by Bec McMaster
His cock began to part her, all of that delicious tightness enveloping him like a firm hand. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. Verity gasped, and he sensed it wasn't quite hurting her, but that she was having difficulty mounting him.
"Are you all right?" He brushed her hair from her face, tension filling him. He wanted her to enjoy this, and didn't think he could do so himself without it.
She worked him deeper, biting her lip and focusing on relaxing her inner muscles. "I will be," she admitted, that faint, half-crooked Verity smile twisting her lips. "Don't worry about pleasing me, Adrian. You already have. It's just been a long time, and you're... rather well-endowed."
This time she slid further. And as much as he wanted to see to her, he couldn't stop himself from gasping. Another slow rock of her hips took another inch of his cock, until he was fairly certain he couldn't get any deeper.
No more pain. No more tension. He felt her relaxing, felt her easing around him.
"Touch me," she whispered, riding him slowly. Her fingers curled into his chest hair, her eyes closed as she focused on her body.
He cupped her breasts. Small, perfect breasts, just enough to fill his palms with. Jesus. All of the nights he'd imagined this... and the reality was breathtaking. Nothing like his dreams. More. Intense. Like a world saturated in sudden color, heat, and sweat. Like every nerve ending in his body springing to stark relief.
"Ver." He lifted his head off the fur and kissed her breasts. Licked at those pale brown nipples.
"Yes." Her arms curled around him, her head thrown back. Something in the way she moved sent a shiver through her. Through him. She rocked again, and there it was, the base of her clitoris rasping against the base of his cock.
Faster and faster she moved. Bishop struggled not to lose himself in pleasure. It felt so fucking amazing.
He added his fingers to the mix, stroking her gently between the thighs. Verity quivered, unable to fully ride him, as though her body was threatening to betray itself. Her head rested on his shoulder, her breath wet against his throat.
"Adrian." She dug her nails into his upper arms. "Oh. Oh, there! Yes."
Then she was tipping over some edge and taking him with her.
They plunged. It felt like the world dropped out from under his feet, like lightning.
Couldn't stop. Couldn't contain himself. He arched beneath her, hands clenching her hips. More. Please more—
He fucked his way up into her, pleasure exploding through his veins like a supernova. And she squeezed, her inner muscles locking around him. Like that? she whispered in his mind.
The rush of power filled his veins, like a shot of pure life injected into him. He'd never felt anything like it. Never. Not even the maladroise came close.
Bishop came, white-hot fire blazing through his cock and balls. And he knew she followed him again, their minds so closely linked that he no longer knew where he ended and where she began.
When he collapsed onto the fur with her curled in his arms, sweat-slick body still engulfing his, he knew he'd never come closer to heaven, even if he tried.
Verity twitched against him with a laugh. "I guess that means that you liked it?" she purred, and then curled her finger in his chest hair and relaxed back atop him.
Chapter 23
"YOU DO REALIZE you're taking all of the fun out of this," Verity said with a sigh.
"What? You mean you'd rather steal the Chalice out from beneath Guthrie's nose to spite him?" Bishop arched a brow.
Verity peered out through the carriage window, tapping her fingers on the window ledge. Clearly nervous. "Of course I would. Just to prove that I can."
"But how much more enjoyable will it be if he's forced to hand it back himself?"
That earned him a sidelong glance from those glorious eyes. A warm smile curled over her mouth. There was a light about her this morning that he couldn't miss. He felt it burning in his chest too. A half dozen emotions he couldn't quite name, but some that he could. Intimacy. Happiness. Hope.
For a moment he felt like he could defeat anything the world could throw at him, with her by his side.
And then he felt the dark whisper of the maladroise.
Bishop sobered. It was one thing to finally take her to bed and enjoy the here and now. Quite another to pretend the dream was never going to fade. Never going to turn into a nightmare.
Verity saw his smile fade. Hers echoed it. She twitched her skirts into place. "Let’s go beard the dragon in its den."
"Rat," he corrected as the carriage pulled up. "Let's not give Guthrie any more grace than he's due."
He stepped down from the carriage. How easily they could both pretend that there was no ghost in the room.
