“No. You see that staircase?” He nods toward a candlelit stack of marble in the back corner of the ballroom.
“Yes.”
“I’m going to go up them, you’re going to follow me in a few minutes, and I’m going to do unspeakable things to you at a London society party before we do indeed exit to go find dinner. Savvy?”
Now, like poor Thomas, I’m the one staring as I nod.
“Good.” He walks away with his champagne.
I try to stand around with a disinterested expression, but I’m practically bouncing on my toes by the time I finally decide to move. I’m already half hard in my pants as I climb the steps—but no one waits at the precipice. I think to whisper his name but instead wander farther down a dark hallway, not intended for party guests apparently as it is lit by nothing but a few flickering flames. The music echoes up here as though heard underwater, and polite laughter whispers like the breath of ghosts.
Just when I think Edmund has played some awful joke, a hand grabs me in the dark and pulls me through an open door. I’m shoved against the wall as Edmund presses his chest to mine, hands on the back of my head, and kisses me. Oh, his mouth is a marvel. He has the soft, full lips of a woman but the strength and hunger of a starving man. His tongue touches my lips until I open my mouth and moan around the invasion. I move my hands to his ass and squeeze, rolling our hips together.
Edmund drops to his knees. He mouths at my clothed cock, and my head tilts back against the closed door. Only then do I realize we’re in a small bedroom—hopefully abandoned. When he unbuttons my trousers and exposes my dick, I’m too gone to care. He takes the entirety of me into his mouth, and I hold tight to his hair. For a dead man, his tongue is certainly hot. I don’t even worry about his fangs.
Chasing release, I thrust gently down his throat. I know he can handle me. Jesus, I’ve literally fucked his throat before until he choked. He got off in the midst of it, untouched.
As I consider reenacting that exact thing, Edmund’s lips release me and he stands. He squeezes my cock in his hand but doesn’t move.
“And what if I left you this way?” he whispers, mouth against my ear. “What if I made you go back out to the party, rock-hard and wanting?”
I latch onto the lapels of his coat. “Wouldn’t happen. I’d bend you over that bed and fuck you first.”
He hums. “I’d let you.”
I nibble at the side of his neck until he tilts his head. “Get on your knees.”
At my command, he drops and gazes up at me, waiting.
“Hands behind your back.”
Even in the dimness, I see one of his dark eyebrows raise. He does as told, though, folding those long fingers at the base of his spine. He licks his lips until they shine.
I take full control of that sinful, brilliant mouth of his. I’d like to say I make him work for it, but honestly, I’m coming two minutes later. Anticipation can make the finale sweet, but soon. Of course, he dutifully swallows my dead seed and doesn’t stand until I give him a nod of permission.
I taste myself on his tongue. “You’ll fuck me later, won’t you?”
I run my nose across his cheek. “Quietly, yes. Brien hears everything, you know.”
He freezes in the midst of a delicate caress. “God, does he?”
“Perhaps he will be asleep.”
He sighs. “We’re going to have to be quiet for a long time, love. We are headed to the country. Sounds echo through old country estates.”
“You’re the loud one.”
He grunts and rests his forehead on my shoulder.
“Hungry?”
“I just ate,” he mutters.
I laugh into his hair.
“Let’s go find some stumbling drunk. I do prefer a little wine with dinner.”
Chapter Six
MY LOVE IS impatient and has every damn right to be. Michelle and Felipe are late, still shopping. Edmund took Brien and Flynn early this morning to a London tailor and bought them every bit of clothing they desired. Flynn wanted suits that fit Edmund’s style—complete with colorful, silk waistcoats—but Brien resembles a Puritan in his all-black, high-collared affairs. Now, with two carriages waiting downstairs, Edmund paces and tugs on his hair until it looks tangled.
I grab him by the elbows and make him stop. I even brush his hair with my fingers and kiss his forehead while Flynn primps in his bedroom and Brien probably stares at the walls of his own. I’ve noticed the Elder values his alone time greatly. The only creature he lingers over is my sailor.
