Forevermore

by Kristen Callihan

  A lump of hot discomfort lodged under her breastbone. “What will happen to the SOS if you are gone?”

  His gaze slid away, a new tension clenching his jaw. “It will change. Enoch is going to split open the gateways, and there will be no way of closing them.”

  Lena lifted off the pillow. “He cannot. That would be . . .”

  “Chaos,” Augustus finished for her. “And yet, no matter how I try to see another way, it all leads back to the same road. To Layla helping him break down those walls and being consumed by Damnation. To St. John becoming . . .” He went silent, his eyes closing.

  His color was fading, and Lena spied the silver blood seeping from the wound in his chest that would not properly close. She pressed her hand to it and he shivered.

  “What does he become?” she whispered.

  “Me,” Augustus said. “He becomes final Judgment. Alone.”

  Such bleakness in his words. And Lena knew he felt that chasm of loneliness within himself. How very hollow and cold it felt. She knew this because she’d experienced the same throughout her long life. Only with him did she feel wholly herself.

  Slowly, she eased to his side, resting her head close to his. His scent was so familiar to her she could no longer define it, only feel the utter comfort of drawing it in and knowing he was near. He stirred as if he’d just noticed her proximity to him. Lena spread her fingers wide over his solid chest, pushing her power into his wound, willing it to heal.

  “Augustus,” she whispered, “I’ve loved only two beings in my long life. The child I bore and the male who gave her to me.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath, and then his head turned in her direction. Coffee-colored eyes now glassy and rimmed in red stared as if seeing her for the first time. “Lena . . .”

  She blinked rapidly. “You truly thought I did not? How could you? I would not have resisted so hard, sunk so low in my need to have you, if not for love.”

  His palm was too cold, his touch too weak, for her liking; Augustus was never cold when in good health. But she welcomed it anyway as he cupped her cheek. “Lena, we’ve been walking this earth alone for too long. I’ll give you an eternity of love if you’ll simply let me.” His thumb traced her trembling lower lip. “Entrust your heart to my keeping. I will never take it for granted.”

  Lena allowed herself to nuzzle into his touch. “Layla first.”

  He blinked slowly. “Yes, Layla. I must see her once more. Help her.”

  Lena allowed herself one kiss, softly, tenderly upon his parted lips. A bolt of pleasure and happiness went through her at the touch. And he sighed as if he too felt the same. So she kissed him once more. “Stay strong for our child, my love. And then I am yours.”

  For the first time in his life, Sin indulged in pleasure. He let it wash over him, permeate his skin, fog his mind.

  He spent his time with Layla, discovering every hidden spot that made her shiver and moan, soaking in the sounds she made and the way she moved. But for every discovery he made, she made one herself.

  In the dark corners of his mind, he’d been afraid to let her touch him. He’d been toyed with, forced to respond, so many times his body had felt as if it were covered in dirt. And yet, when Layla laid her hands on his body, there was only relief, a shivering pleasure, a need for more.

  Layla washed him clean with her touch, her laughter. He hadn’t expected to laugh in bed. Never thought to do it. Yet they spent long hours tangled up, laughing over nonsensical things, touching as though they’d just discovered the concept.

  “It is joy,” she told him at one point, her glossy hair spreading over her back like a dark wave.

  “It’s you,” he countered.

  “It’s us.” She pulled him close to kiss him. He went willingly and fell all over again.

  Finally they slept, Layla’s head upon his shoulder, her arms wrapped tight around his waist as though she feared to let him go. Perhaps he had the same fear, for he woke early to find his hands in her hair, fisting the heavy locks, his leg flung over her hips, pinning her down to the bed.

  For all that, Layla slept on, a look of peace and bliss smoothing out her pretty face. His heart ached with love for her, but his mind was not at ease. There were things to do and the world to face.

  Sin slipped out of their bed and dressed quietly.

  Pole had arrived, looking a bit worse for wear but stoic as always. He brought with him two footmen and three housemaids. The cook and housekeeper, had apparently fled. But Pole took control and had one of the housemaids head to the market with a footman while the rest began opening up rooms.