Focus on the here and now. Bishop turned to offer his hand to her.
Lord Rathbourne waited by the entrance to Seven Dials with Ianthe. Bishop handed Verity down from the carriage, his good mood evaporating entirely. This wasn't his idea, but as Ianthe had said when she'd called around that morning, he could only blame himself.
After all, if he expected Ianthe to make a bid for the mantle of Prime, then he would just have to grow used to obeying her orders. And Ianthe had decided that, while she wasn't entirely convinced she was going to put herself forward, she might as well finish cleaning up the mess she'd set in place a month ago, when she'd been forced to steal the Blade of Altarrh for Morgana.
Which meant dealing with the Chalice.
"Ready?"
"Not really." Verity shot him a tremulous smile. "But I don't have much of a choice."
"They can't hurt you now."
She glanced down. "It's not really me that I'm worried about."
Bishop tilted her chin up. "Don't hide those beautiful eyes." All he could see was green, and the nervousness within them. "And don't worry about me either, Ver. I'm not an easy target to take down."
"I'll stop worrying on one condition."
"Name it."
"That you don't try to protect me in here," she said, and her lips firmed in determination. "Focus on yourself, and I'll take care of me."
She was right, damn her. Verity was his one weakness, which he'd already proven to the Hex. And every time he'd tried to protect her, he was the one who'd been bitten on the ass.
"Duly noted. Anything else, my love?"
Verity studied him. Then smiled. "No. You can call me that again though. I like the sound of it on your tongue."
He liked it too.
"Rathbourne," he greeted, steering Verity closer to his half-brother and the others.
"Bishop." Their eyes met, and once again Bishop could feel that shiver of portent through his veins as he and Rathbourne came into close proximity. Prophecy. He didn't believe in it. He didn't. But he couldn't deny that something shifted in the fabric of the world around him whenever he saw Rathbourne.
What did that even mean?
"Well-met," Ianthe said, peering around at the seven roads that spiraled out from the sundial. There were no watchers sitting on their corners today, indeed no sign of anyone to be found.
He could feel eyes on him, however. Bishop traced out, his psychic senses rippling across five auras in the nearby vicinity. "Five of them."
"We're not here to fight," Ianthe told him, resting a hand on his wrist. "Please lead on, Miss Hawkins. I've had a message saying that they'll meet with us at midday, no earlier, no later."
"Do you think there will be any traps?" Rathbourne asked Verity.
Verity hesitated. "Maybe, though I doubt it. The Hex Council will be more curious in what you have to say first."
"So any ambushes will come after the meeting," Bishop said.
"Unless they come from the One-Eyed Crows," she pointed out. "Guthrie won't want this meeting. He's the only one who might know what it entails, and the last thing he wants is the council getting involved."
"Noted." He and Rathbourne exchanged a glance. Both of them had people they wished to protect.
Ianthe
glanced at her pocket watch. "Let's get under way. They'll be waiting for us."
Verity and Bishop led the way, with Rathbourne guiding both of the other women.
The Dials were quiet. Here and there he saw movement from the shadows of a roof, and fog curled in wisps as it slithered down shingles and smoked its way out of narrow alleys.
"We're being watched," he murmured.
"Of course we are," Verity replied.
"One-Eyed Crows?"
"Not in this street. This territory belongs to the White Rabbits, and not even Guthrie would cross Queen Mab. She runs most of the brothels here, and it's said anyone who at her looks sideways ends up hexed with syphilis." She tucked her collar up against the chill and leaned in closer to him.
It wasn't the first time she'd subconsciously sought him for protection. Bishop rested a hand in the small of her back. Verity was starting to look at him with eyes filled with wonder. He hadn't missed what it meant. After all, they'd been as close as two souls could be last night. He knew what she thought of him.
It scared the hell out of him, even as a part of him yearned for it.
Even now, with his gaze roving the shadows and nooks of the rooftops, he couldn't help caressing the taffeta of her gown. A part of him felt the same way as she did. She was his.
