“You are my distant cousin, on my mother’s side, and I have come to ask for help,” she said, looking at Sunny.
“My my,” Sunny said. “It seems we have more in common than I originally thought.”
“Yes, but how does she know?” Ethan asked, his impatience making itself known in the rapid tapping of his finger against the settee.
“Auras,” Gwen said simply. “They gave you away.”
“Ah, I see,” Sunny said.
Ethan’s eyes narrowed on Gwen and this time she did squirm. “Well, I don’t see.”
Sunny looked over at her and said, “Tell them.”
“Every human has an aura,” Gwen began, a slight tremble in her voice. “The colors vary, but basically are the typical ones you would find in a rainbow.”
She paused, unsure of how to actually say the next part. If they were not talking about the same things, then she could end up in trouble like her mother. However, if they were supernaturals like she suspected, she would be fine.
Possibly.
Ethan quirked a brow in her direction and Lucas’s gaze flashed bright silver before settling back to the metal gray. It appeared as if they were growing restless.
She took the plunge.
“Witches have auras that shimmer, separating them from the humans,” she said. And then she waited for some type of reaction. When none came, she gained a little courage. “Werewolves usually have two colors. Take him for instance,” she said gesturing to Lucas. “His aura is mainly a dark gray, which denotes confusion or stress, but there are streaks of blue for sadness. The gray comes from the man, but the blue stems from the inner wolf.”
Lucas grunted once, but said nothing.
“What about me?” Ethan asked. He sat forward, placing his forearms on his thighs. The breeches he wore were tight against his legs, as was the shirt he wore. Both easily defined the muscles of his body, but she knew about the strength he carried, which was not seen.
“Only the undead walk, but have no aura,” she said. “Vampires are the only ones known to present themselves in this manner.”
“Well I’ll be damned,” Ethan said smacking his leg.
“I thought you already were,” Lucas said, a small smile playing about his lips.
Gwen became momentarily distracted by him. He was handsome when he was brooding, but when he smiled he was exquisite.
“You are in good company here,” Sunny said, placing a comforting hand on Gwen’s.
“Thank you,” Gwen said.
For the first time that evening didn’t feel alone in the world. It was amazing that she was in the midst of some of the most dangerous creatures to walk the earth, and yet she felt completely at ease. Well, she did now that Ethan was not going to try and “sample” her.
“Now, what is it that brought you to me?” Sunny asked.
“I think a few rules are in order first,” Ethan said, holding up a hand and effectively keeping Gwen from responding. “She knows our true identities. I, for one, do not think this is something that can be ignored.”
“I would never tell anyone,” Gwen said. “I have heard stories of werewolves and vampires all of my life and I know that you are not to be trifled with. My only objective was to seek out Sunny, so she could help me control my magic.” She turned to Sunny. “As a member of the same coven, and my distant relative, I was hoping you could help me.”
“Is your mother among the living?” Sunny asked. “Surely, she would have taught you everything you need to know?”
Gwen looked down and plucked an imaginary piece of lint from her skirts as guilt crawled along her spine. “She is in jail, and has been charged with witchcraft.”
Chapter 2
His brother was dead. Or at least he was presumed to be since he’d been missing for over a month, according to the officials. Hayden Caldwell, future Earl of Greystone swirled the fine brandy in the crystal tumbler before downing the entire contents. The burn down his throat proved he was still alive, even though the sensation of being numb wanted to argue otherwise. He poured himself another glass hoping this would be the one to finally drown his sorrow, or at least make him pass out.
“Slow down there chap,” Kent Brooks said. He reached for Hayden’s glass, but was not fast enough to take it from him.
Maybe Hayden wasn’t as drunk as he thought.
“We’ve got a long night ahead of us,” Kent said, “so don’t you go and ruin it by getting sloshed too early.”
“He’s right,” Alex Hunt, the Baron of Montwood said. “The best way you can honor your brother now is to live life to its fullest. God rest his soul.”
The three gentlemen lifted their drinks and took a healthy swallow. The former heir to Greystone had been a big brother to all of them. It was Gabriel who had warned Hayden about his rakish behavior, while he had always been a prime example of what a future earl was supposed to be. He had been noble, good, and everything a father could want in a son. In other words, everything Hayden wasn’t.
Hayden wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, most likely staining the fine material. He knew nothing about being a responsible heir and everyone knew it, his father especially.
“Should we attend the Swayer’s ball?” Kent asked. “Maybe there will be a widow who is feeling restless,” he said eyeing Hayden.
“I’ve sworn off widows,” Hayden said. “Besides, I’ve been advised, no, commanded to stop my licentious behavior. It is not fitting for ‘man of my station,’” he said mimicking the derisive tone of his father. “My father believes I will never find a bride if I do not stop sowing my wild oats amongst the ton.”
Alex’s face mirrored the exact response Hayden himself had experienced, horror. “He wants you married?”
“I am to secure a fiancée by the end of the season. Thank God I had the wherewithal to demand she be of my choosing,” Hayden said.
