by Cassie Ryan
As it was, it had taken both he and Jethro to warm her up enough so she wasn’t shivering before they could undress her and get her in the tub.
And then she’d refused to kiss him!
He bristled at the uncomfortable memory.
He might not know a lot about succubi, but he did know kissing was a valid way of transferring energy, which she was still badly in need of if her pale features were any indication. He shook his head and padded down the hall naked since all his clothes were still inside the room where Amalya lay. A few steps took him to the guest room where he pulled open the closet praying the farmer kept extra clothes in here.
Levi wasn’t a modest man by nature, but he also didn’t relish the notion of going downstairs to discuss the next steps with Jethro in his current state of undress.
He was relieved to find the closet jam-packed with clothes, and from the stale, musty scent that greeted him, none of them had been touched in quite a while. He flipped through the odd assortment—jackets to Halloween costumes and everything in between—except a pair of trousers that might fit him.
He’d just begun to think giving up would be the best strategy when on the very last hanger he found a pink terry-cloth robe. He grit his teeth and bit back his pride as he pulled it off the hanger and held it up in front of him. Whoever had worn the robe had been very short and very round, but thanks to their girth, it looked like it would fit, although he’d have to be very careful about bending over.
Ignoring the mothball scent that clung to the fabric, he slipped on the robe. It wrapped around him easily but only fell to just above his knees. If he bent over, he’d give someone a ball’s eye view. But at this point, he’d rather suffer wearing this than returning to the room where he’d left not only his clothes but also Amalya and the urge to shake her until she saw reason.
What was it about her that unsettled him? He was normally unflappable, especially with women, but from the very first time he’d laid eyes on her, she’d gotten under his skin and pulled reactions from him that no one had since his childhood.
Once he’d realized the extent of her rebellion in the tub, he’d tried to beat her at her own game, but the little minx had neatly turned the tables on him—no doubt from all the skills learned in her profession. He had to admit, she’d surprised him, and broken his hard-won control at the same time.
He would admit some grudging respect for her if it hadn’t severely bruised his ego in the process. The damned woman had been at death’s door. Didn’t she realize he’d only been trying to restore her energy?
He huffed out a long breath and squared his shoulders as he headed downstairs, braced for Jethro’s reaction to his colorful attire.
When he entered the kitchen, he found the man cooking, which meant the electricity was back on.
Without turning, Jethro asked, “How is she?”
“Stubborn woman,” Levi mumbled in answer as he took a seat at the kitchen table and tried in vain to find a sitting position that didn’t leave his bare ass on the cold wooden chair.
Jethro turned to glance over his shoulder and Levi gritted his teeth as the man did a double take. “I’m not sure I want to know about your wardrobe choice, but I am concerned about Amalya,” he said finally before turning back toward the stove.
Jethro’s amused voice did little to calm Levi’s churning emotions. “She’s still weak.”
“Unable to give her enough energy, Your Grace?”
Irritation snapped through Levi at Jethro’s mocking tone and he glared at the back of the shorter man’s head. “Stop calling me ‘Your fucking Grace.’”
Jethro turned to give a courtly bow coupled with a knowing smirk. “As you wish, my lord.” He dropped pasta into the boiling water on the stove and stirred it with a long-handled spoon.
“Bloody American,” Levi ground out.
Jethro laughed and answered as if Levi hadn’t spoken. “As you can see, the electricity is working. I put the farmer’s body in the laundry room so Amalya won’t have to look at it. Beyond that, I don’t have any wonderful ideas how to get past the shades once we’re all recovered.” He shrugged. “So I figured we’d eat and sleep on it and then figure out what to do.”
Levi shook his head even though Jethro couldn’t see him. Lilith had made it very clear that time was of the essence, and the shades appearing everywhere seemed a bad omen that only added to his urgency. “We don’t have that kind of time.”
Jethro laid the spoon on the counter and turned to lean against the cabinets, crossing his arms in front of him. “I don’t see as we have much of a choice unless you have any bright ideas. You and I weren’t much match for the shades before, and you’ve just said Amalya is still weak.”
Dread curled inside Levi’s stomach as he realized their only way forward. He scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to ignore the weariness that had taken up residence inside his body. He’d originally thought he’d gotten the better end of this deal with Lilith to escort Amalya in exchange for information on his father. Now he was beginning to think Lilith had known from the start any information Levi originally received would be hard earned. “I’m going to call in an old debt and hope it helps more than it hurts.”
“Is that before or after you find the matching slippers for that getup?”
Levi scowled and stood. Facing Amalya and retrieving his clothes was beginning to look like the lesser of two evils here. “How soon until the food is ready?”
“About twenty minutes.”
Levi nodded and walked out of the kitchen with as much dignity as he could muster barefoot and wearing a pink terry-cloth robe. When he stepped inside the living room and turned toward the stairs, he stopped short.
Amalya sat on the bottom step sound asleep, her legs stretched out in front of her, her back resting against the banister. He wasn’t sure how she’d made it this far. She’d been weak and pale when he’d left her and figured she’d fall asleep instead of dress and try to make it down the stairs.
