by Bec McMaster
"And straight into the hands of the Crows," Verity reminded her. "You don't know them the way that I do."
Lady E snorted. "Perhaps. It's still safer than if it remained with that two-bit necromancer. And now Horroway and Tremayne have to wade through half of Seven Dials before they can get it back. No, my girl, it's not a complete shambles. Just a poorly dealt hand with one or two trump cards left to play, if you're smart."
"You're going to play them off against each other?" Verity asked, slightly impressed.
"Of course. That's what a wise general does. In the meantime, we have an Ascension to deal with. We know Morgana is still alive. Her plans concern me, and with Drake out of action, we need to deal with that. If the relic is secure, if not quite safe, then we can turn our attention to getting a new Prime, one who sees eye to eye with our plans."
"You need to rest," she told the older woman.
Who snorted.
"I mean it," Verity told her. She tucked the covers up around Lady E's chin. "It took a great deal out of Adrian to heal you, and he cannot afford to be distracted by your health right now. He has enough to worry about with his father and the Chalice."
"Where are you going?"
Verity smiled and headed for the door. "To smooth things over with Marie, and bring you up some nice chamomile tea. Then I'll check on Bishop."
"Are you going to bring him tea too?" Lady E asked with an arched brow.
Verity blushed. "Maybe I'll just tuck him into bed. We can discuss this Ascension tomorrow, when we're all rested."
"Verity?"
"Yes," she replied, pausing at the door.
"You have won my vote. Go and seduce that boy and show him what's he's missing out on. A little rush of blood might be just what he needs."
Verity's eyebrows shot halfway to her hairline. "Lady E, what a thing to suggest!"
"Please." Lady E snorted. "Let's not pretend that you don't know precisely what I'm talking about."
With a grin, Verity slipped through the door, though she was more pleased than she let on. The old harridan had clearly just given her permission, and hence, approval.
Which made her feel almost like she had a new family of her own.
Chapter 22
AFTER HER BATH, Verity found Bishop in his workroom in the cellars. A row of windows along the top of the far wall gave just a hint of starlight, and the fire was dying low in the grate. It made him seem like a man wrought of shadows, the firelight gilding the harsh cut of his cheekbones and that temptingly full mouth.
Bishop sensed her coming, of course, his head tilting toward her even as his hands worked some sort of mechanical object. He was always working at something.
"How was your bath?" he murmured.
"Just what I needed." Verity shuddered. She'd been covered in muck and grime, and something that smelled suspiciously like rot. "And you?"
His dark hair was still wet. "Likewise."
The fire crackled as he fell silent. Verity gazed at his broad back, then crossed to the fireplace. "What are you working on?"
"A warded necklace," he murmured, holding up the pretty gold chain. Small sigils hung from it at certain points. "For you."
"For me?"
He shrugged. "Just in case Agatha convinces you to join her on some other foolhardy quest and you get trapped again. I'll tune it to your presence and teach you what to say to activate the wards. Only use it when you're in trouble."
"It wasn't foolhardy," she argued. "We found the Chalice and we recovered it."
"Agatha nearly died, you were nearly trapped in a circle of flesh constructs, and you barely escaped from the Crows without signing your life away."
"Nearly, nearly, and barely." Verity crossed her arms. "Are you bothered more by the fact that you were completely oblivious to events, or the fact that we didn't need you?"
That earned her a dark-eyed look. "Didn't need—"
"You were very helpful this afternoon with Agatha," she said in a softer tone. "But if you think I can't handle myself...."
Bishop scowled and dropped the necklace on the bench. He ran his hands through his hair, cupping them behind his head. "You should have warned me of what you were doing."
Verity stoked the fire, her bare toes curling in the fur rug that lay before it. "You're right. We should have."
He shot her a startled look.
"I'm not used to having someone watch my back," she admitted. "And Lady E seems invincible at times. It made sense to go after the lead, even without my big surly assassin protector."
