I gasped while shivering raced down my arms and the buzzing in my lips increased to throbbing.
“Now you’re leaning me.”
He smiled, his eyes heavy as he whispered, “I would never,” before he filled the distance between us, bending his lips to mine, a brush that became something else, a thrumming consuming fire that made my spine melt and my hands hold onto him so tight that he’d never leave me again.
“Is everything all right?” a man’s voice asked making Matthew jerk away from me, his face transforming into a cold killer.
“Fine. Thank you for your concern,” Matthew said, the acid in his voice bringing me blinkingly back to reality.
I turned away from Matthew to assure the newcomer then froze while my tongue turn to lead.
Jarvais stood in the half-light thrown from the bar, shades of green and red that did nothing to diminish his golden aura. His perfect mouth curved in a half smile as he took me in, then raised an eyebrow at his brother.
“Matthew, you’re presence is requested by Carve. I can certainly understand why you would ignore the summons. Good evening, my dear. Pardon the interruption. Looks like you’re going to have another hangover tomorrow. I can’t imagine anything other than far too much to drink making the cur attractive.”
“Thank you. I’ll be there shortly,” Matthew said, ignoring the insult as he stepped away from me.
“Excuse me?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, hating the distance between us. “Apparently you haven’t heard of the cur’s reputation with women.”
Jarvais cocked his head and smiled at me while Matthew hesitated. Matthew shook his head slightly as he frowned at me, warning me against saying anything else.
“Tell me, miss… You seem so familiar to me.”
I tossed my head, feeling reckless. “We met. It was uneventful other than you insulting me in front of a room full of people. Matthew only insults people personally. It’s incredibly endearing.”
Jarvais frowned and I saw a calculated glance as he scrutinized me. “The ball. You’re the girl who declared her love for me.” He smiled broadly. “You must have been drunk then as well. Sobriety can be such a disadvantage for one. Tomorrow evening we shall go drinking together and see if we can’t land on the same page.”
I swallowed, the idea of Jarvais, someone I’d fantasized about asking to see me, even if he wasn’t who I’d thought he was made me dizzy. “Camilla told me that you have a Romanian Intended. Congratulations. I’d hate to disrupt your bliss.”
“Camilla.” An expression crossed his face, one of comprehending that dawned as he looked from Matthew to me and back to his brother, his eyes narrowing as he scowled. “Helen of Slide. Is that right?” he asked, turning to me. “You’re a Daughter of a White House, wandering the streets of London when there are so many ravening wolves waiting to rip you to shreds. Take Matthew, for example. He could kill you without blinking, with his bare hands, the brush of his fingers, the twist of a knife, but more than that, he could torture you for days, years, endless agony that he doesn’t deserve.”
I frowned at him, confused. He sounded jealous.
Matthew said in an icy voice, “You flatter me. The girl is the sister of a Hunter I owe. I’ll be at Carve after I escort her to safety.”
“Why don’t you both come? I’m sure that Carve would love to meet the Daughter of Slide,” Jarvais said, his golden eyes fixing on me like a very hungry, very inhuman wolf.”
I smiled blandly. “Thank-you, gentlemen, but no,” I said coolly as I stepped by Jarvais, but somehow my legs weren’t quite steady and I bumped into him.
His arms came around me, holding me up at the same time Matthew hissed and moved, ripping me away from Jarvais, shoving me behind him so I hit my head against the brick wall.
“I said that I’d be there,” he fairly spat at Jarvais, energy coming off of him in waves. Only a complete idiot would have touched Matthew when he stood like that, filled with destructive energy that would leave you far more than paralyzed.
“So you did,” Jarvais said in a mild voice as he backed off, apparently not a complete idiot. The look he gave me was different, penetrating, the kind of look that seemed to peel back a few layers of skin and poke around inside my soul.
“It was nice to meet you,” he said to me politely with a nod before he turned and left us, ducking into a cab that waited for him at the curb.