Kent cringed. “Marriage is something I hope to avoid for several more years. As a second son, fending off of the marriage mart mamas is not too difficult. No one wants a husband who will not inherit the title.”
“As a former second son,” Hayden said with a curl to his lips, “I have no doubt I will be swarmed by eligible ladies everywhere I go from now on. I may not have a high rank, but my father’s wealth more than makes up for it. This title is enough to keep me in a state of drunkenness for eternity.”
“There is one place you will not find them lurking,” Kent said. A mischievous grin pulled at his mouth. “The Den of the Fallen.”
“The most expensive brothel in London sounds more and more like a haven, considering my upcoming future,” Hayden said, dropping his head into his palm. “Unfortunately, I have been told to stop frequenting that location as well. According to my father, my entire focus should be on securing the title by producing an heir as soon as possible. It seems my brother’s death has thrown my father over the edge in that regard.”
“One last time won’t hurt anything,” Alex said. “I am sure he will not find out since the madam at the brothel assures discretion above all things. Think of this as your last night of freedom before the shackles of marriage are clamped about your wrists.”
“And ankles,” Kent piped in.
“Thank you for that heartwarming visual,” Hayden said.
Alex laughed. “You probably need to clear your mind and this would be a good way to do it.” A gleam entered his eye. “Unless you’re not able to perform, given your intoxication level.”
Hayden stood to his feet, swayed, and then steadied himself. He drilled Alex with a stern gaze. “You need not worry about my sexual performance, my dear comrade. It is the lady’s opinion that matters, not yours.”
“Be that as it may, try not to pass out on the way there.”
Twenty minutes later the trio stood inside the lobby of the Den of the Fallen. The madam greeted them with a quick perusal before her smile widened. She was breathtaking, but everyone knew she was not available for a night of entertainment. Hayden
thought it was a shame, but luckily for him, and the other customers, the courtesans were also beautiful.
A pretty redhead caught his eye and he winked at her. At least that’s what he hoped he did. Despite his fervent denials, he was quite foxed, and he really hoped he would be able to pleasure the courtesan whose bed he took. Far be it for him to be a selfish lover, but he did feel on the verge of passing out.
The madam spoke to Alex and Kent, giving each of them a room number after they picked their desired companion for the evening. Then she turned to Hayden and he blinked several times to put the two versions of her into one whole person.
“Did you hear me, my lord?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said. He was pretty sure she said something about the second floor, first door. Or had it been the second door on the second floor?
“Would you like me to escort you to your quarters?” she asked.
“That will not be necessary.”
It probably was more than necessary, but his pride would not allow him to accept her assistance.
“Very well,” she said with a raised brow. “Your fee, my lord.”
“Oh, quite right.”
He reached into his greatcoat and pulled out his wallet. After handing her the required sum, she gave him a quick nod.
“Enjoy yourself. If you find it necessary to stay the night, you may. Bethany is yours for the evening.”
“Thank you.”
He headed in the direction of the staircase, concentrating on putting one steady foot in front of the other. If he turned around, he would probably see the madam watching him with her knowing gaze. She never said anything, but he could always sense that she wanted to say more than she did.
His trek up the staircase took a lot more effort than he had imagined it would. On the last three steps he reached for the banister, thankful that he hadn’t catapulted backwards. An image of him being found dead in a brothel due to a broken neck brought a dark smile to his face. The anger his father would experience wasn’t worth dying for, but it was a pleasant thought.
He leaned against the wall, taking a moment to orient himself after the arduous climb up the stairs. Standing between the first room and the second, he struggled to remember what the madam had said. Turning to his left, he placed his hand on the knob, grateful his hand didn’t shake. If he was correct, there would not be a problem. If this was the wrong room, the occupant would most likely turn him away.
The door opened without a sound. He stepped into the dimly lit room, halting just inside as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. A woman lay in the middle of a bed, one arm resting on her stomach, while the other was above her head. Her face was turned away from him, but the slope of her neck was graceful and the mounds of her breasts were generous. Midnight hair cascaded over the edge of the mattress, as did parts of her white nightgown. The lacey material stopped at her knees, exposing long, shapely legs, and delicately arched feet.
His steps were light as he crossed the room. As he drew nearer, he could make out her sooty lashes which were stark against the paleness of her skin. Her lips were full, as though made for kissing, and whispering seductive things. She was lovely. More than beautiful, if he was being honest, but what else did one expect from an expensive courtesan?
He reached out his hand to wake her from her playacting, but halted at the last second. If this was a game she wanted to play, he would go along with it. He repressed thoughts of a future that consisted of his husbandly duties with a rigid or cold wife. At least tonight the lady in question would be warm and willing.
He trailed his finger along her arm, which rested on her stomach. Dragging his fingertips up, he came into contact with the valley between her breasts. Her breathing became deep as he traced each mound, but she sighed when his thumb caressed her nipple. He knew her response to him was no different than it would be with any other client, and yet he felt as if it was genuine.
He leaned over and kissed the flickering pulse at the base of her neck and when it sped up, he smiled. If she were putting on an act, it was good enough to convince him.