His brows drew together in a scowl, but she could tell that he was trying not to smile at the same time. "You're incorrigible."
Verity bit her lip as she set the poker aside, and crossed to stand in front of him. "Were you worried about me?"
"Of course I was." A pause. "Verity. I wouldn't like it if anything happened to you. You know that?"
She leaned up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "I think I'm starting to. Thank you. For worrying. And for making me a necklace to guard me in future reckless endeavors."
The stubble of his jaw tickled her sensitive lips. Verity sank back down, but she kept her hand on the lapel of his coat. His skin smelled like lemon verbena soap. She wanted to inhale more of it.
"Are there going to be future reckless endeavors?"
"Probably. I have this habit of leaping in feet first whenever someone I care for is in danger. That list used to contain only one name—"
"Mercy," he guessed.
Verity smiled a little sadly. "Now it has three... no, four names. I'm forgetting Marie, but she's lovely too. And considering that life is growing dangerous, I'm bound to do something reckless if someone assaults those I consider mine."
Fingers stroking his coat, she looked up, meeting that dark gaze. This man. He was all she’d ever wanted.
Go and seduce that boy, Lady E had said. Well, she was going to give it her best shot. Verity's fingers flexed against his waistcoat and she brushed the backs of them down, down, just low enough to make his breath catch.
Dangerous silky-lashed eyes caught hers. "I can't be what you want, Verity."
This time she heard the regret in his voice, and realized it for what it was. Not rejection. But an intense yearning for something he thought he couldn't have.
Now that she knew what haunted him, she could see it written all over his face. Her heart ached for this lonely, lonely man.
"And what do you think I want, Bishop?" she whispered, sliding her hands up beneath his coat and over the smooth silk of his waistcoat.
He shut his eyes. Breathed deep. The muscles beneath her hands tensed. Trembled. "Forever."
Another raw whisper.
The loss in his voice ached deep in her chest. Verity brushed a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. She leaned forward, rising on her toes as she sought his mouth. "Maybe we should stop thinking about the future. Maybe we should just think about tonight. I want you, Bishop. And I know you want me. Love me. Just for tonight. Stop worrying about the future."
She didn't wait for his answer. She took it from his lips.
The kiss started out gentle. A sweet exploration of each other. Verity's hands slid under his coat again, tracing the flat planes of his abdomen and the heavy muscle of his chest. Bishop made a faint sound in his throat, his hands dropping to her waist. Tentative. But not pushing her away.
Nipples hardening, she pressed closer, her tongue lashing against his. It took little coaxing for his tongue to dart against hers. Verity moaned, her body melting against his.
This. Him. Now. It was all she'd ever wanted. And if they couldn't have forever, then she would take tonight.
"Verity." He drew back, his cheeks flushed with color and his eyes slightly glazed. "Ver, I'm not sure...."
"You won't hurt me," she told him, and kissed him again.
"You don't know that." A tremor ran through him, and she knew that he was remembering another night, one filled with fear and despair.
She cupped his chin. "Yes, I do. Trust me, Adrian. We agreed to take this slowly, remember?"
He looked at her and she saw all the hope in the world in his dark eyes.
"If you start to lose your focus, if you start to lose control, then we can stop." Practical arguments would work better with him. He liked rational. She slid her hand along that scar-slicked jaw, staring into his gorgeous brown eyes. "But if you do lose control, then I'm clearly not doing a good enough job of keeping your thoughts on sex."
Bishop shook his head, his eyes haunted. "How did you—"
"Agatha explained it to me," she said, stopping him in his tracks. "She told me all about the maladroise and what you fear. I know what happened with Mya. But it seems to me that you were young and inexperienced, and unable to control yourself." She caught his hands in hers. "You're no longer that boy, Adrian. And you've learnt how to control your power. Oh, and look at these...." Verity hooked her finger in the spelled manacles on the bench behind him that she recognized from the first night. "A means to stop any sorcerer from using their magic, right in front of us."