  “Was the strangest thing, Sir,” he told Sin as they sat at the kitchen table. “I had this undeniable compulsion to leave the house. Almost dreamlike, if you don’t mind me saying so. I ended up on the street in my nightshirt only to find the other servants there too.” The older man’s hand shook as he took a sip of the Irish whiskey Sin had insisted upon. “Next thing we know, the whole house blows like a bonfire on Guy Fawkes Night.”

  Pole shook his head. “Can’t understand what happened. Or why we were somehow called out.”

  Sin could understand the hows but the whys were a mystery to him as well. Damnation was hardly one to spare lives. Especially not when one was in the midst of blowing up a house to make a point of scaring his prey.

  Sin could only offer a forced smile and click glasses with Pole. “Here is to your health. I am happy to see you alive and well, Mr. Pole.”

  “You’re a good lad. And Miss Starling?” Pole took another sip of whiskey. “She’s well?”

  “Hale as ever. She’s sleeping. It was a long night for us all.”

  The boy returned shortly thereafter, bringing word that he’d delivered his notes. “You think this house is frightful,” he told Sin as he tucked into a bowl of porridge. “You should see the Archer place.” He shuddered. “Thought they’d lock me up and use me bones for their soup.”

  Sin chuckled. “We toffs like our houses to be dramatic. You did well, lad. Mr. Pole will set you up if you’re wanting work.”

  Sin left the boy to his meal and went to find Layla. She was reading in the newly uncovered library, a cheery fire crackling in the hearth. “I’m so glad everyone got out. Pole brought me some tea and told me the story.” She gestured to the tea service. “Would you like a cup?”

  “No.” Sin paced to the hearth, picked up a strange-looking clock device and then set it back down, aware that anything in Holly’s house could be deadly. He’d have to remind the servants to keep dusting to a minimum. And to stay out of Holly’s rooms. He walked back to the sofa, sat next to Layla, then stood again.

  “You’re making me dizzy, Saint. Do sit.” A soft flush covered her cheeks when she looked at him now.

  Sin knew the reason for it, and for a moment all worries vanished. There was only the memory of Layla in his arms, her slim body warm and smooth, her lips mapping paths over his chest. He took a ragged breath as he stared down at her.

  The flush on her cheeks deepened. She knew very well where his thoughts lay, and she gazed at him through lowered lashes. “That look in your eyes. It’s as if you’d like to devour me.”

  He found himself lowering to her side. “I would. Over and over.”

  Her smile was cheeky as he cupped her nape and drew her close. God, kissing her filled him with utter peace and yet shook him to the core. It was the one thing they’d shared with no one else, only each other.

  He reveled in the heady sensation, just kissing her softly, not too deeply, taking languid tastes as he stroked her cheeks. How long he held and tasted her, he could not say. Long enough that his cock grew heavy and his body went lax against the pillows.

  She sighed into a kiss, her fingers threading through his hair. Shivers of pleasure went down his spine. She nipped at his lower lip. “Why were you pacing?”

  Sin breathed in her scent, sweet and warm like cherry tarts. He kissed her again. “I invited my sisters here,�
� he murmured against her lips. “Not certain if they’ll show, however.”

  Layla stroked his hair. “When are they to arrive?”

  Sin only wanted to kiss her now, and his lips found the fragrant little spot just below her ear. “Quarter past the hour, if they decide to come.” He nuzzled his way down her neck, his hand testing the weight of her soft breast.

  Regrettably, Layla jumped up with a gasp. “Look at me. I cannot greet your sisters in this housecoat.”

  “You’re beautiful.” He tried to pull her down. “Come, kiss me some more, little bird.” It felt good to make demands, to know that she wanted Sin for who he was, not his looks or what he could do for her.

  Even if she was unfortunately distracted at the moment. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “There. That will have to do—”

  He caught her mouth with his and gave her one slow, searching kiss. Her gaze was fairly dazed when he pulled away, and he chuckled, brushing his lips over the tip of her nose. “Go on then, pretty yourself up. Though you’d look perfect in a sack.”