“How often do you see your brother?” I asked, still feeling dizzy.
“My brother,” he responded with a sneer. “Is none of your concern.”
I stiffened and took a step away from him. “I suppose it’s fine for him to bleed you out then. Well, you’d better be going. Carve has called.”
“And Slide told you to go home. We are such obedient members.”
He stared at me, his eyes glittery with some emotion I couldn’t name, or didn’t want to name while my heart pounded.
“Why are you here?” I whispered, looking away from him, watching the taillights of the car as it pulled away from the curb.
“Why not?” he answered, stepping closer to me, forcing me to look at him, to back away, or be closer than I’d like.
“If you don’t want to remove my block then you shouldn’t keep showing up.”
He sighed and took a step away from me, glancing into the street. “I’m here to escort you back to my bed. Your former brother, Satan asked me very nicely.”
“He would never ask you to tuck me into your bed.”
“Helen, we need to go now.” He grabbed my arm, the sensation of his fingers a not so unpleasant shock.
“Why do you do that to me?” I asked as I followed him, letting him keep his hand on me, mostly because of the dizziness.
“I don’t.”
He didn’t pretend not to know what I was talking about, which should have been less irritating than it was.
“Why are you suddenly in such a rush?” I asked as he stopped beside a motorcycle that looked vaguely familiar and threw his leg over it.
“Jarvais will not overlook the challenge. I’ve made you a target. Sorry. Get on.”
I sighed and climbed behind him, glad for the red leather jacket that covered my arms. “If I didn’t get so sick around him, I would never let you push me around so much.”
“It’s a healthy response towards my brother,” he said, kicking his engine to life.
“He seemed perfectly respectable,” I yelled over the engine.
His muttered answer was unintelligible as he revved the engine and pulled out, racing along the street like if he crashed he wouldn’t be smeared across the pavement.
I leaned forward to yell in his ear. “Be careful. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
He took a turn too fast and I put an arm around him, feeling the lean, long muscles beneath his shirt. I moved to pull my hand away, but he covered it with his own, cool skin encasing mine, pushing away fear, pain, sickness until all that remained was a euphoric sensation as the wind whipped my hair behind me, bringing tears to my eyes while I laughed, holding on with both hands, forget about my caution.
We passed through the streets like a blur, dodging between small cars and big buses, until one intersection when a dark car came plowing towards us, a dark blur that I could barely see beneath Matthew’s hair where it streamed into my eyes.
I could feel the tension in his body as he braced for impact. I didn’t need to see the other car, the one on the other side of the intersection with its intent to pin us, to crush us into two smears on the pavement.
I moved instinctively, wrapping my arms around Matthew at the same time I shoved with all my strength from the pavement, ignoring the pain as my ankles twisted against the ground. I could feel the runes burn into my legs, muscle and sinew stretching and bowing against the effort as I leapt from the motorcycle, taking Matthew with me.
We never got clear of the motorcycle, but when the metal struck, it was my legs that were tangled with metal, my body that hit th
e pavement first, letting Matthew roll clear of the wreck. The moments of burning as my skin melted onto the pavement blended with darkness as I lost seconds of consciousness, rolling at the last moment as another car joined the fray, losing contact with Matthew.
I heard the shriek of metal, the rumble of thunder, the smell of ozone right before lightning split the sky in front of me, white light dancing between the two wrecked cars a few feet away from my nose.
I took a breath, at least I tried to breathe, but I couldn’t feel my legs, and the smell of blood, mine, someone else’s, confused me. I had to stop the lightning. I had to calm down. It wouldn’t do me any good to electrocute myself out of panic. Where was Matthew? I took my eyes off the lightning, searching the shadows and saw a hand splayed against the cement, long fingers stretched out, still. Had I thrown him that far? What were the odds that he’d survive that accident without runes?
I could feel the burning in my own limbs as bones and muscle healed, burning and screaming at me as tissues and nerves came back to life.