We freeze at the sound of an abrupt knock on the door. It echoes through the large room like thunder.
Edmund frowns. “Now, who the bloody hell is that?”
“Maybe the carriage drivers are getting impatient.”
“God, why? I paid them enough to wait.”
I kiss him on the nose and go to answer. As soon as I turn the knob, the door is forced open. A middle-aged man with a sizeable gut and a silver cane rushes inside. “Where is he?” I’m about to step forward and inform the man he has the wrong room, but he shouts when he sees Edmund. “Baines! Alive!”
“Conroy, I—” He coughs at the force of the fat man’s sudden embrace.
“You just won me fifty pounds! They said you were dead, and I said, ‘Baines! Never! That foolhardy idiot will outlive us all! If anyone could conquer death, it’d be Edmund.’”
My darling sort of chuckles.
“Everyone else dead?”
Edmund’s eyes go to the floor. “Yes.”
“Awful business.” The man, Conroy, clears his throat and taps his cane on the floor. “It’s all over the city that you’re back.” He digs around in his breeches and pulls out a paper. “See! You made the society column. Seventh Duke of Wilshire. A reprobate like you, a duke? Laughable!” And so he laughs. “But you must come straightaway to the trading company. We have serious business to discuss.” He latches onto Edmund’s arm and starts pulling.
Edmund plants his feet to stop the fat man’s tugging. “Conroy, I cannot.”
“You must. There is an inquiry, and you know we must close the case on this unfortunate event. You must tell us everything.”
“I will, but later. I must leave straightaway to see my mother. She’s ill.”
Conroy hasn’t asked for an introduction—or even shown knowledge of my presence—until he turns and glares at me. “Tell this rascal that business must be attended to.”
I don’t bother responding.
Edmund finally shakes his arm free. “Conroy, when I return, I—”
“No, my boy!” he shouts. “This is a matter of the utmost importance. We’ve lost an entire ship and crew to, what, a storm? Fine, fine, but it must not happen again. Now, come to the offices and sign a few things. Your mother can wait.”
Edmund takes a slow breath in through his nose and appears to grow—as he always does when he’s spoiling for a fight. “You will wait until I return from Heavenhill.”
“No, I shall—”
“Conroy. You will wait until I return from Heavenhill.”
The fat man, for all his earlier boisterousness, stands perfectly still, staring at Edmund. I watch him blink. His fingertips tap the top of his cane.
“Do you understand?” Edmund asks.
“I will wait until you return from Heavenhill.”
“Thank you, Conroy. Now, please, depart.”
Conroy turns and leaves the room, shutting the door gently behind him.
Edmund crumbles to one knee, one hand on the floor. He groans, and I run to him. “Edmund?”
He weaves and appears to faint dead away, limp on his back on the hardwood.
“Brien!” I scream.
The Elder is at my side before I even hear his bedroom door open. The sound lingers behind us like an echo in a cave. He sits on the floor and scoops Edmund into his arms. “What happened?”
“He…influenced a man, I think.”
Brien grins, not even bothering to hide h
is fangs. Then, he turns his attention back to Edmund. He speaks with his lips against my love’s forehead and rocks him back and forth. “Edmund…Edmund. Wake up.”
“Mm.” He curls into Brien’s embrace.
“You need to drink from me.”
Edmund doesn’t open his eyes. “But you’re dead.”
“Not to you.”
My gaze certainly asks a question, but Brien only has eyes for Edmund.
“Have you not noticed I smell different?” His long, pointed fingernails caress the side of Edmund’s neck.
“I just thought you needed a bath.”
Brien chuckles and, without letting go of Edmund, manages to roll up his black coat and undo the row of buttons at his cuff. He holds his wrist to Edmund’s mouth. “Drink.”
Insatiable as always, my darling doesn’t hesitate. His fangs flash in the late morning light before disappearing into Brien’s pale flesh. The Elder makes a deep, pleased sound that makes me want to claw his throat out. I curl my hands into fists on my folded knees to keep from attacking.
