a pathetically short and uninformative note, considering the level of my heartbreak and despair.”
The tip of his thumb moved over the back of her hand. “I felt much the same about that note. I grew so angry . . .” He let out a humorless laugh. “I froze the pond.”
“And how did the locals take a frozen pond in the middle of summer?” she asked with a small laugh.
“I don’t know,” he said, frowning down at their linked hands. “I was not in any state of mind to care.”
“Sin, you must understand how very sorry—”
“Layla,” he cut in gently. “You promised not to blame yourself.”
“Damn it,” she muttered.
He gave her hand a squeeze. “I was angry and stupid in the way only a sixteen-year-old boy can be. I wanted answers. I wanted to know where you’d gone.” With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Had you left because of me? Had your guardian figured out that I was different? Dangerous?”
“Saint—”
“No interruptions, Layla.” His tone was mild, almost distant. “And I wanted to learn about myself. What the hell was I? I knew I wasn’t the only one in the house who was odd. Holly could manipulate metal. And our housekeeper, Nan, was certainly not normal.”
Sin’s fingers grew cold in her hand, his voice lowering. “It was Nan who started it all, really. She’d always told us tales of the fae folk, of how they were powerful and full of strange magic. The fae held the knowledge of the ages, could grant wishes . . .” Sin snorted. “Oh, she warned Holly and I, never seek them out. To strike a bargain with one was to court disaster, for they had ways of taking more than they offered.
“I did not listen, of course. In some ways it was a bit of a lark. Find a fairy mound, make a request to the winds for a fae to grant my wish. I didn’t truly expect one to find me.”
Layla swallowed down her trepidation. “But one did.”
His jaw bunched, his fingers twitching. “Yes. One did.”
Sin would rather be anywhere but where he was at the moment. Which was an oddity, considering Layla was the one true bright spot in his life. He could face an army of immortals, intent upon tearing his head off, but telling this woman his deepest shame was terrifying, as was the threat of seeing her pretty light dimming upon hearing his ugliness.
Layla sat by his side, her hand in his. She remained quiet, though he knew it was taking all her patience to do so. He wanted to smile, but his body refused to do even that small action.
But he had to speak so he forced his body to obey. “I found her at the fae mound just outside the estate. Do you remember the place?”
They used to roll down the unnatural grass-covered hill, gaining speed until they came to a stop among the clover field at the bottom.
Layla nodded. “That place always gave me the chills, truth be told. When we’d grow silent, it seemed the hill was waiting for us to continue our chatter, as if it was listening.”
He cut a glance at her, surprised at the fear in her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Layla shrugged. “Thought I was being superstitious.” She gave him a wan look. “So you went there?”
He nodded. “She was waiting for me. Mab, the queen of the fae. Later, I realized I’d played right into her hands. Nan was under her control. It was an easy thing to tempt a boy like me, one desperate for answers.” He stared down at the floor, unable to look at Layla anymore.
“She had an affection for beautiful young males. Loved to collect them, keep them as her pets.” He took a deep breath and ground out the rest through his teeth. “Keep them as her play things.”
Beside him, Layla tensed. Sin ignored it and continued before he lost the nerve.
“At the time, however, I simply saw the surface: a beautiful, magical creature who offered me everything I desired.”
He did not want to remember, but it was there all the same. Mab appearing in her silken green dress, her long, dark red locks glowing like rubies in the sun, her purple eyes filled with tender sympathy. Her voice had been sweet, melodious. “Tell me, dear boy, what is it that you wish?”
“I asked to know who I really was, where I’d come from, and where you’d gone.”
Layla sucked in a sharp breath, and his hand found hers. She was cold, her hand tense. Sin squeezed it in warning. He would not hear her regrets. He could not if he were to finish.
“She said she would grant my requests, but that I must make a sacrifice as well. A blood bond, and I would become her servant until I came of age.” He snorted. “I had this fanciful image of faithfully serving a queen, like some modern day knight.”
Layla’s hand pressed against his arm. “Saint . . .”
“It’s all right, little bird. The past cannot truly harm us.”
She made a sound of dissent. “No, but it can haunt us well enough.”
He glanced at her then. “So let me tell mine and set it free.”
Her soft brown eyes filled before she blinked. “Tell me.”
“I gave her my blood bond, and she gave me my answers.”
Her smile had been coy then, victorious. “Your girl is in Paris with her guardian. As for your origins, your sister shall arrive in the morning to tell you all.”
“She did not lie,” Sin told Layla. “Miranda did arrive in the morning. I was her brother. I had two other sisters as well, Poppy and Daisy. They thought I’d died at childbirth. Our mother was the head of a secret society who protected humans from supernaturals. And our father . . .” He tried to smile but couldn’t. “Was a demented demi god of chaos who had killed our mother when she refused to tell him where she’d hidden me. My sister Poppy had defeated him. But the truth remained, I was the spawn of evil.”