I made a sound, a pathetic mewl as I pulled myself up, scraping my face against the rough pavement as I tried to untangle my legs from the wreck. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth as I kicked, ignoring the broken leg. Now I was at my most vulnerable. Now would be the moment where if I didn’t fight, I would find myself powerless, or dead.
I raised my head when I felt a cool hand grabbing my shoulder, jerking me out of the wreck and against Matthew’s trembling body where he crouched in a fissure in the pavement in bare dirt. I could feel the earth stir beneath him, could smell blood, his blood mixing with the soil.
The sky let loose a torrent of rain mixed with hail, a wild burst that I struggled to control. Everything moved so fast, but the two cars were no coincidence, and they weren’t the last of our problems. The building beside us, tall, modern, made of glass, began to shimmer and twist at the same time the cars slowly rose in the air, turning until they had revolved and blended to create one massive hunk of twisted metal.
“That isn’t supposed to happen,” I breathed as the glass building exploded, surrounding us with a vortex of slivers.
“Camilla,” Matthew said, a word half curse, half relief.
I bit my lip as I healed, trying to ignore the battle between glass, metal, and earth. Matthew focused on the movement, the intent of the glass mistress and Jarvais who could apparently levitate more than cars, as a telephone pole ripped itself out of the sidewalk and came towards us, like a spear.
I had enough of my abilities under my control that the wind blew away from us, keeping us from the shards of glass and helping Matthew deflect the manhole cover that came towards us.
“It seems like they’re fighting each other,” I said as the building, the glass whirled out, shattering against the brick wall where bricks were pulling free of the wall.
Matthew didn’t answer. I could feel his energy, his intention as he focused on the two battling. He couldn’t do much about the whirling glass or the matter that bent itself to Jarvais’s will, but he could bend their will, change the trajectory of the objects through leaning his siblings. The strain of that, of leaning others at a distance, of even that small push made him tremble and sweat, and I could still smell his blood.
It ended as quickly as it began. In the smoke, the dust, the dark light, I saw Jarvais, tall, proud, staring into the fissure where I huddled beside Matthew. I could feel his gaze, the weight of his anger, the promise that this would not end until he destroyed Matthew, then he was gone.
Camilla stepped through the wreckage like a fairy princess, gleaming gold as light played off her hair and perfect skin.
“Aren’t you two cozy,” she said as she perched on the cement that protruded above us. “I hate to disturb you, but Carve has issued an invitation. Daughter of Slide, you are invited to dinner. I know, I know, it’s too glorious an invitation for you to possibly accept, but I’m afraid I must insist. We all,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to smile at the others, members of Carve I supposed, who had appeared in the still shifting wreckage, waiting for her signal. She shifted her smile back at me. “Are honored to be your escort. We’d hate for any more unpleasantness to follow like this.”
“What happened?” I asked as I straightened, wincing as more layers of my skin healed.
“Matthew challenged Jarvais,” Camilla trilled, sounding genuine with her over-bright eyes and wide smile. “He’s the oldest Son.”
I stared at her. “You talk as though Matthew were to become the Son of Carve.”
She patted me on the shoulder, making me reel before she stepped forward and picked up Matthew as though he weighed nothing. I didn’t like the way his eyes burned at her, at me when he swung his head around. I didn’t like the way his pupils didn’t dilate when he stared at me.
“He’s not all right,” I said, pushing against Camilla so that I could take his hand in mine.
“Of course he’s not all right,” she said, laughing at me. “He finally challenged Jarvais. He’ll never forgive you for that.”
The final book in the House of Slide series will be released July 1st 2016. Read on for a look at House of Slide: Hotblood the first book in Juliann Whicker's epic House of Slide series.
Chapter 1~Lewis
“It’s been too long, boy,” Old Peter said, looking up at me.
I stood on the worn wooden floor of the hall and let the screen door snap shut behind me. I glanced around the small house purposefully avoiding his gaze, focusing instead on the faded wallpaper peeling behind the door.