It’s barely a minute before Brien pulls his hand away. Edmund leans up to take more, but Brien holds him back with a hand in his hair. “That is enough. I would not want you to have too much.” He hides his wrist but not before I see two black holes.
I’m sure Edmund has questions—hell, I’ve got about fifty—but instead of asking, as I might expect, he smiles and melts back to the floor where Brien leaves him and stands. I stand too. Between our feet, Edmund stretches and smiles. “Shit, this is better than rum.”
Brien grins down at him. His long, black hair obstructs half his face.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Influencing requires strength. He requires me to recuperate, or the ability could kill him.”
“He never fainted from moving ladles.”
“Moving the human mind takes a bit more.”
Still on the floor, Edmund hums to himself, completely lost in sensation.
“But what did you feed him? You have no blood.”
Brien’s dark eyes run over the length of Edmund’s body. “No, I do not. I cannot be certain, but I believe it was part of his soul. When I killed him, I took that. I feel it inside me sometimes, the taste of it—his passion, his fortitude.”
I clench my fists.
“I know you wanted to swallow those things. I am sorry I took them from you, but this is the reason I did.” He stares at me now, gaze firm. “An Elder and offspring have a certain connection that others do not. When I created Edmund, I gave him more. But to be more, he needs the gift I give—the breaking of my skin and the consumption of what I have.”
“His own life.”
Brien shrugs. “It is the only conclusion I’ve been able to draw.”
“So you’ve done this before, made someone like Edmund?”
Before we get any further, Felipe and Michelle come tumbling inside, followed by several hotel staff carrying bags and boxes.
Felipe hoots when he sees Edmund on the floor. “Drunk already?”
“Not exactly,” Edmund replies. He sits up and stands, one hand on my shoulder and the other on Brien’s. “Jesus, did you buy out Savile Row? You’re late. Get your things.”
My old friends tut and apologize and wander toward their bedroom as servants set their new purchases here and there.
Edmund speaks quietly. “Let’s keep what just happened between the three of us?”
“Of course, Edmund,” Brien says.
I nod. Due to our audience, I do not pull him to me in an embrace, but I want to. It never occurred to me that Edmund could be weakened in his immortal state or that Brien could conceivably become an eternal necessity in our lives. I never felt much of a connection to my Elder, but oh, then, I remember: my soul was gone when my Elder found me. He may have given me life, but he never took or cherished mine.
I’VE NEVER SEEN Edmund quite this moody, but I don’t blame him. I can’t even consider the thoughts raging through his rather gargantuan brain. I know his mind rushes, but I’ve never had to watch it circle and circle and circle itself like this. I have no choice, trapped in our gently rocking carriage with Brien and Flynn. Michelle and Felipe follow close behind—the two of them and our belongings, which have recently doubled thanks to their morning shopping spree.
Beyond the window, the English countryside passes green and lush beneath a gray sky that makes the colors all the more vibrant by comparison. Inside, Brien sits silently at my side. Across from me, Flynn lounges against Edmund’s shoulder and reads. Based on a single comment I made during our sea voyage, Flynn knew to buy Edmund a penny dreadful. Flynn seems to remember everything I have ever said about Edmund.
I think Flynn is in love, desperately, fruitlessly. The young man fixates. Today, he bought clothes Edmund would wear. He bought a book Edmund would enjoy. He leans on Edmund as though begging for attention, and he gets it in small bursts. As he reads the tall tale of some horse-riding bandit, Edmund does sometimes run his fingers through Flynn’s bright-red hair.
Eventually, Flynn pouts midsentence. “Take off those gloves. I don’t like when you touch me in gloves.”
Edmund shoots me an amused glare but does as instructed and removes the black leather gloves I find so damned attractive. He lays them across his thigh and again plays with Flynn’s hair. Flynn sighs and leans harder against Edmund’s body. Although nineteen, his immaturity is proof of his privileged life inside the coven. It can be an annoyance, but his childish behavior is welcome right now as a distraction from my love’s troubled thoughts.