He could hear Layla swallow. “We did go to Paris at first,” she said.
Sin sighed. “I know. I was set to track you down, and then Mab came for me. And I realized that she owned me completely. I was ordered never to write you or try to find you. And that was my first lesson, truth and promises could be manipulated into something as solid as air.”
He did not want to say the rest. The ugly truth sat like a hot stone in his throat.
Set it free.
“She had me do her dirty work. To spy on my family. Betray them.” Sin pressed his cold fingertips to his hot eyes. “To amuse her when required.”
Layla’s hand was a warm weight on his arm, but she did not speak. Thank god for small mercies.
“I came to her a virgin. And though I suspect it
would be much worse for a girl—”
“Why?” Layla cut in fiercely. “Because a boy’s feeling and experience has less worth?” Her glossy locks trembled as she gave a sharp shake of her head. “Do not make light of it.”
“I am not,” he said quietly. Well, perhaps he was. “Every experience I’ve had was something foul and against my will, Layla. But . . . Sod it. I felt pleasure,” he rasped. “Do you understand? I did not want it, but some sick, twisted part of me responded to her. And I . . .” He closed his eyes. “I loathe myself for it.”
She went still, and he could not look at her.
“That is what I mean when I say she broke me. She turned me against myself.”
“I want to tear her apart with my bare hands,” Layla muttered.
He could not help but lean against her shoulder. “I already took care of that. My first act as Judgment.”
Big, brown eyes peered up at him. “You are certain she’s gone?”
“Annihilated in both body and soul.” He still felt the supreme satisfaction of remembering his lightning flowing through her body, vaporizing it, and the surge of his power sending her soul to hell.
The couch creaked as Layla turned towards him. “She is gone. But you and I? We’re here.”
Sin took in the familiar shape of her face. She was utterly lovely to him, fresh and pure, with her heart in her eyes. He wanted to hold her close and protect her from anything ugly or unkind. And he wanted to hold her close and demand that she never let him go.
But his skin felt too tight for his flesh, and his insides churned.
As if she read his thoughts, she put her hands in her lap, as if to assure she would not touch him. “I’m tired. We’ve only slept a few hours. Would you lie with me?”
That hot lump in his throat seemed to grow. He tried to swallow it down. “I will do anything for you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sin’s heart thudded against his chest as they walked to the room they’d shared. At his side, Layla said not a word, but her cheeks were a soft shade of pink, her lips parted as if in anticipation.
Anticipation. He’d never felt that when faced with carnal acts. He’d felt dread, disgust, even fear at some points. He did not feel it now. No, his emotion was something altogether different.
He feared he would muck this up, that she would touch him or he would touch her and the memories would return. He felt hate that Mab still influenced his life. And he felt the overwhelming need to hold and stroke and kiss Layla once more. To worship her with all that he had.
He could please her. He knew very well how to do such things. But could he please himself? To truly make love meant both sides felt pleasure; he was sure of that much.
When they reached the room, he placed his hand on the small of her back and led her towards the bed. A cold sweat broke out over his skin, and he tried to breathe slowly, to focus on the feel of her firm back against his fingertips.
Layla stopped and turned to face him.
“Saint, I don’t want to ask you to speak of details, but I need to know how . . .” Her cheeks pinked as she struggled to find her words.
He knew what she wanted. Guidance. To know what triggered his bad memories. Her care for his feelings struck him in the heart and made that shriveled organ swell.
She was so much smaller than he, the top of her head just reaching his chin. So delicate of form. But so much stronger of heart. With a careful hand, he traced the fragile ridge of her collar bone. His fingers stopped at the top edge of her bodice, then slowly followed the line down over the sweet swell of her bosom.
Layla’s breasts lifted on a breath, but she did not move, only stood watching him. His thumb brushed over the little bow in the middle. Only then did he meet her eyes.
A pulse of power and want hit his gut. “Turn around,” he whispered.
Without hesitation, she presented him with her back. In his world, the action was a level of trust most would never grant. That she bent her head forward a little, exposing her fragile nape, was even more so.
The gown she wore was plain, brown wool that buttoned up the back. He knew she did not have a corset beneath, only a chemise. It had been the best he could do without leaving the house. But the knowledge that there was so little between him and her bare skin has his cods drawing tight, his cock growing heavy with anticipation.
And yet the simple act of gently drawing the thick fall of her shining hair away from her neck gave him more pure pleasure than any sensual deed he’d ever done. Layla’s long tresses flowed like silk over the back of his hand as he settled them over her shoulder.
Her skin was cream and honey, having a golden sheen that gleamed in the weak light. Unable to help himself, he ran his knuckles down her spine, from nape to the middle of her shoulder blades, where the bodice began.