In one of Old Peter’s large, gnarled hands, he held a knotted brown cane. I gritted my teeth as I studied the cane, the way he clung to it as he sat at the table off of the kitchen. The cane was a part of Old Peter, but usually it was leaning against a wall as a warning, not ready in his hand. The first time I'd seen that cane was the first time I'd met Old Peter, if you could call him hitting me between the eyes with the force of a sledge hammer a meeting.
I looked around the room again, more carefully this time, but I saw the same dull brown paper, the small adjoining kitchen with its rattling yellowed appliances, then the table. I took a deep, even breath as I stared at the table and the deck of creased, well-used cards spread across the warped wooden surface. I ignored the knot developing in my stomach even as his huge hands gathered them up, clumsily shuffling them into a pile.
“Nice hand,” I said, sounding casual however much I wanted to raise my voice. Old Peter had trained me, had treated me like a son of sorts in spite of the way he slammed his cane over my head when he wanted to get my attention. I respected him, loved him even, but I did not trust him. In my world, trust is the last thing you did with the people you love.
The obsolete cards showed four suits like they still existed: Hotbloods, Wilds, Cools, and Hollows. Obsolete, but my profile had been painted on one of them.
“Practically apocalyptic,” he said as he shuffled the cards into the pocket of his worn brown trench coat that didn’t fit him anymore. Already dressed for going, he’d only been waiting for me.
I edged around him towards the fridge, the sudden need for sustenance occurring at the same time I broke into a sweat.
“Do you have anything to eat?”
The chair groaned as he lurched to his feet and straightened slowly “Grab something then come along, boy. We’ve got places to go.”
“Yes, sir,” I said as I rummaged through the fridge coming up with a couple of chicken legs and some sausage rolls. It looked like he’d been stocking up for me. We were right back where we'd left off: him feeding me, me saying, 'yes, sir'. Yeah. Like old times. I could already feel the beginnings of a headache.
“Where are we going? To feed the animals?” I asked as I followed him out to the porch where he stood bouncing slightly to get the circulation going. Of course he didn’t need my help with animals. He hadn’t asked me to come, only been expecting me. Old Peter had a way with wild creatures that few could match, and howe
ver ancient, did not need any help with his small hobby farm.
He shook his wizened white head as he handed me a thick gray hoodie he’d had in his lap all along, just for me. “Funeral,” he said, slowly moving down the steps.
“Funeral? Is it anyone I know?” I shrugged on the old sweatshirt, trying not to notice how hot I was already, how little I needed any extra layers on a nicely overcast spring day. I followed him as he ambled down the gravel drive with the inevitable rolling gait of someone who would get there, however long it took.
“The corpse is not the interesting one—well, not anymore,” Old Peter said as we walked past my beautiful car, a restored Mustang, a dark purple color that looked practically edible, with more than a few tricks under its hood. When I’d brought it down from the city, I was certain Old Peter would want a ride, knowing his love for interesting cars, but he didn’t give it a second glance.
“Why don’t we drive?” I asked hesitating by the door. No one walked slower than Old Peter when he wanted to drive you insane. I shoved another sausage roll in my mouth.
“Keep walking,” he said shortly. “What kind of accent is that anyway?”
I took my time answering as I finished chewing. “South African. Do you like it?”
“Hmmph. Doesn't sound very South African to me. Won’t go over too well around here, anyway.”
“I didn't think much of me would,” I muttered then more loudly, “What would you suggest?” I paused, trying to breathe the right way through my nose before quoting; “A thing of beauty is a joy for ever; It’s loveliness increases, it will never pass into nothingness, but still will…”
He glowered at me from beneath his bushy eyebrows.
“Not that one. Suppose someone were to hear you and your awful posh British accent? I thought I taught you better than that.”
I scowled as I looked around at the unimpressive low-slung building that gazed back at me dully. The green lawn was as dull as the suburban housing. Not a soul was in sight—not any bodies either.
House of Slide: Wilds, Part I Page 14