The Dark Matters Quartet

by Claire Robyns

  McAllister had turned the ballroom into a training gymnasium, he realised with some amusement. His next thought was slightly grimmer. If those light beams had been real demon fire bolts, Lily would be dead. Then again, some practice and skill was better than none at all.

  Greyston propped the cane inconspicuously against the wall beside him and leant back to watch.

  The noise ground to a grudging halt and the flashes spluttered into thin air.

  Lily bent forward, clutching at her side. “Not yet, Armand,” she called, breathless and hoarse. “I’ll get the better of these bloody skirts if it kills me.”

  “Lily d'Bulier, swearing like a midshipman,” Greyston said loudly enough for her to hear. “And here I was thinking that nothing had changed.”

  Lily shot upright and spun around. Her mouth dropped open, then a smile transformed the shock and surprise, until she recalled what a bastard he was. Her smile flattened as she took slow, small steps toward him. “Kelan wasted no time recruiting you, I see.”

  She had her hair scraped into a harsh bun with no stray curls to soften her brow or distract from the high colour flushed across her cheekbones. His gaze drifted lower, over the bodice that was as neat a fit as the back, moulding a handful of perfect breasts. The grip at his groin and the pinch at his heart was simultaneous.

  For one brief moment in his life, as fleeting as those damn electric training bolts, he’d held her in his arms, tasted from those lips, and believed she might be his. That they could be. That he’d finally found something he wanted, someone to love and to be loved by, that he wouldn’t have to give up.

  “How did he do it, Greyston?” she demanded. “Threats? Bribes? Blackmail?”

  He clenched his jaw on foolish notions he’d already dealt with and shoved aside. The sight of her had unhinged him, that was all.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Lily.” He dragged a deliberate gaze further down the length of her, all the way to the scandalous strip of naked calves. “It must be hell trying to find a decent seamstress out here.” He glanced up again, into stormy hazel eyes. “But I’d swear Evelyn mentioned she’d sent your trunks on to you.”

  Distracted from her rampage, she spluttered, “You’ve seen Evie?”

  “I’ve had a few letters.”

  Her lips furled in disdain. “It was nice of you to take the time to give her your address.”

  “William’s been in contact with her and the silly lad passed on information he should not have.”

  “So,” she huffed, “Evie’s been keeping you abreast of my every movement!”

  “I don’t know,” he drawled. It wasn’t as if he’d wanted the letters. He’d even burnt the first one unread. “Do you report your every movement to her?”

  “You think this is funny?”

  “Merely bemused that you’re taking your irritation out on me.”

  “Then let me clarify.” Green sparked in her eyes. “I thought I’d never hear from you again, and here you are, apparently in cahoots with my dearest friend. Who might have said something to me, by the by.”

  “To be fair to Evelyn,” he said, “I never replied to any of her letters. She probably would have told you if she’d known her letters were actually reaching me.”

  She looked at him for an age, and he knew it was only a matter of—ah, there it was, that unconscious lip nibbling while she decided if she should castrate or forgive him. The familiarity beckoned to his heart. He seldom got close enough to anyone to learn their little habits.

  But then, Lily knew him as well as he knew her, and that was another peculiarity entirely. Not only did she know of his ability to rewind time, but she was the only person on this earth who could time-run with him, so long as they were touching. Another shared attribute of our demon blood. She was the only one who could ever really know him. If he were being completely honest, that was no small part of the attraction.

  Her fists went to her hips. “How did Kelan convince you to return to the fold?”

  “I haven’t had any communication with him,” Greyston assured her. The man hadn’t needed threats, blackmail or bribes. He had Lily. Greyston was always going to come back for her, even if it had taken him a while to admit it to himself.

  “Oh, I see.” Her hands dropped to her sides, the flame of fury doused. “Then you don’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Greyston, I’m sorry.” She could no longer meet his eyes. “You’re going to be awfully mad and you’ve every right.”

  She seemed so worried, he cupped a hand to her chin, his thumb stroking a smoothing line along her jaw.

