Bound to His Redemption

by Lisa Kumar

  “That’s much more like it,” said Eamon, a lazy smile quirking up the corners of his lips. “You’re giving me the respect I’m due.”

  “Hardly, but if it makes you feel better, go on believing it.”

  “Such spirit. I like it.”

  Why was he so arrogant, smug, and irresistible? It was a lethal combination that disarmed her too easily. “I’m not looking for you to like anything.”

  He scooted a few inches nearer to her. “Aren’t you?”

  Her heart lurched into her throat. Damn, he made it hard to remember how to breathe.

  “I don’t think it would be wise to want you to.”

  “Hmm, you’re probably right. Sometimes, however, we have to cast wisdom aside so we can fully appreciate the pleasure that awaits us if we only grasp it.”

  “Hedonism?” She shook her head. They were off-topic, and she couldn’t allow him to keep on flustering her. “Let’s get back to the subject of your father.”

  He gave a dramatic sigh. “If you insist.”

  “Why not stop him once and for all?”

  “You mean kill him?” he asked casually.

  Unease gripped her, and she leaned away from him slightly. He looked way too happy at the thought of his father’s death. “Well, maybe incarcerate.”

  “No spilling of blood?” He grinned as if he sensed her discomfort.

  “I don’t know if you should kill your father.” She almost closed her eyes in despair. Was she really having a conversation about not killing someone?

  “Who said anything about killing?”

  “You d —” No, he actually hadn’t said he wanted to do that. Like the fiend he was, he’d merely planted the idea in her head and let her run with it like a clumsy fool with a knife.

  He let out a snide chuckle and reached out to tug on a strand of hair that had fallen over her cheek. “You were prepared to think the worst of me, even if it was deserved.”

  The air in her lungs vanished, though whether it was from his words or gesture, she couldn’t decide. “So you mean ...”

  His brows lifted skyward. “You think I haven’t considered such alternatives? My father has always held a noose above my head. He knows too much and, ensured that on his death, all his knowledge would be made public. Once he found out about the orb, that was the ultimate piece of blackmail he used to his benefit.”

  “But you’ve been punished for your hand in the darkindred. What more could he do or say?”

  A stricken look was canvassed across his face. “I ... I guess that’s true whereas I still know much that concerns him that he’d want to remain secret.”

  She squashed the urge to smooth out his expression with her fingers. “I’m surprised you didn’t think of it.”

  “Yes, it’s quite shocking, isn’t it?” he said with a straight face, so it was impossible to know if he was being serious or not. “However, I’ve been preoccupied with first my impending trial and then with trying to survive in a foreign world. Food and other necessities took precedence. Still, it was an oversight that does me shame.”

  That seemed a bit harsh. “It’s been rectified now, though. So ... you’ll take care of your father?” She wasn’t sure what “taking care of” would entail, and really hated to know.

  “I’ll think of something.” A cruel grin twisted his mouth into something that could give most people nightmares.

  Unease exploded again. Was he considering killing his father now since the elf no longer held anything over Eamon’s head?

  “What are you planning to do?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll have to find out why he’s here and then decide accordingly.”

  She couldn’t argue with that logic. “You should contact Kaiden tomorrow. He could help you there.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Let the outcast be useful for something.”

  A groan escaped her. “Eamon!” The wicked gleam in his eyes showed he was kidding — somewhat. He’d never win any awards for modesty.

  “What? I said he wasn’t completely useless. I think I’m being quite generous.”

  She shook her head and rose. “I’m going to bed for the night.”

  “What a splendid idea.”

  His smile nearly blinded her, and a flush rushed to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean that as an invitation.”

  “You didn’t have to. I can smell your desire.”

  God, he was joking, right?

  He stood. Only a few inches separated them now. Leaning in, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as if he’d smelled something delicious.

  Heat buzzed through her veins. Instead of being repulsed by his actions, she found them oddly fascinating — and sexy — which was troubling, very troubling. She shouldn’t find it sexy. It should be creepy. While many things about him could be termed so, this didn’t even fall close to the mark.

  She couldn’t do this, though. Everything within told her it was a bad idea. Her body didn’t pay that any mind and blared for her to pull him to bed — and not for sleep.

  Taking a deep breath, she inched back from him, though it felt like she was moving through quicksand. “I don’t think it’d be wise to repeat this afternoon.”

  “No, this time we’d have the comfort of your bed,” he said, his voice husky.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Did he have a one-track mind or what? Not that she could really blame him, because hers wasn’t much better. “I think it’d be better if you slept on the sofa.”

  He eyed the mentioned piece of furniture with distaste. “I won’t be relegated to that lumpy thing.”

  “It’s not lumpy and is less than a year old.” She’d fallen asleep on it enough to know it was quite comfortable.

  “That is immaterial. I won’t sleep anywhere but in your bed.”

  “Okay, I’ll sleep out here, then.”

  His lips thinned. “We’ll sleep in the same place.”

  “Fine, I’ll take the sofa, and you can either sleep on the floor or on one of the chairs.” There, she had him now. Her smile grew.

  “You will —” He broke off and took a deep breath. “If I promise to not touch you, will that satisfy your maidenly virtue?”

