Abigail Jones (Chronicles of Abigail Jones #1)

by Grace Callaway

  I was rewarded with a deeper caress, one that brought a swift weakness to my knees. He caught me before I fell, and, laying his jacket upon the hay, he placed me across the bale. Kneeling, murmuring words of praise, he continued to stroke me while my hips lifted again and again in wordless supplication. I gasped at the deepening penetration, the slick yielding of my flesh to his thrusting fingers.

  "How tightly you hold me. Ah, Abby, you cannot imagine how good it feels," he groaned. "Tell me it feels the same for you."

  I felt myself stretching around him, my desire blossoming in the heat of his. "Oh, yes." My voice was panting, unrecognizable. "I feel a-awash when you touch me. When your fingers are inside me, inside my quim. I ... oooh ..."

  He had driven ever more deeply toward the core of me, filling me, stretching me to my limit. And still he took me further. Bending his head, he did the unthinkable.

  "Hux!" His name left me in shocked cry. "Oh no, you mustn't—"

  "Mustn't I?" He did something with his tongue that sent streaks of fire down my legs. Lifting those limbs upon his shoulders, he did something yet more wicked, and I could not protest for the moans crowding up my throat. "Mustn't I taste your luscious self? Mustn't I lick your darling clit"—I cried out at the flickering bliss—"Why mustn't I eat you until you scream with delight?"

  With each instruction, I sank deeper and deeper into flame. I watched his dark head between my thighs, the heat of his mouth exploding through every cell in my body, every unspoken fear in my heart. My vision blurring, I let the fire take me, let it deliver me into mindless ecstasy.

  When I came to, Hux was sitting beside me. He was stroking my hair, murmuring to me gently. I reached a wondering hand up to his brow; beads of moisture clung to his hot skin. My fingers drifted to the silk cravat, which remained perfectly pinned. Despite the languid aftermath enveloping me like a cloud, I realized my sated state was not completely shared.

  "Hux, you did not—"

  "You are so beautiful, Abby," he whispered. He took my hand and kissed it. "My virtuous, passionate goddess. Only with you could I trust my secrets and my heart."

  Needled with guilt, I ducked my head, said lamely, "But you did not ... experience the pleasure I did."

  "Your pleasure is my own, my love," he said tenderly.

  Novice to lovemaking though I was, I knew that could not be the entire truth. "I want you to have what you gave me," I insisted. "I want to ... to pleasure you as you did me."

  At my words, his nostrils flared. He leaned and took my mouth in a sweet kiss. Despite the satisfaction still humming in my blood, I felt a leap of heat in my belly.

  "You are worn out, my love. I have waited a long time for ..." He seemed to hesitate, then continued briskly, "I can be patient. I want to be, with you. With you, I wish to do everything right, Abby."

  My heart stuttered. "How do you mean?"

  Brushing his knuckles against my jaw, he looked upon me with concentrated awareness. The tenderness in his vivid gaze caused my insides to liquefy. "I want a fresh start. I want to do with you what I have never done with another woman. I want to court you, Abigail. Properly, and with all the trappings you deserve. You know the worst of me—now I would have you know the best."

  "I know you." Catching his hand, I pressed my trembling lips to his palm. "And I don't need anything but your love."

  His fingers threaded into the hair at my temples, tilting my head up. The possessive flare in his eyes increased my trembling. "You will have that and more. But for now, I must know—you are mine, Abigail, aren't you? I have your promise never to leave me."

  As if I ever could.

  Blinking back tears of guilt, of hopeless yearning, I said, "I love you, Hux. So long as you want me, I will not leave."

  He drew me close, turning his face to my hair. As he whispered words of forever, my thoughts turned feverishly to how I could make it so.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  At Hux's insistence, we parted that night. We shared a last, lingering kiss in the stables, and then I returned alone to my room. All the way back, I felt his watchful presence. Everything between us had changed, I knew. The possessive brand of his lips still scorched my own. But accompanying the thrilling desire was a tingling trepidation. A shortening of breath as I felt the tightening noose of my secret, the sin of omission that I was committing with indefensible regularity.

  As I changed into my nightgown, Hux's warning played in my head. You must never lie to me. I will know it if you do, and you won't like the consequences.