  Layla’s lips pursed but her eyes shone with happiness. “You only say that because a sack is easily removed. No . . .” She evaded another kiss. “I’m off before you seduce me again.”

  He was grinning long after she quit the room. But silence soon descended and he had the mad desire to follow and stay within the orbit of her warmth and happy laughter.

  Running a finger along the back of the couch, he wondered if his family would ignore his call for help. A hollow well spread out from the center of his chest. If they would not come, he’d find another way. He had Layla now. But if he were brutally honest with himself, he wanted his family back as well.

  A chime rang through the house and a moment later, Layla bustled into the room, her eyes gleaming like burnished mahogany. “Well, someone answered the call.”

  He wanted to smile at her excitement but his insides were too twisted.

  Pole walked Daisy and Ian Ranulf in, and Sin’s muscles clenched. His sister Daisy had always been the happy one. Plump and blonde with blue eyes and a cheeky tongue, she was also the most physically affectionate one. She eyed him now with caution, and his heart thudded against his ribs.

  “I know we are supposed to be cross with you,” she said. “But I cannot look at you and not offer a kiss, brother.”

  She came to him, her blue velvet skirts swaying, and bussed a quick kiss over his cheek. “You look well, St. John.” She peered at him. “Better, in fact.” Her glance cut to Layla. “I wonder why.”

  Ian grasped Sin on the shoulder in greeting but his gaze strayed to Layla, and his nostrils flared. He glanced back at Sin, but before he could say a word Archer and Miranda entered, followed by Poppy and her husband Winston.

  They’d all arrived. They’d come even though they thought him a traitor.

  Archer gave him a quiet look, a bare nod, and Sin realized that perhaps it was the husbands who had influenced this reunion. Sin didn’t know whether to be amused or insulted. He settled on apathy at the moment. Archer had certainly had a stake in getting Miranda to make peace with Sin.

  Miranda gave him a short nod, her gaze cold as ever. “St. John.”

  Not a one of them calling him Sin anymore. He took a breath then gestured to the numerous seats set up around the fireplace. “Please be seated.” He ought to formally introduce them to Layla, but the tension was thick enough as it was and he wasn’t about to subject Layla to any possible snubs.

  When they’d all settled, he took a chair next to Layla, close enough to touch her if he felt the compulsion.

  “Miss Layla Starling,” he said, gesturing towards her with his chin. “My family. Daisy and Ian Ranulf, Poppy and Winston Lane.” He did not mention their early meeting with Poppy, for he knew his sister would not approve. “Lady Miranda and Lord Benjamin Archer.”

  He glanced around the room. “Miss Starling is my good friend from childhood and currently under my protection.” Mine, mine, mine.

  A few brows lifted in surprise but not a soul made comment on why Layla should need protection. Instead there were polite but bland murmurs of greeting.

  Layla’s happy demeanor from earlier had faded into a faint moue of disapproval. And it pained him that she should witness his family looking upon him as though he were a criminal.

  This was foolish, asking for their help. He ought to have solved the problem on his own. Sin’s fists tightened, and he nearly stood to tell them all to leave, that it had been a mistake calling them here.

  Then Layla’s soft hand settled on top of his. That small but reassuring weight bolstered him, wrapped around him just as sure and strong as any armor.

  Sin’s gaze went hard. “It is clear that you are reluctant to be here. I have been reluctant to make contact. But none of that matters anymore. There are greater things at play than our personal wants, and I intend to set a few things clear.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  To say Sin’s family was intimidating was an understatement. They were a handsome lot to be sure. Layla wondered if the blood of immortals and Others was somehow predestined to physical beauty, for everyone in the room—yes, even the badly scarred man they called Winston—was beautiful in their own way.

  Regardless of their physical appearance, they all radiated power of various levels. Winston and Archer were clearly human, though Archer’s body seemed to give off a faint silver glow, one that shocked Layla, for she had not previously been inclined to notice such things. But it was there—a bit like what she saw in Sin when he turned Judgment. Had Archer the blood of Judgment in him from some distant ancestor? The man was clearly ailing, so he could not be of full blood or he’d have healed himself.