  “Whatever it is, I won’t be mad. Not at you, Lily.”

  “I told Kelan about your ability to rewind time.”

  His thumb stilled. Bloody McAllister. He’d lost no time in winning Lily’s loyalty, had he?

  But, Greyston admitted, he himself was not faultless. He’d left Lily here, stranded in the McAllisters’ feverish ambition to rid the world of demons, no matter the cost.

  “Not intentionally,” Lily said. “I promise, I would never have betrayed you deliberately. That is no excuse, of course.”

  “It’s fine.” He was still cupping her chin, and he tilted her head until she was forced to look at him. “I suppose I was going to tell him anyway.”

  Her weak smile cleared some of the concern from her brow. “I’m not sure I believe that.”

  Neither did he. Her slip-up, however, was probably a blessing in disguise. “Now that I’m here, I have to be all in, else what is the point?”

  She slid her cheek into the caress of his palm. “Are you, Greyston?” Her gaze dipped to his mouth and her eyes warmed to a sultry hazel. “All in?”

  His heart melted and threatened to tamper with his head. This was where he kissed her. Where he made promises he’d never keep. Just for one last taste. He’d close his eyes and shut down his mind and pretend, for just one last minute.

  And he might have done, if he didn’t love this woman so damned much.

  He brought his hand away from the silken texture of her skin to fold his arms, slamming down any hint of emotion, want or need with an ease that came from years of practice.

  “I didn’t come back for you, Lily,” he said gently, firmly. He’d die before he hurt her but, as he was learning, there were degrees of death and degrees of hurt.

  “Oh.” She drew back a couple of feet. “Yes, of course…not.” She held his gaze with a questioning, burning look that dulled a little with every second of silence that passed.

  He almost clarified, but that would only confuse the boundaries he needed to keep between them. He was here to take care of her, to help purge her world of demons. And, then, to see her safely delivered into the life she was meant to have.

  She wasn’t in love with him. Not irrevocably with the kind of passion that broke hearts. He’d once imagined she could be. Now he wouldn’t allow it.

  Her demeanour stiffened and her smile re-emerged. The placid, appropriately civil version she’d used on him when they’d first become acquainted.

  “You’ve always had a knack for making me forget my manners, Greyston. I never asked, how is your leg? It appears quite healed.” She glanced down as she spoke. Her eyes rested on the cane propped beside him and her formality dissolved. “Goodness, are you still suffering? Did you have your injuries seen to by a proper surgeon?”

  “Yes, I’ve been attended by the leading surgeon on the continent and it just needs strengthening,” he said. “My leg is fine. What’s Armand doing?” he added, more to change the subject than the slightest bit interested in why the man was hovering around the machine.

  She glanced over her shoulder to take a look. “Tactfully making himself scarce, I presume.”

  “Shall we leave him to it?” Greyston collected his cane and held an arm out to her.

  Lily regarded his proffered arm for a considerable moment before accepting. “It’s good to have you back,” she said as they walked, “even if
I still haven’t forgiven you for staying gone so long without a word.”

  “And I’m still curious as to your new-found sense of fashion.” He cast another look over the length of her. “Or are exposed ankles all the rage now?”

  “Don’t be so stuffy,” she said flippantly. “A lot has changed since you left. I’ve been de-confused, de-dithered and de-pruded.”

  “I have no idea what you just said.”

  “Allow me to rephrase.” She slipped her hand from his arm as they neared the door. “Full length skirts are simply not practical in the art of demon warfare. In fact, I’m considering taking them up to the knee.”

  His mood turned rabid. “If Kelan thinks he’s sending you into the frontline, thank God I’m here to make him think again.”

  She threw a scowl at him. “Oh, so that’s what you came back for.”

  “What?” he said as she pushed ahead and let herself through the door. “What did I say?”

  Lily gave no indication of having heard him. She surged down the passage, leaving him with the tantalising view of her rear-end. He stood there, staring after until Armand came up to him.