Just as a part of him knew that he couldn't have her. Not forever. After all, how long did he have? The restless hunger of the maladroise ached in his bones. It had been too long between kills. Too long since he'd felt that rush. He yearned for it, ached for it... almost as much as he ached for Verity. If there was one hint of light in his dark world, it was her.
But how long would that last against the onslaught of the maladroise?
Here and now, he told himself again. Just focus on now. But was that fair to Verity? Especially when it was her heart he would break when he was forced to sever all ties with her.
They finally came to an old theatre. Guards lined the entrance, but one of them tipped their head in a gesture to enter. Verity strode calmly through, and the theatre opened into a wide room with no roof. It resembled an ancient Roman amphitheater, with rows of stone stands built around a central stage.
Leaders of six of the seven Hex gangs sat in a semicircle waiting for them.
"Madame Noir." The enormous man in the front leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he locked gazes with Verity. "Kindly explain, if you will."
His hair and beard were both long and dense, and while streaks of gray silvered his temples, Bishop could sense the power in the fellow. Tattoos scrawled up the backs of his hands and throat, though the heavy oilskin coat he wore obscured most of his body.
This one was dangerous.
Verity gave a brief bow of her head. "Mr. Perkins. Forgive the intrusion. May I present Ianthe Devereaux, Lady Rathbourne, Seneschal of the Order—"
"We know who she is," said the woman at Perkins's side, with her blind eyes locked on Ianthe.
"Her husband, Lord Rathbourne," Verity continued, as if nobody had said a word. "This is Mr. Adrian Bishop, ah—"
"Seventh level sorcerer," Bishop interrupted smoothly, seeing her hesitation. How did one introduce an assassin?
Verity looked at him gratefully. "May I introduce Hex Perkins of the Black Cats; Paddy O'Reilly of the Clover Lads;"—the redheaded fellow beside Perkins—"Queen Mab of the White Rabbits;"—an old broad wearing a tricorne hat pulled low over her matted hair—"Jordy Lewis and his sister, Hesther, who lead the Nameless;"—a man with a shaved head and hex marks tattooed all over his scalp, and the blind woman at his side—"Gionni Sabatini of the Incubo Boys; and Madame Rose of the Reaper crew."
Sabatini stroked his thin mustache, a gold ring glinting at his ear. "You forgot one, Madame Noir."
Daniel Guthrie stalked onstage, smirking at her as he sank into the chair left vacant for the One-Eyed Crows.
"We've already met," Bishop replied coolly, and the Lewis siblings shifted as though he'd drawn a knife.
Silence fell.
"Well, that's all good an' all," Paddy O'Reilly muttered. "But you broke Code, Verity."
"Let no sorcerer walk among us," Madame Rose added, curling her gnarled fingers over the ends of her chair.
Ianthe stepped up beside Verity, her skirts rustling. "Then I believe it is we who broke the Code," she stated clearly, her voice ringing through the rafters of the burned-out building. "Or perhaps, we should say one of your own stole something that belongs to us, hence drawing us to the Dials."
Guthrie's lip curled up. "Verity brought it directly into my house. That means it belongs to me."
Eight sets of eyes slid toward him. Bishop smiled, enjoying watching the man sweat.
“Did you take something that belonged to the Order?” Hex Perkins drawled, and there was a flash of anger in his eyes. “Knowing you risked the lives of the Hex?”
"That's bullshit," Guthrie snapped, gesturing at Bishop. "She brought him into the Dials days ago, claiming she were working for him now. That's a direct violation of our laws. You don't bring sorcerers sniffing around the Dials."
Bishop had had enough. He stepped forward, toying with the tip of his leather glove. "Let's get the details straight. Ten days ago, Verity appeared in my house to steal an item belonging to the Order, on the command of Colin Murphy." He tilted a head toward Guthrie. "Your predecessor. When Murphy went to complete the handover of the item to the person who'd commissioned the theft, he was killed and Verity knifed. Since she was in the vicinity of my house, she fled there for protection and she and I have worked out a deal. Verity was to find and return the object to me in order to keep relations between the Hex Society and the Order cordial. She found the relic, but in the process was forced to return to the One-Eyed Crows, where you took the relic away from her."