A fine shiver worked over Layla as he did. He wanted to do it again, just to see her react. But he paused there, his fingertips rubbing the little nub of the topmost button.
“Before you left,” he said, slipping one button through its hole, “I used to imagine us married.”
She sucked in an audible breath, her shoulders rising. But she said not a word. So he continued, his fingers slowly undoing her buttons, making the edges of her bodice sag. “Truth be told, I imagined our wedding night more than anything.”
He could see the crest of her smooth cheek and it plumped on a smile. “Of course you would,” she murmured. “And what did you imagine, Saint?”
His lips twitched. “Keep in mind, I was a lad at the time. My imagination is much improved now.”
“Hedging, are we?”
He ran his thumb over one of the bumps on her spine, the thin chemise moving with him. “I imagined undressing you. Just as I am now.” Her bodice parted, revealing more of her thin underclothes. “Opening you like the very best Christmas package.”
She drew in a breath. “And then what would you do?”
Sin gave in to temptation and rested his forehead on her shoulder. Her scent and warmth surrounded him. Summer cherries, wood smoke, honey on buttered toast. She did not truly smell of those things, but it was as close as he could come to describing her.
He tilted his head and skimmed his lips over her silken skin, loving the way goose bumps broke in his wake and how she delicately shivered. The line of her hair was damp, and he nuzzled her there. “Definitely this,” he whispered, giving that fragrant spot a soft kiss, all the while lightly running his knuckles along her back.
She swallowed. “What else?” Her voice was smoke.
Slowly he kissed his way back down her neck to the curve where it met her shoulder. His tongue flicked out to catch a taste. Salt and sweet. Layla’s breath stuttered. Sin paused there, his body exquisitely tight and hot, his own breath unsteady. There was only one chance for a first time, and he wanted to enjoy his with Layla.
With painful slowness, he spread his palms wide on the narrow expanse of her back. Layla’s body tensed, her ribs expanding and contracting with every quick breath she took. But she did not pull away. No, she leaned into his touch, letting her head fall back against his shoulder. Giving herself to him.
Sin closed his eyes, his lips still resting on her skin, the very spot where her pulse pounded. “Now this,” he murmured against her skin, “held top place in my fantasies.”
He slid his palms around her ribs, moving under her gaping bodice. When he reached the rounded swells of the sides of her breasts, she sucked in a tiny gasp. Sin went achingly hard, but did not stop, not until he cupped her sweet, warm breasts in his hands.
They both trembled. Sin waited, soaking in the feel of her filling his palms, and then he squeezed, kneading her tender flesh. Layla moaned, her head lulling on his shoulder, her eyes closed tight. “I think I shall faint,” she said weakly.
“No, you won’t,” Sin promised, a smile pulling at his lips. “You don’t want to miss the best part.” He ran his fingertips around the stiff points of her nipp
les, rubbing the linen back and forth over her skin. She whimpered sweetly. Then Sin gave those sensitive tips a hard pinch.
Layla cried out, her back arching, pushing her breasts further into his touch, even as her body sagged into his. Her capitulation unhinged him. Need surged through him so hard he bucked his hips forward, grinding his hard cock against her plump bum.
With a groan, he clamped down on her shoulder, his teeth sinking into her flesh, holding her there as he squeezed her breasts. And Layla gave another hard cry, her body shaking.
Hurting her. Stop.
Cursing, he let her go, stepping back. His breath came in uneven pants, his fists clutched tight to his sides. She turned, her gaze dazed, and wrapped her arms around him as if he hadn’t just flung himself away from her.
“Saint.” She kissed his neck. “Why did you stop?”
“God, Layla.” He shivered, trying to control himself. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Her soft lips caressed his jaw, his cheek, the edge of his lips. “Do what?”
Her touch, the lazy way she explored him, her warm body molding to his as if she wanted to meld them together—all of it went to his head, made him dizzy, had his eyes closing so he could just feel her. Sin took a breath and tried to focus. “I only know how to fuck. Not make love.”
He opened his eyes then. She smiled up at him as though he was something precious, not a man incapable of giving her what she needed. “I have not taken a lover, so I cannot profess to know the difference. But I know this. I waited for you, Saint. You are the only man I’ve ever wanted. Whatever we do, however we do it, will be right.” She touched his cheek. “Because it will be you and me together.”
Sin swallowed convulsively. He wanted to kneel at her feet, hold her tight, and never let go. “I was too rough with you just then.”
“Truly?” She frowned. “And here I thought you were wonderfully wicked.”
“Hell.” He rested his forehead against hers. He’d done so many terrible deeds, let so many people down. And yet here she was, the woman he’d given his heart to so many years ago, wanting him just as he was. “I adore you, Layla.”
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