  “I’m pleased to find your health much improved, m’lord.”

  Considering the last time he’d seen the man, he’d threatened to set Neco on him, Greyston forewent the pleasantries. “Take me to Kelan and I don’t give a damn what business he’s otherwise occupied with.”

  “A pity the same cannot be said for your temperament,” Armand murmured. But he inclined his head and led the way. “I believe he’s in the study, m’lord.”

  The study was on the second floor of a wing Greyston hadn’t happened upon on his last visit to the castle. The stairway took them into a sitting area onto which two doors opened and a long, wide and lushly carpeted hallway extended for what looked like the entire east wing of the castle.

  Armand knocked on one of the doors and entered. “Forgive the intrusion, but Lord Adair is here.”

  “Mrs. Locke has already informed me of his arrival. Please tell him I’ll be down shortly.”

  “I’m afraid he is quite—”

  “—insistent,” Greyston said on the man’s heels. Kelan wasn’t alone, but that didn’t deter him from taking up a spot against the wall, just inside the door.

  “Greyston.” Kelan pushed up from behind his desk, his face a mask of politeness. He swept a hand before the two men seated in front of him. “Allow me to introduce James and Ernst McAllister.”

  “More McAllisters,” Greyston drawled. “This must be my lucky day.”

  The hint of a smile fractured Kelan’s mask as he turned back to his men. “I suppose this meeting is concluded, gentleman. Keep digging. There must be something there for us to find. Armand will see you out.”

  Greyston waited until the door closed behind them before demanding, “What have you done to Lily?”

  “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “She’s prancing about in short skirts without batting an eyelid and talking about warfare as if it’s merely another soirée to be attended.”

  “Aah…” He sank into his seat again, indicating a chair for Greyston. “Have you spoken to Lily?”

  “I tried,” Greyston growled. “She isn’t making any sense.”

  “There was an incident in Glasgow a couple of weeks ago. We were tracking a demon, but turns out there were two of them. The demon Agares got away and not before it had wiped out every person in George Winterberry’s household.” Kelan settled deeper in his seat, elbows on the armrests and fingers loosely linked across his chest. “Lily blames herself. She feels that if she’d been more prepared, focussed and committed, she could have averted the slaughter.”

  “And you, naturally, made no attempt to alleviate her misplaced guilt.” Greyston stalked closer to stand behind the chair, scowling down on Kelan. “Not when it furthers the McAllister cause.”

  “I haven’t interfered and no, I’m not opposed to Lily’s progress.”

  “You bastard.” His fist clenched around the bulbous knob of his cane.

  “Stop acting like an over-stuffed turnip.” Kelan reached behind him for a crystal decanter and two glasses. “The demon war is changing, building momentum like a steam boiler about to blow. We believe the threat is greater than we ever imagined.”

  He poured a measure of whiskey into each glass and slid one across the desk. “What happens if I’m no longer around to protect Lily? What happens if you’re not? What happens if the country goes belly-up in a puff of sulphur?” He raised the glass to his lips, sipping long and slow as his eyes met Greyston’s. “If the worst comes about, I, for one, would like to know Lily might be capable of surviving on her own.”

  The man could twist any situation until it fit his own needs. Greyston knew that. He didn’t doubt Kelan’s manipulative expertise for a second. And yet…he also couldn’t discount Kelan’s estimation of the current state of demon affairs.

  So even while Lily was turning herself into his biggest asset, there might come a time when she was her own sole asset. Greyston gave a grunt of agreement. When it came to Lily’s safety, he wouldn’t hesitate admitting when he was wrong and a damn McAllister was right. But he didn’t have to like it or approve of the method.

  “You take me for a callous monster,” Kelan remarked. “Normally I wouldn’t care one way or the other, but I need you here and Lily wants you here. In the interest of working amiably together, let me make one thing clear. When it involves demons, I consider every death to be blood on my hands. Add to that Lily’s unique value and the fact that I got her into this. However you attribute my motives and methods, Lily is always my primary concern. If any harm ever befalls her, it’ll likely be because I’m already dead in my failed attempt to prevent it.”