"This is a very important relic," Ianthe pointed out, "used to summon and control a greater demon from the Shadow Dimensions. Verity was doing us a great favor in assisting with its recovery. If there is any blame to be laid here, I lay it at the feet of Colin Murphy, who perhaps overstepped his grounds, and"—her gaze shifted toward Guthrie—"Mr. Guthrie here, who believes in the rule of finders, keepers."
The other gang heads eyed each other.
Then Hex Perkins scowled at Guthrie. "You brought a demonic relic into the Dials?"
"She did," Guthrie snarled, stabbing a finger in Verity's direction.
"I was going to take it straight out of the Dials," Verity shot back. "You didn't give me a chance."
"You also threatened to keep my mentor here," Bishop added, "when she was gravely wounded. Lady Eberhardt is one of the councilors who sits on the Triad." He nodded respectfully at the gang heads. "Much in the same position as any of you."
Verity had explained how the Hex worked. If Guthrie had pulled this off, then not a single one them would bat an eyelid. Some of them would even congratulate him for pulling the wool over the Order’s eyes. But now he was caught with his hand in the till, it was Guthrie who would bear the punishment, and with his reign so newly welded, he’d be furious.
"It seems the One-Eyed Crows have overstepped themselves," Queen Mab called with a vicious smile. "Significantly."
"And I say they haven’t,” said Jordy Lewis, striking a pose. “Who does the Order think it is? Their rules ain’t ours.”
“Shall we take a vote?” Hex Perkins demanded, and all of the assembled Hex leaders shifted to look at each other. “For those who think we should return the relic to the Order, raise your hand.”
Relief slid through Bishop as four hands shot into the sky. Jordy Lewis, Madame Rose, and Guthrie were the only ones who abstained. Lewis shrugged at Guthrie, as though to tell him he’d tried.
Perkins lifted a judge’s gavel and brought it down with a thundering crash. “Hex has voted. Guthrie broke the Code. Go,” he told Guthrie, as though he were an errand boy. “Fetch them this relic, and we’ll have no more talk of it.”
Bishop shared a smile with Verity. They’d final
ly gotten their hands on the Chalice, and all without a scrap of bloodshed.
"Get your house in order," Sabatini snarled as Guthrie passed his chair. "And get this mess off our doorstep."
There was nothing Bishop enjoyed more than seeing the stony look on Guthrie’s face when he returned with the Chalice in hand.
“This isn’t over,” Guthrie snarled.
“You should learn when to accept defeat,” Bishop murmured so only Guthrie could hear him.
“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Perkins,” Ianthe said, bowing her head politely.
Perkins spat in his hand and offered it to her, and to Ianthe’s virtue, she accepted it. “Seems to me the Order and the Hex could do some business in future.”
“Maybe,” Ianthe replied. “Perhaps I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
Morgana sipped a fine brandy as the dinner party bustled around her with enthusiasm. A success. She couldn’t quite join in, as her back was aching so badly she wanted to sit. But she’d been stuck in that damned chair most of the day and the last thing she wanted was to see others aware of her downfall. Rubbing at her lower back, she eyed the Earl of Tremayne across the table and they shared a brief glance, a conspiratorial smile. The gathering of powerful sorcerers they'd reached out to was lapping up every word Tremayne could offer. It almost made the pain worth it.
So much for Drake's hold over them.
Reaching for her cheroot case, she slid from the table and turned toward the balcony of the house Tremayne was renting. Drake's insistence upon stepping back from the position of Prime both exhilarated and alarmed her. She knew she'd struck her ex-husband a blow last month, but she wasn't quite certain how. And she needed to know exactly how far he'd sunk before she could truly enjoy the moment.
Movement shifted at the corner of her eye, all of the hairs on her arms standing on edge as the demon who wore Noah Guthrie's body appeared out of nowhere and caught her wrist.
He leaned in close, far too close. "A word, if I might?"
"What are you doing?" Morgana whispered hoarsely. If any of the sorcerers inside saw him, they might realize exactly what was lurking beneath that human skin.