  I shivered, even beneath the thick covers. Sweet heavens, what was I to do? Quite possibly I was everything he hated. And he, the only man I would ever love. All that aside, there was also the small problem of figuring out what it meant to be a demon ... Was I evil though I didn't know it? Did the malicious powers of the Lilin live within me ...? Exhausted, I drifted into restless slumber. As I dreamt, I saw a corner of my mind peeling back like antiquated wallpaper. Beneath it was another layer and yet another. I caught glimpses as the images shed, sheet by sheet, from my memory.

  My first meeting with Mrs. Beecher, Hope End looming in the background. Aunt Agnes with her salt-and-paper hair tightly pulled, her lips pursed in thought as she held a book in her lap. Miranda of the springy curls and the gleaming promise of a tea set made of tin. And another face, blurred yet beautiful, one I had only encountered in my dreams ...

  Come with me, sweet child. Leave your earthly troubles behind ... let me show you beauty beyond compare ...

  Her promises beckoned me, and I could not resist. The ground dissolved into a field bright with wildflowers, and I followed her lithe, white-clad form through waving grasses. Her hair streamed behind her like a river of blushing gold. Though I could not see her face, I could hear her laughter. Warm as the sunshine upon my skin, lively as the notes of lavender and olive upon the breeze, the sound filled me with immeasurable comfort. I had longed for that voice all my life; I would follow her anywhere.

  Her pace became quicker now, and I had to run to keep up. I did not want to lose her. Her song filled my ears, a wordless melody that cradled me and made my heart clutch with yearning. Like a gazelle, she leapt nimbly over a wooden gate. I lost time, fumbling to undo the latch so I could follow. I came to a luminous villa, its walls gleaming like pearl beneath the red-tiled roof. Already the waves of rosy gold were disappearing inside.

  Panting, I raced after her. I stumbled on the front steps, falling into a pink marble foyer. I spotted her graceful form above me, floating up a steep, spiraling stairway. I called out desperately for her to wait, to not abandon me again—but all I heard was her fading laughter, the tinkling of the glass chandelier as she vanished from my view. Pushing to my feet, I felt a sting upon my palm; scarlet dripped from a thick gash. With a sob in my throat, I pressed on, clambering up the steps after her.

  I followed her soft, milk-sweet scent to the second floor, to the door at the end of the corridor. It stood ajar. I could hear the muted cadence of her voice from within. She was calling for me. Breathless with anticipation, I pushed at the barrier. It creaked and gave way to me. I entered, driven by imperious need to be near her. To never again be parted from her.

  The room swayed with shadows. Blinking, I tried to adjust to the dimness. I saw the large bed at the center and the movement within the black, gauzy bed curtains. The undulating outline sparked a sudden dread in me. Her voice came clearly to me now: her song no longer sweet, but carnal. Hungry. Primal awareness arrowed down my spine, pinned me in place. Instantly, I knew I should be gone from here. Yet I could not move—her command froze me in terror.

  Come closer, my darling. Come watch.

  I did not want to. Please, don't make me. My feet obeyed only the authority of her voice. They skidded across the bare-planked floor, stopping at the bed's edge. A spasm clutched my throat as I saw the looming, veiled figures upon the mattress. The smell of arousal wafted through the curtain, as did her silken voice.

  See how to tak
e your pleasure from a man. How to make him submit. To take his cock as it should be taken: as an offering for a goddess' delight ...

  A violent gust whipped open the black hangings. Her back was to me, molten copper dripping over flawless white curves as she gyrated atop a man. With her head thrown back, she emitted bestial purrs as her hips swiveled, her buttocks slapping down against the struggling, muscled figure beneath her. All I could see of the man were his large, bare feet, his bulging calves dusted with dark hair ... and his hands.

  My eyes widened as I saw them fisting, straining against the chains which held him fast to the bedposts. Something winked on his finger. A glint of aged metal.

  A signet ring.

  My heart seized as his deep, tortured groan exploded in my ears. The bed shuddered violently with his efforts to be free of the monster pinning him down. The demon whose neck twisted fully around, whose amber eyes glowed into mine. As I watched, paralyzed with horror, a drop of crimson trickled from her glistening, smiling lips.