Bishop stared at the manacles, then back at her. His nostrils flared.
"Do you trust me?" she whispered, taking a step backward, toward the fur in front of the fireplace.
"With my life." He swallowed hard. Followed her.
"And do you want me, Adrian?" Casting a lash-lowered look over her shoulder, she circled him, trailing a finger across his flank.
Bishop turned, drinking in the sight of her. "More than I've ever wanted anything in the world."
Verity smiled, dropping the manacles to the rug. "You do say the sweetest things sometimes." Reaching up, she tugged her hair from its restraining pins, letting it spiral down over her shoulders.
He watched, lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but still restraining himself. Still clenching every muscle in his body, as though he fought some kind of internal war. "I haven't tested the manacles yet."
"Then consider me your willing test subject." One last pin dropped to the ground with a tinny clang. Verity's hands dropped to the silk night-robe she wore, and with a little shimmy of her shoulders, she let it slide to the floor.
Bishop inhaled sharply. Though she still wore her cotton nightgown, she knew that the fire backlit her—indeed, she'd deliberately placed herself in front of it. Cotton draped over her bottom and wisped between her thighs. Every nerve in her body was suddenly alight, her nipples pebbling behind the thin material.
"Verity." He took a step toward her. "Move away from the grate."
And she realized that he was not entirely overcome with lust, but assaulted by dark memories from the past.
She'd planned a slow seduction, a delicate unveiling, button by button. But now she wouldn't have that chance, for his gaze had turned to the treacherous grate, the crackle of the logs there. Bending over, Verity caught the bottom of her nightgown and whipped it over her head.
Then she tossed it at his chest.
The fabric slapped against his shirt, and Bishop caught her nightgown, but she was fairly certain that reaction was thanks to pure instinct. He slammed to a halt, his jaw dropping as she stood there in all of her naked glory.
With but a single action, she, Verity Hawkins, had reduced him to a statue. One with at least something in common with Priapus.
She smiled.
The heavy pendant she'd stolen three years ago hung between her naked breasts, firelight warming her skin. Verity turned so that he could see all of her, a proud pirouette, glancing over her shoulder to absorb his reaction as she flaunted herself. His gaze roved over her skin, a heated flush darkening his cheeks, and his cock hard and proud behind the restraining tent of his trousers.
Bishop barely dared breathe. "You look.... You—" He cleared his throat. "I'm...."
Entirely satisfactory. The man had lost all of his wits. Verity crooked a finger at him. "Now it's your turn, my lord," she all but purred.
He clutched her nightgown to his chest.
Swallowed.
"Don’t be shy,” Verity teased. Bishop’s gaze dropped. To her breasts, then the small thatch of hair between her thighs. There was no doubt on his face anymore.
“I’m not shy.” He tossed her nightgown aside and caught her wrist, dragging her into his arms.
Hot hands slid down her body, pressing her against his firm frame. Verity plucked at his shirt as he kissed her, tugging the buttons open impatiently. She’d caught glimpses of his magnificent body on display in that ice bath, but she’d never gotten a chance to explore it in detail.
Shoving his shirt off his shoulders, she moaned into his mouth. “You’re getting very good at this kissing,” she whispered, and then squealed as he lifted her up into his arms and laid her on the fur in front of the fire.
Verity laughed as he curled over her, kissing her again.
Bishop lifted his head, breathing hard. Muscle strained in his biceps. She could spend all day looking at him. Touching him.
"What's wrong?" she whispered.
Bishop closed his eyes. "I think I'm dreaming."
"Not yet, you're not." She plucked at the buttons on his pants, tugging them down his lean hips. Shoving a hand to his shoulder, she sent him sprawling flat on his back, and then cast his pants aside.
"Tell me, if this were your dream, what would you want me to do?" Verity asked, sliding her hands up the flat planes of his abdomen.