You’ve had your sustenance now, love. Jethro is downstairs if you fancy a more leisurely fuck or even a meal. The words he’d flung at her as he left replayed through his mind like an accusation, making him wince.
“Damn, I really am an ass sometimes,” he whispered to himself as he gently picked up Amalya and nestled her close to his chest as he carried her up the stairs.
She sighed in her sleep as she curled against him, her head resting against his chest as he cradled her.
He’d lashed out at her because she’d wounded his ego. He hadn’t thought she would risk life and limb by trying to navigate the stairs before she was ready. She’d even dressed—in her own clothes, which was more than he could say for himself.
He smiled as he reached the top of the stairs and turned toward the bedroom. She continued to surprise him, and she’d earned his grudging respect several times over, which was more than he could say for most beings, and sadly, that included most supernaturals.
He laid her gently on the bed and she immediately curled onto her side, cuddling into the pillow like a small child, her fist tucked under her chin, her knees drawn up as if she were cold.
Levi pulled the covers up over her and carefully tucked her in. When he was finished, he straightened and allowed himself a few minutes to study her. In sleep she looked innocent and very young, regardless of the fact that she’d been created back before the Bible was written.
Her golden eyelashes lay like delicate lace against her cheeks and her full lips were slightly parted.
A warm tendril of tenderness stole through him and he gave into the urge to brush a strand of hair away from her face. Her skin was warm and silky under his fingertips, her hair a soft spill that he remembered burying his fingers in as she rode him that first time back at Sinner’s Redemption.
His cock hardened instantly at the sudden erotic reminder and Levi shook his head. He reacted like a randy schoolboy around her, which he’d not experienced since . . . well, since he was a randy schoo
lboy.
He forced himself to turn away and cross the room to where his clothes lay over the ottoman. Grateful to be rid of the pink robe, he dropped it to the floor and quickly dressed, careful to check that all his blades were where they should be before he cast one last glance over his shoulder at Amalya and turned to head toward the guest room.
Once there, he sat cross-legged on the floor, the hardwood cold through the fabric of his still damp slacks. He took a deep breath, ignoring the internal voices that reminded him he had promised himself he would never do this again.
A quick mental image of Amalya lying pale and cold as death in the cotton field outside with shades surrounding her cemented his resolve.
He slid the dagger out of the sheath in his sock and wrapped his palm around the cold blade. In a quick motion he slashed his palm, hissing against the sting of the sharp cut.
As his blood welled into the wound, he closed his eyes and spoke. “Caldriel, by your blood that runs through my veins, I summon you.”
Static electricity snaked over him, raising all the hairs on his body in a flesh-crawling rush. He shuddered against the sensation and took deep breaths as he held up his open palm, offering the inducement for the summons and hoping the price he’d have to pay wasn’t too steep.
Energy began to swirl inside the room gaining power and momentum. It spun until the sound of the curtains flapping against the window cut through the howling of the wind. Power prickled against him as if he stood too close to an ungrounded electric cable and he clenched his teeth together as the basic human urge to flee from such a sensation ripped through him.
He stubbornly remained as still as possible, weathering the storm and defying the consequences for what seemed like hours.
Abruptly the world around him fell silent and the sensation of power slowly receded until he felt the warm, wet sensation of a tongue lapping at his wounded palm.
He opened his eyes to see a stunning brunette with his same color hair and clear, green eyes making one more pass over his palm with her tongue before she straightened and faced him. Her expression showed impatience twined with concern that he remembered well from his childhood.
He smiled and flexed his now fully healed palm as he took in her modern appearance and tried to reconcile it with the last time he’d seen her over one hundred years earlier. Times, fashions, and styles had changed and she never failed to keep pace.
“Obediah, why did you summon me? You’re lucky I was alone. I can’t be seen disappearing into thin air at the queen’s garden party. Not to mention you could’ve attracted some dangerous visitors by advertising your blood ties to me.” Her cultured British accent washed over him, the perfect blend of condescension and arrogance. That kind of unquestioned authority had been commonplace in Regency England but in modern times seemed sad and misplaced.
He wondered if he sounded the same to others. If so, no wonder Amalya had taken offense to his making decisions for her. The fact that he’d come by the behavior and attitude honestly did little to make him feel better.
He’d lived the life of the rich noble. He’d spent many years in the unforgiving role of Obediah Levi Spencer, Duke of Ashford. But when he’d stopped aging in his late twenties, his mother had been forced to admit that the anomaly had nothing to do, biologically speaking, with the previous Duke of Ashford.
He sighed and rose, towering over his mother’s five-foot-seven frame. “Summoning you was necessary. I apologize for interrupting such an important event as the queen’s garden party.”
She raised one brow, the only sign she’d registered his dry sarcasm. “Have you reconsidered your decision?”
He huffed out an impatient breath. “No, I have not. I need your help.”
She glared up at him, the vast height difference serving as no impediment for her displeasure—not that it ever had. “And what would induce me to help you when you refuse to see reason?”