  A fine specimen, isn't he? His cock, his blood—utterly delicious. There's plenty to go around, so come, my lovely, come have a taste ...

  The scream burst from my lungs, shocked me into waking. My heart thundered as I lay gasping on the damp sheets. My fingers gripped the mattress while I fought to shut out the images. Whether products of my wild imaginings or some deeper, more insidious darkness, I did not know. I did not care. I knew only that I could not tolerate them.

  They had to stop. Now.

  My mind spun to Aunt Agnes' teachings, the images I had used in the past. A door. Closing my eyes, I pictured barring the demon in a closet and slamming closed the door. But the knob continued to rattle, her voice hissing in fury. Let me out, damn you, I'll not be locked inside! Panting, I strove to think of another image, one powerful enough to hold back this rampaging malevolence.

  In answer, something tingled beneath my throat.

  My mother's necklace.

  Instinctively, my fingers gripped the charm as I simultaneously focused it simple shape upon my mind. Four points, the vertical bar longer than the horizontal. Pale gold, softly gleaming. I noticed a brief buzz, a boost of warmth as I continued to hold the picture in my head. I could see the outline of the cross blurring, expanding into dazzling light. Everywhere the glittering haze touched, darkness seemed to retreat. Slowly, the hold of the dream loosened. I felt myself returning.

  When I opened my eyes, my respiration had calmed. My head, too, felt clearer than it had in days. Sitting up, I wiped the glaze of cool moisture from my face. I felt strangely whole, vigorous. It struck me that I had just fought off the dream with heretofore unknown strength. The aftermath continued to glow within me, as if the resilience of the cross had somehow melded with the fibers of my being. A lucid hope lit my mind.

  In the tower, the necklace had protected me from the other Lilin. Could it be that the cross also protected me from ... myself? From whatever demonic impulses lived within me? Did I have the means to control, perhaps vanquish, that hereditary darkness?

  As I attended to my ablutions, my mind roved feverishly over the evidence. Since the battle in the tower, the necklace's once-dormant abilities had blossomed. It had shielded me from the creature's fiery attack. It had accelerated the healing of my wounded limbs. My excitement building, I splashed my face with water from the ewer. Mayhap so long as I wore the cross my inner Lilin could not emerge. Mayhap if I practiced fostering the necklace's power (as I had done successfully moments ago) I could dispel Lilith's influence forever.

  I paused to look into the glass above the vanity. A familiar oval face and grey eyes, serious in their disposition, peered back at me. Abigail Jones, as I had always been. Touching my fingers to one damp cheek, I was comforted by its mortal warmth. Reason returned and along with it a nascent conviction. I was me; how could I be evil and still know who I was? How could I feel the pained yearnings of my human heart? How could I be in love?

  Whatever I was, I was not fully a demon.

  But how could I convince Hux of that fact? That despite my otherworldly connections, my love for him was pure and real? That I would do everything in my power to help him destroy Lilith?

  As I considered things from his perspective, color siphoned from my reflection. He had every reason to despise Lilith—and anything, or anyone, related to her. If he was to learn I had anything at all to do with the fiendish spirits, that I had been lying to him ... In the shimmery glass, my throat rippled as I pictured his incandescent rage, the flaring cobalt violence of his eyes. He would think my duplicity definitive proof of my sinful nature—that he had again been played for a fool by a demon. He'd think that I'd willfully used my carnal wiles to deceive him.

  Merciful heavens, would he think this was all part of Lilith's elaborate scheme to torment him?

  Panic seized my lungs. Oh God, I thought between shallow, gasping breaths, he'll never forgive me. He'll loathe me. Given the suffering Lilith has caused him, he might even want to ...

  In the mirror, my eyes widened, the grey edged out by dilated black.

  "Abigail. Are you up?" Mrs. Beecher's voice sounded urgently through the door.

  Licking my dry lips, I exhaled shakily. Surely there had to be a solution. I would mull it all out later. But for now, I thought with a shiver, Hux must not know. Chilled to the marrow, I went to the door. I worked my stiff lips into a smile before I opened it.