“I would tell you not to stop. Never to stop.” Capturing her body in his arms, he hauled her atop him until she straddled his thighs. “Ver.” His expression turned serious as he brushed a strand of hair off her shoulder, revealing the smooth slope of her breast. “I’m glad it’s you.”
* * *
One taste of her would never be enough.
It was that one truth that consumed him as Verity laid waste to every inch of control he owned.
Just one night. That was all he allowed himself to focus on.
So he kissed her in the way he'd always wanted to, tasting the salt of his body on her lips and feeling the slick skin of her sweet curves pressed against his flesh. He was drowning in his need for her, his cock hardening even as the sweet wetness between her thighs pressed against him.
He rolled her until she was beneath him, her thighs parting as he settled between them, the firelight gilding every single line of her limbs. Verity watched him with sparkling starlit eyes full of warm humor and cheerful lust.
"Now, sir," she whispered, "what do you want to do?"
"This," he breathed, leaning forward to capture the tip of her breast in his mouth.
She moaned a little, arching beneath him, and somehow the move brought his cock flush against her, slipping in the heated wetness between her thighs. No matter how many times he'd thought of this instant, of what it would be like, his imagination had never been able to quite do it justice. There was an earthiness to this moment he hadn't expected, a connection, as if both of them were stripped utterly bare.
Verity was lushness, and life, wanton and abandoned to her need. "Like this," she whispered, and took his hand, guiding it between her legs.
"Christ." He looked down, resting on one elbow above her. "You're so wet."
"That's because I want you."
"Wet and hot," he wondered, then she was undulating against his touch and two of his fingers slid inside her.
"Yes," she whispered, lying back and parting her thighs further. "Just like that."
He fucked her slowly with his fingers, marveling at the sensation. Lust punched through his veins, his cock raging to get inside her.
"Here." Verity took his thumb and settled it over the fleshy pad of her clitoris. The second he thrust inside her again with his fingers, she moaned, her body clenching around him. Pressing her hands to her face, she rocked against him, unabashed in her pursuit of pleasure.
He loved watching her like this. There was no shame here, no fear. Just her parted mouth and closed eyes, and the way she chased somethi
ng that somehow eluded her.
Every twist of his fingers showed in her expression, and so he learned what she liked as the tension in her body ratcheted tighter.
"Harder," she whispered, sinking her teeth into her fleshy lower lip. "Please. Harder."
He wanted to taste her. And so he did, bending down to kiss her swollen mouth. Verity jerked beneath him, her passage clenching around his fingers as her hips bucked. "Adrian!"
Collapsing onto the rug, she stared through glazed eyes at him as she panted. Bishop kissed her shoulder. It was impossible not to be aware of the way her heartbeat pounded, or the blood rushing through her veins. Indeed, what she'd gone through reminded him somewhat of what it felt like that moment when his powers went supernova.
Could he use his powers to bring her to the edge of pleasure again? The idea was somewhat fascinating, yet he instantly shied away, not quite as certain of himself as he'd hoped.
She vanished from his arms, and Bishop fell forward, turning, only for her to translocate into his arms again with the manacles. Straddling his thighs with hers, she pressed a hand flat to his chest and he fell back, pliant beneath her touch.
"Link with me," she whispered, locking her fingers through his. "I liked the way it felt."
Bishop opened himself up immediately, his psychic senses brushing against hers. Verity bloomed within his mind, all soft pleasure, curiosity, and naughtiness.
The sensory overload was significant. Suddenly, he was not one body, but two. He could feel his hands brushing over her skin. Feel the aching heat in her abdomen, and the streak of liquid lightning that ran through her as he touched her breasts, her nipples.
Then her hand curled around his cock, and Bishop lost all sense of her body, until only his remained.
The tip of his shaft dipped into her sweet cunny, and it was all wet, and hot, and tight. Bishop breathed out explosively, their eyes meeting as Verity smiled down at him. "Just like this," she whispered, and rocked against him.