I’m sure Edmund expects the worst. His mother has been sick for months at least—maybe longer—and he knows not with what. Perhaps she’s wasted away by now to nothing but bones and skin. Perhaps she’s confined to bed. Perhaps, perhaps. There are so many maybes. I practically smell the fearful uncertainty that rises like steam from Edmund’s skin.
As Flynn reads, Edmund’s eyes, bright in contrast to his simple black suit, dart from outside to across the carriage at me. Occasionally, he closes them altogether and rests his nose and mouth in Flynn’s hair. It’s an endless, ever-moving visual cycle, and I wish he would just sleep, if only to pass the time.
The penny dreadful ends with a massive climax of blood and screams—and a big, romantic kiss, of course. Flynn closes the little book. “Did you enjoy it, Edmund?”
“Hmm?” He sighs. “Yes, thank you.”
Flynn yawns and reclines across Edmund’s lap. He’s such a small thing. It’s not long before he sleeps.
Edmund’s voice interrupts the sound of horse hooves on gravel. “How old are you, Brien?”
Brien startles at the sound of his name as though he too, were dozing, although I have yet to see the Elder sleep. “What does it matter?”
“Curiosity is my habit.”
“Or curse,” I mutter.
“Your curse,” Edmund agrees. “A lover that never shuts up.”
“I would have it no other way.” I wink.
“Come on, Brien. The book is finished. Indulge me.” What a cad. The way Edmund smiles up from below his dark lashes, no one could refuse him.
“I do not know my exact age. Only the things I have seen.”
“What have you seen?”
I turn to watch Brien as he considers. He looks to the floor and folds his hands. “All aspects of humanity. Love and hate, war and peace.”
When he says nothing more, Edmund asks, “Did you travel?”
“Some.”
“Why did you bury yourself anyway? Why would you want to, with the power you have?”
Brien remains silent, but he gazes right at Edmund. After a pause bordering on awkward, he says, “I lost someone. I didn’t want to miss him anymore.”
“Then, why didn’t you have yourself killed?”
The Elder shrugs. “One never knows when an Edmund might show up.”
My beloved laughs, but I’m not amused. Brien says so little about himself, which makes
it the more apparent to me that he has secrets he does not wish to reveal.
Edmund wipes at his eyes. “You speak in riddles, Brien. Tell a story. Just one.”
“You are the one who tells stories, dead man.”
“Everyone tells stories. Some are simply better than others.”
Brien leans forward as the carriage sways. “Will you tell me another story?”
“About what?”
“Why does coming home make you sad?”
Edmund laughs again, but it sounds like he’s been punched. I want to leap across the carriage and hold him, but the sudden rocking keeps me planted. We’ve apparently turned off the main street and now head even farther into the country.
My darling stares resolutely outside. “You see more than you let on.”
“I see you,” Brien murmurs.
“Let’s not talk anymore.”
“I only—”
“Leave it, Brien.”
The Elder looks at me. I give a single shake of my head and twist my fingers together in lieu of touching Edmund, who seems as though he might bite. His whole demeanor has shifted—again. The entertainment of Flynn’s reading added some levity to his expression, but his frown is back, as are the lines on his forehead. He embodies the clouds that threaten outside.
His right finger taps against his thigh near Flynn’s head. Tap-tap-tap. It takes me a moment to realize it’s not his finger making that noise but the discarded penny dreadful, opening and slamming shut on the seat without being touched.
“Edmund?”
“What?” he snaps at me—and wakes Flynn.
The youth bolts upright at Edmund’s harsh tone. “Are we there?”
“Flynn, come sit with Brien please.”
It takes some maneuvering in the ever-moving carriage for us to switch places, but as soon as I come to rest at Edmund’s side, he hurls himself into my arms. A pointless breath whooshes from my chest. It’s a strange dichotomy: the lean strength of his physicality contrasted with the fragility of his mental state. He is muscle and expensive fabric to the touch but tortured to the eyes and ears.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper.
Flynn’s small voice: “Edmund?”
Escaping Mortality Page 5