After removing his shoes and coat, he crawled into the bed beside her. She didn’t stir one bit and so he continued to play the game. Something about seducing her, even though that was supposed to be her main objective, heated his blood. He was no stranger to the attention of women. They had thrown themselves into his path time and time again, but he suspected it was going to happen a lot more often now. Perhaps it was the challenge of it all that enticed him with this particular woman.
He placed a kiss on her collar bone and traveled upwards, only stopping when he reached her mouth. Her lips were slightly parted and he swept his tongue along her lower lip, grinning stupidly when her low hum met his ears. He dipped his tongue between her lips and the taste of sherry greeted him as he drank of her. She returned his kiss with more passion than expected and he deepened the kiss, following her lead. Her arms wrapped around him, gripping the nape of his neck as though she was hanging on for dear life.
He continued to kiss her as she clung to him. She began to moan, the provocative sound driving him wild. He gripped the swell of her hip, bringing her closer to him and the softness of her body molded to his, as his hand drifted across a silky thigh. He dipped his hand between her legs, seeking evidence of her arousal, not wanting to be alone in his passion. Liquid heat met his fingertips and he groaned. She was as on fire for him as he was for her. He wanted the blaze of her passion to become an inferno and so he swiped his index across her bundle of nerves.
A deep moan was followed by a sharp gasp. Her eyes flew open and locked onto his, giving him his first view of her eyes. It was hard to tell without the proper lighting, but he thought them to be a dark blue as her shriek pierced his ears.
“What the devil?” were the last words he uttered before the woman’s palms met his chest and he flew into the air. A vision of his lovely temptress was the last thing he saw before everything went dark.
Chapter 3
Gwen’s first thought was that she had killed him. When she’d thrown him to the ceiling, he’d hit his head with a loud bang, and come vaulting downward.
Extending her arms once more, she suspended him in the air with her magic, cringing at the slumped figure. She slowly lowered her arms, guiding his body to lie on the bed, after moving to the side. Flat on his back, he took up most of the space on the bed.
She reached out, hesitant at first, and touched the side of his neck. When his strong pulse beat against her fingertips she nearly collapsed with relief. Instead of retracting her hand, like she knew she should, she let her fingers glide along his stubbled jaw-line and up his sharp cheekbones. She brushed back locks of his dark hair and found them soft to touch.
He was very alive, thank goodness, and very handsome.
Too handsome.
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, recalling the sensations which had ricocheted through her body minutes ago. It had all been a dream. Well, it had started out as a dream. She’d been laying in a meadow, out in the countryside, with the sun warming her skin. A mysterious gentleman had joined her a moment later and began to rain kisses on her skin and waiting lips. Her dreams usually progressed in this manner and ended shortly thereafter, but this dream had continued, taking her to a place she’d never thought her subconscious could conjure.
Then a heat that had nothing whatsoever to do with the sun had gathered in her core. It had shocked her with its intensity, unlike anything she’d ever felt before. A great need had risen in that moment and she had wanted nothing more than to experience it, to see it satisfied. When the stranger had caressed her most secret parts, she had known immediately that it was no longer her mind creating the scenario. Having never been intimate with a man, she would never have directed his fingers in that manner.
Heat bloomed on her cheeks as she thought about how sinfully delicious the feeling of his fingers had been. Her gaze drifted to his lips and she touched her fingertips to her own.
They tingled at the thought of being pressed against his once more. What a wanton she was.
Disgusted with herself, she pushed all of those unscrupulous thoughts aside. She reached out and felt along the back of his head and sighed heavily as her fingers brushed a swollen knot. Performing a simple healing spell was not a difficult task for most witches, but Gwen was not the most adept individual when using her magic. Her history was filled with destroying things, rather than healing them.
She could call for Sunny, but that would force her to admit that she’d allowed this stranger into her bed with nary a protest. The embarrassment alone was enough to make her want to jump out of the window, rather than ask her cousin for assistance. Perhaps if she were careful, she could heal him enough for the head wound to disappear, and then Sunny wouldn’t know the depths of her inadequacy.
Or wantonness.
Decision made, she stuck out her hands, letting them hover over his chest. Taking a deep breath to steady her mind, she recited the spell silently for practice, before speaking it aloud. Her magic gathered around her and she channeled it into her palms, funneling it to the man. With the spell complete, she dropped her hands to the man’s chest and felt the steady thrumming of his heart. He was still alive, which was a good sign.
A very good one.
His aura, which had been a charcoal gray during his unconsciousness, was now a soothing green. She leaned over him and sifted through his hair until she was sure the knot was missing. Just as she was about to remove her hand, his eyes flew open and his hand clamped around her wrist.
With a small cry she pulled her arm back, but it did not budge one inch. The resistance of his grip vaulted her forward and she slapped her other hand on the bed to keep herself from falling on top of him. She looked down at the stranger and watched as his aura turned into a bright orange. He was feeling very cautious and although she understood his reasons, she was having a hard time finding the words to reassure him that all was well.
The Masquerade (Den of the Fallen Book 0) Page 2