“I had hoped that the life of your only son would be reason enough. You may enjoy endlessly being reborn as your own offspring in the eyes of the British nobility, but I prefer to live my life on my own terms.”
“At least your father was loyal.”
Anger flashed through him and he grabbed her arm and stepped close, towering over her. “Don’t ever call him that. We both know Ashford wasn’t my father, no matter how often I wished him to be.”
Her eyes flashed fire—actual fire—something he knew others rarely ever saw and lived. To get her to show her demon side was a feat he generally excelled at but had long ago tired of.
He slowly released her and took one step back. Not out of fear but chagrin that he’d let her goad him into actually laying a hand on her. Two things he did value from the time period of his upbringing were honor and manners—both of which his mother paid little heed.
“If you’d wanted loyalty, Mother, you should have gotten a dog. But then I suppose that’s how Ashford let you treat him all those years, anyway.”
She brushed a hand over the sleeve of her dress where he’d grabbed her as if he’d soiled her designer garment. “What is it you want, Obediah? I have a life to return to that obviously doesn’t involve you.”
The hurt in her voice had long ago ceased to work on him once he’d realized what a master manipulator she was. He ignored it and met her clear green gaze. “My two companions and I need a way safely past the shades.”
“Shades?” Genuine surprise flashed across her features that sent cold hard worry settling inside his gut. His mother knew all the latest gossip both human and supernatural. If he’d surprised her, that meant this was both a recent development and still unknown, which in supernatural terms meant more dangerous.
“What shades?” Her form flickered and then solidified, telling him she’d flashed outside to investigate and returned. The fact that he saw the flicker at all was a testament to his half-supernatural heritage.
“Bloody hell.” She frowned. A sure sign that she was unhappy with what she’d found. Even though she was a demon who would never age, his vain mother wouldn’t risk frowning which might eventually cause a wrinkle between her smooth brows. “When did this start?”
“The first I saw of them was several hours ago.”
She pursed her lips, another mannerism he’d rarely seen from her. “They appear to be more dense near cemeteries but are quickly spreading elsewhere, anywhere they can draw energy.” She raised her gaze to his. “Even if I could transport you and your companions out of this house, the shades will continue to be drawn to you. Especially with your energy levels, no matter how well hidden.”
Levi raked his fingers through his hair and paced away from her as he cast about for a way for his mother to help. She was his last hope to keep the three of them from dying inside this house.
“I don’t have the power to keep the shades from you. But I know someone who does.”
The resignation and even the tinge of fear in her voice made Levi snap his gaze to hers as icy foreboding chilled him. “Someone who would be willing to help me?”
She winced and dropped her gaze.
“Mother.” He spoke the single word sharply, discomfited by her display of reluctance and fear—something he’d never seen from her. “Who?”
She sighed and reached up to the long silver chain that ringed her throat and plunged down between her breasts. She fished the necklace out to reveal a bulky ring that Levi instantly recognized.
“The ring of Ashford?” The ring had the coat of arms of the Duke of Ashford etched into it; in older times it was used to impress the wax seals on letters and other official correspondence. He’d left it along with the other items from his old life when he’d walked away.
“The dukedom is yours and ever shall be. Regardless of your own lack of interest, I’ve been running your affairs in your absence and keeping up appearances as needed.”
Levi shook his head at her audacity. However, he couldn’t even bring himself to be surprised by her actions. Appearances were everything
to her, and thanks to her special circumstances, she’d had many years to hone hers . . . and apparently, his.
She unclasped the necklace and slid the ring off the chain. “You’ll need this.” She held out the ring and Levi reluctantly took it.
“Who am I supposed to summon now, Mother?”
He’d said it in jest so was surprised when she answered. “Use the same incantation you did to summon me, but leave out my name.”
The implication was that whoever he summoned would be someone else who shared his blood.
Cold, hard shock stole his breath and he stood frozen to the spot as he stared at his mother as if seeing her for the first time. He tried to speak several times before he was finally able to push words past his lips. “But I thought my father was human. Just not Spencer.” He resisted adding that humans couldn’t be summoned like supernaturals could, not to mention that Thomas Spencer, the duke of Ashford, had died long ago. A fact that still hung between them like a bitter accusation.
Caldriel raised her chin and met his gaze with a hauteur worthy of the queen herself. “I never said your biological father was human.”
“You may not have said, but you bloody well let me assume.”
She gave a Gallic shrug. “Even I cannot summon him, and he will have to choose to appear or not. But if you show him the ring, he’ll be able to surmise the rest.” She suddenly appeared uncomfortable, and a thought niggled at the back of Levi’s mind.
“He doesn’t know he has a son, does he?”
When his mother wouldn’t meet his gaze, that was answer enough. “I wish you luck, my son. The appearance of the shades isn’t a good omen. The end times could be nearer than we’d like. If you finally see sense and want to live the rest of your days as you should, you know how to find me.”
Levi studied her for a long moment and something like pity filled him. She’d spent her entire long existence making a place for herself within the human realm. If the end times came and all of that was erased, all her efforts would have been for nothing.