  She snorted. What maidenly virtue was he talking about? He’d rid her of any she had. Though she was likely crazy for agreeing to his compromise, she said, “I’ll hold you to it.”

  “I may be many things, but I don’t break my honestly meant promises.”

  “So you just break the dishonestly meant ones?”

  “Of course.”

  As he said it, there wasn’t even a touch of embarrassment to his countenance. A chuckle at his audacity burst from her lips. He was something else. Mere words couldn’t describe him. “Come on, then.”

  CARALYN SHIFTED YET again in a vain effort to find a comfortable position on her side of the bed. She was uncomfortably aware of the presence at her back. That, along with the day’s events, kept her mind and body in a state of unrest.

  Poor Archie wasn’t going to get any sleep if she kept this up. So far, he lay at the bottom of the bed, his back against her lower legs and his head on Eamon’s calves. That last part she found hilarious, though she knew Eamon didn’t share the same sentiment. Thankfully, he wasn’t grumbling about it too much.

  With a smothered groan, she moved again. Eamon hadn’t said anything yet, but she didn’t trust her luck to hold out.

  “Restless?” Eamon asked in a silken tone. “I could help.”

  She could guess the kind of help he was offering, and the sound of his voice didn’t help. It rubbed against her senses like black velvet — so tempting but so off-limits, at least if she knew what was good for her. “No, thanks. I just need a few more minutes to settle in.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, I’ve been told my hands have a certain type of magic.”

  Oh, she bet he did, and she hated the jealousy that stormed through her at the thought of whom he used them on.

  “Though I’m sure you hav
e the greatest hands in the history of all worlds, I don’t need them.”

  A low chuckle, as rich as the dark night, surrounded her. “Such a vehement protest. You certainly didn’t mind them in the department dressing room.”

  He was never going to let her forget that, was he? “A lapse of good judgment on my part.”

  “More a supremely pleasurable casting away of your inhibitions.”

  She clenched the covers tighter. “Goodnight.”

  That decadent chuckle was his only answer, and he remained blessedly quiet after that.

  In fact, as the minutes ticked by, he made no move to touch her. Relief should’ve been the only thing she experienced, but disappointment came in a close second.

  She buried her face in a pillow. What was he doing to her? She had to help him and get him out of her apartment. He was twisting her into a knot she feared she’d never get herself out of.

  Her damned mind wouldn’t shut up, though. The remembrance of his body, of his heat, kept her hormones whirling. Thoughts of his skin on hers, how his hands and mouth felt on her breasts, flooded warmth to the region between her legs. She stiffened. Oh, no, could he sense her arousal — smell it? God, her life sucked.

  How had everything gone downhill so fast? It wasn’t even quite Sunday yet, so she hadn’t even known him for two full days. For some reason, that span of time seemed immeasurably longer. Maybe because of all the upheaval he’d brought.

  Hopefully, she’d be able to get him out of her apartment — and life — soon, but somehow she didn’t think it’d be that easy.

  Chapter 17

  An infernal knocking rent Eamon from his sleep. His heavy eyelids snapped open, and he glared through the lightening darkness of the room. Blast it, if only he could smite the interloper lurking beyond the front door with his eyes.

  After hundreds of years of being ultra-vigilant, he always woke at the slightest sound that was out of place. That banging at the door qualified as one. He’d only fallen asleep a few hours ago because Caralyn’s presence had been too much for his disloyal body. Even now, his lower region was all too ready to rise.

  Caralyn and her dog, damn them, were snuggled up against him, sound asleep. Even if she looked adorable with her sleep-tousled hair, she should be the one to wake and rise. It was her apartment, after all. Who could be calling upon her at this time, anyway? He knew no one would be seeking him out apart from the holdout West. Unless it was his father, which in that case, he much preferred West.

  More than likely, though, it was an acquaintance or friend of Caralyn’s. A growl worked its way up his throat. It better not be that Hayden idiot, pleading his case again. Caralyn was his, and anyone trying to interfere would quickly learn that Eamon kept what was his — at least until he was finished with it. Surely, Caralyn could no longer see anything in the pathetic man? Hayden might be handsome for a human, but Eamon knew he was more than a notch above the mortal. But maybe Caralyn preferred someone human, someone of her kind? That thought made his hands shake with rage.

  A new round of knocks started, and Archie raised his head. With a stern finger, Eamon ordered him to stay put. Flinging himself out of bed, he found himself aching to confront the human male that waited outside in the hallway. Eamon wouldn’t kill the human vermin. He wasn’t stupid enough to do that and bring down Aistiane and Talion’s wrath. No, he’d merely break a few of the man’s fingers and his nose, which nearly rivaled his in straightness but soon wouldn’t.

  A brutal sense of justice warmed his cold heart. The morning finally looked more promising. Maybe he’d even play with a few of the man’s memories and make his loss of Caralyn even more humiliating — and painful. But meddling in a human’s mind could get Aistiane’s attention in a way he didn’t want, so best to lay that idea aside.