  There was no emotion delivered with that speech, only the iron-clad message. Kelan McAllister took his responsibilities seriously and, during the course of Greyston’s absence, he’d elevated Lily, if not above, then certainly on par with his demon cause.

  Knowing exactly how fanatical the McAllisters were when it came to this particular duty, and having witnessed Kelan’s formidable skill in action, Greyston put aside his concerns and gave the man the benefit of the doubt.

  He stretched over the chair for his whiskey. “What do we know about this new threat?”

  “I have James and Ernst combing through Winterberry’s business to see why Agares ingratiated itself so closely to the man,” Kelan said. “I’ll catch you up with everything you’ve missed over supper, when Lily joins us. She has remarkable news of her own.” His lips hitched into what might have been a smile. “How’s the leg? I hear Dr. Steinhauss has discounted a full recovery.”

  How the bloody hell could he know that? The usual resentment of anything McAllister crawled up Greyston’s spine. “Should I even ask?” he muttered.

  “You wouldn’t like the answer,” Kelan replied blandly. He swirled the liquid in his glass, observing Greyston at his leisure. “Did you know, demons are able to self-heal their human bodies, recovering almost instantly from mortal wounds?”

  “I’ve only just arrived.” Greyston slammed his glass of untouched whiskey on the desk, unable to shake the distaste of anyone keeping tabs on him all this time. The second his temper soothed toward Kelan, the man did something to rile it up again. “Perhaps we could leave the lessons for tomorrow?”

  He turned, swinging the cane up and over his shoulder, determined to walk from the room unaided and without the barest suggestion of a limp if it killed him.

  Kelan’s voice followed after him, chilling as much as it enthralled. “You have demon blood, Greyston. I’m curious to see how wrong you may prove the good doctor.”

  For once, Greyston was inclined to sate a McAllister’s curiosity rather than thwart it. He was no hypocrite and, although he hadn’t time-run since discovering the source of that power, he wouldn’t hesitate to use it if and when called for.

  He descended the stairs, one cautious step
after the other, stopping twice to massage the cramp in his thigh muscle before he reached the bottom. Cursing beneath his breath, he rounded a corner and came upon Armand and Neco.

  “Neco was just asking after Ana,” Armand said. “I thought it might be more productive if I showed him. Would you care to join us?”

  “That sounds ominous enough to intrigue me.” He gestured for Armand to lead the way. Even with leaning heavily on his cane, he lagged further and further behind. His damn leg was seizing up on him.

  Neco noticed he’d fallen behind and waited at a turn in the passage. “Your limp is worse.”

  “I overdid it on the mountain,” Greyston said. “Stop fussing.”

  “An observation is not the same as fussing.”

  “Then stop observing,” he muttered.

  Celludrones couldn’t frown, but Neco had mastered the pregnant pause. Usually because he was accessing his data, analysing facts and extrapolating the appropriate response.

  “Go on ahead,” Greyston interpreted for him. This passage ended in a flight of steps that led in only one direction. “I’ll see you in the lab.”

  Duncan McAllister’s laboratory, housed in the dungeons of the original castle, had survived the explosion intact. The walls and ceiling reinforced with iron, the laboratory had remained buried beneath the pile of rubble for years until Kelan had returned to Scotland and erected the new castle a little further down the mountain. Electric coils lit the way as Greyston made his way along the tunnel that was the only means of access to the hidden laboratory.

  The sight of Ana lying on the workbench stopped him at the entrance. The last time he’d seen her like this, the steel plate of her chest stripped back, had been the result of a demon attack.

  Her eyes were open, and on him. “There’s no reason to scowl,” she told him. “I’m fully functional.”

  “While I’m pleased to hear that,” he said, clearing the scowl he’d been unaware of as he moved closer, “you don’t look it.”

  She seemed to be hooked up to some type of machine on a trolley beside her.