  The man called Ian stared at her with an intensity that was unnerving, though she wondered if he was aware of doing it. There was nothing untoward about the look. He was currently stroking his wife’s hip where she sat perched upon the arm of his chair. Rather, his nostrils flared slightly as if he were taking in Layla’s scent and trying to define it. She supposed that made sense. Sin had told her Ian was a lycan, a being capable of turning into a werewolf. He was the king of the lycans, in fact. Layla entertained herself by picturing him wearing a great golden crown with a snarling wolf carved in the front.

  Her small smile made the beautiful one, Miranda, raise a brow. Gods, but she looked so very much like Sin. She had his sculpted features: the high-cut cheekbones, the thin straight nose, the lush but shapely lips. It almost hurt to look upon her. Sin was a beautiful male but Miranda was stunning.

  And she was not happy to see them. Nor were any of his family, apparently. Poppy, the leader of the SOS, seemed indifferent. Daisy, Ian’s wife and a strange being who clearly had a mechanical heart—Layla could hear it ticking away—was a pretty woman with a sweet smile, as if she would always be smiling, regardless of uncomfortable situations.

  This definitely counted as uncomfortable. The silence was deafening.

  Sin cleared his throat. “For the past year and a half, I’ve been in communication with Augustus.”

  Silence took on a heavy, hard feel.

  Sin stared back at his family and the square line of his jaw hardened. “He has been mentoring me, if you will.”

  “Why would Augustus do that?” Miranda asked, her tone cutting.

  Sin didn’t flinch. “Well, I suppose he felt he had things to teach me.” He glanced at Poppy, who seemed to know some of the truth, and then back at the rest of them. “This family has always been entwined with him in some way or other. I believe Augustus sees us as his to protect in his own way.”

  Sin left the rest unsaid but Layla heard it loud and clear, and believed his family did as well. Sin was part of this family whether they objected or not.

  Daisy had the grace to duck her head, while Ian and Archer seemed to give the barest nod at the same moment. Looking at them, Layla suspected they were close friends.

  “And you, Miss Starling,” Miranda said, looking at h
er with those eyes the same exact shade as Sin’s. “Augustus has been seen with you quite a bit.”

  “He is my guardian,” Layla said with pride. “He raised me.”

  “Bloody hell,” Poppy said in a low tone. “You all think me capable of secrets? Augustus wrote the manual.”

  “I was unaware that his guardianship of me was a secret,” Layla said.

  “Forgive me, Miss Starling,” Ian said, his tone laced with a hint of Scottish brogue, “but you aren’t quite human yourself, are you?”

  “No. My mother was called Lena.”

  An instant and menacing growl rumbled in Ian’s throat, drawing Layla up short, the tiny hairs along her neck and arms rising. Sin tensed, leaning forward in his seat. “Tone it down, Ranulf. She is mine.”

  A flush went through her at his claim. But Ian was glaring, his pupils turning to slits, rather like a wolf’s. Daisy cupped the back of his neck and gave it a squeeze. “Calm yourself, my dear pest. You know very well a person’s nature is not beholden to that of her parents.” She made a soft snort. “Or we’d all be raving, evil lunatics in here.”

  Ian winced. “Apologies, Miss Starling. I’ve had bad dealings with Lena.” He waved a hand that appeared to be tipped by claws. “’Tis no excuse, merely to point out that my reaction was not intended for you.”

  “It’s all right. I suspect we are all on edge.”

  Sin glanced at her and then set his arm on her chair, seeking her hand. She laced her fingers with his cold ones and realized how tense he really was.

  “There is a guardian-level Damnation demon in London,” Sin said.

  Poppy sat up straight, her fine nostrils flaring on a sharp breath. Only Ian seemed as affected. The rest merely looked confused.

  “At the risk of acquiring stomach upset,” Winston drawled, “what, pray tell, is a Damnation demon?”

  Layla rather liked him just then.

  Poppy’s pale hand drifted to his shoulder. “It is quite like Apep. Only worse.”

  At that, Winston winced, and Archer muttered, “Christ.”