  "G-good morning, Mrs. Beecher," I heard myself say in overly bright tones. "You need not have troubled yourself—Ginny said she would come by to help me dress."

  "That's not why I'm here," the housekeeper said. There were smudges on her spectacles, as if she'd pushed them up with a careless hand. Seeing the furrow between her brows, I felt a flutter of apprehension. "The earl sent me. Abigail, what on earth is going on?"

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I hunted Hux down in the conservatory. The lush, glass-enclosed space adjoined the breakfast room and offered a serene view of the gardens behind the house. The scent of orange blossoms and the tinkling of an indoor fountain added to the soothing ambience. But the peacefulness of the surroundings did little to assuage my agitation.

  He was sitting at a table amidst the foliage, looking pensively out the windows into the fields beyond. Curls of steam rose from the untouched coffee by his hand. When he saw me, he rose immediately and despite my tumultuous state, I experienced a rush of incredulous pleasure at the sight of him. In a rich blue jacket the same celestial shade as his eyes, Hux radiated potency and virile charisma. That such a man could want me—I still could not credit it. He approached in quick strides, his smile fading as he registered my distress.

  Taking my cold hand, he pressed the back of it against his lips. "What is it, my love?" he asked quietly.

  Hardly able to believe his gall, I yanked my hand away. "You know very well," I cried. "How could you, after what you promised?"

  "How could I ... what?" He spoke with caution, in the manner of a man traversing a field of tar pits.

  "You told Mrs. Beecher to have my things packed," I said, my voice pitched with accusation. "You told her I was leaving on the morrow. You told her you were sending me away."

  He had the grace to look repentant—for approximately five seconds. "I believe we discussed this yesterday. In the stable ... before we got distracted."

  I refused to give into his charming cajolery. "We did not talk about this at all! You told me you were sending me away, and I refused. Then we ... after you and I ... I thought we came to an understanding," I sputtered.

  "One of us certainly came, such as it were." The wicked gleam in his eyes suffused my skin with instant heat. Ignoring the warm rush, I kept my gaze stony upon his. He sighed, his hand going to the back of his neck. "As for the understanding, I thought it was clear. You are mine now, Abigail. You belong to me, and I will protect you as I see fit."

  "But you asked me never to leave you—" I said desperately.

  "You are not leaving me." The posses
sive conviction of his tone reassured me somewhat, although his next words did not. "You will merely be waiting for me to join you. You'll like Yorkshire, I think, and I want you to see the family seat. To see what you've gotten yourself in for."

  Though my heart fluttered at the implication, I nonetheless demanded, "But what will you be doing whilst I am exiled to the country?"

  In the sudden tautness of his expression, I read the answer. He meant to go after Lilith in my absence, to complete his perilous quest. In the burning stillness that followed, an anarchy of feelings flooded my chest. Terror at the thought of him coming to harm. Guilt for all I kept from him. And most of all, love: for his boundless courage, for the warrior that he was. The emotional hodgepodge was overwhelming, driving tears to my eyes. I bit my lip, tried to keep the hot moisture from spilling over.

  "Abigail ... are you crying?"

  Shaking my head, I pressed the heels of my hands against my burning eyelids. "I-I'm fine. Just n-need a minute," I choked out.

  He was there at once, taking me into his arms. Beneath my ear, his voice vibrated with pure male helplessness. "Don't cry, my love. Please. I can't stand it."

  His admission only released the floodgates. "I c-can't lose you, Hux," I sobbed. "I love you so much. I don't kn-know what I would do i-if ..."

  "Shh, little one, you won't lose me." His hands roamed desperately over my back as his lips brushed against my hair, my temple. "I'll do anything in my power to make you happy. Anything at all. Just don't cry, please my darling ..."

  My pulse skittered. I lifted my drenched eyes to his. I had to find a way to stay.

  "Anything?" I whispered.

  His forehead lined with strain, he wiped my cheeks with a snowy handkerchief. His movements were uncharacteristically maladroit, as if the sight of my distress undid him completely.

  "Anything," he vowed roughly. "Please, Abby, I cannot bear to see you this way."

  "Don't go after them. After her." The words burst out of me before I could think more clearly. Once said, they could not be taken back. And I didn't want them back—I wanted him safe.