  He slanted a look back at Caralyn, who still hadn’t stirred. Given her response the night before, she should be glad that he got rid of the would-be poacher. He knew exactly how she could repay him. After a good fight, nothing was better than losing himself between a female’s thighs.

  With that buoying thought, he stalked out the bedroom and toward the front door. Yanking the handle toward him, he prepared himself to unleash his rage on the unlikely unsuspecting mortal.

  The door swung open, and shocked revulsion rattled through him at the male elf before him. “What in the damnation are you doing here?” he asked, his voice loud with displeasure.

  Andrian’s lips curled into a sneer. “Damnation sounds about right. Did you miss me?”

  “Darkindred, you were only good for one thing, and that was for jumping to my orders and corralling the other darkindred.”

  The other elf shook his blond head, a manic expression entering his eyes as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “So much for repentance. I see you haven’t changed one bit.”

  Eamon recognized that look and made sure he fully covered the doorway. For good measure, he uttered a silent warding spell, though it’d probably matter little if Andrian was expecting it. “And I see you’re still as mad as ever.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  Eamon gave a loud snort. At least Andrian didn’t deny it. “You were quite insane before you fell under my power.”

  Tension coiled about Andrian, but he merely gave an easy-going smile. “I was eccentric, but you shoved me over the edge one too many times.”

  “There was always a reason why you were Talion’s second best, and that had nothing to do with your birth order. You even bedded down with your dear brother’s wife. How ... nice to betray him that way.”

  Andrian bared his teeth like the animal he was. “You’re one to talk.” His voice rose. “We both know what went on in —”

  A slightly wrinkled hand slid around Andrian’s arm, and out around the darkindred’s body emerged a much shorter form with silvery-blue hair. Aistiane. Eamon smothered a moan. Not her too. The interfering crone could only mean trouble.

  Aistiane planted her hands on ample hips, a frown on her lightly lined, plump face. “You two squabble like two young boys. If you’re to work together, you need to find a way to get along.”

  Eamon blinked, sure he’d misunderstood her words, but the knowing smile on her face showed otherwise. An unsettling suspicion took root in his gut.

  Oh, hell, no.

  He started to slam the door on the insanity before him. In a move belying her aged appearance, Aistiane flung out her hand and stopped the door from closing. It happened so quickly, he didn’t know if she touched the actual wood or if she used magic to halt its closure. Her action was an uncomfortable reminder that this was no simple elf or human he was dealing with but a manifestation of the veil. There’d be no getting rid of her until she had her say.

  Glowering at her, he gritted his teeth before asking, “I’m sure I don’t want to know what you mean, but I’m sure you’ll tell me, anyway.”

  A smile bloomed across the older woman’s face. “You’re absolutely correct.”

  THE SOUND OF VOICES infiltrated Caralyn’s sleep-fogged brain. With a groan, she started to push her head under a pillow. Some rational bit of thought stalled her, though. Wait, voices? Why ... were there voices in her apartment?

  She blinked rapidly in an effort to wake herself fully. Though she did have neighbors, they were of the quiet sort. Plus, the walls boasted extra soundproofing, which the property manager had used as part of her spiel to get her to buy the place.

  The voices rose, and her heart plummeted. One of them was Eamon’s — there was no other it could be. A glance at the other side of the bed showed it to be empty, damn it. Archie sat up, and his wagging tail thumped against the bed. Leaning over, she scratched his head in a vain attempt to quiet him.

  She listened closely to the voice that sounded like it was coming from the living room, and though she couldn’t make out the words, the familiar pissed tone had her scrambling out of bed. God, what was he doing? Who was he arguing with? One of his kind or a human? She didn’t know which pos
sibility she dreaded more. Both could cause trouble in so many ways.

  With as much stealth as she could manage, which wasn’t much, she crept out into the living room. For some reason, she didn’t think it wise to go charging in — maybe because she valued her life too much. She’d shut Archie in the bedroom, not wanting the dog to be involved if anything happened.

  The light spilling in from the front door, along with the lamp she kept on in the living room, illuminated the area. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight before her.

  Whatever she’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. Eamon loomed in the doorway, and his arms blocked access to the entrance. Still, she could see around him to the plump, little old lady with silvery-blue hair and the tall male who stood behind her.

  No one seemed to notice her presence, so she stepped closer. Then the old lady briefly flicked her unsettling gaze to Caralyn. It happened so quickly, though, she might’ve imagined it along with the yellow color she swore the woman’s eyes had been. What was up with that color? Why was she seeing it in people’s auras and now in this lady’s eyes? All good questions for which she had no answers. Well, she might as well figure out what she could.

  The other male had to be an elf. Though he was blond, he had the same kind of otherworldly quality about him that Eamon did. In fact, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Eamon, except in coloring. Were they relatives? And just like her temporary houseguest, he looked dangerous, if that ferocious scowl and his yellow-tinged red aura were any indication.

  Given his sculpted face and body, he was handsome but looked and felt all kinds of crazy — even worse than Eamon usually did. The sight of him left a hot, dry feeling in her mouth. All that should send her shrieking in terror, but her curiosity and pride wouldn’t let her. She just hoped his aura didn’t flux like Eamon’s. Watching his cycle through the rainbow was enough.

  “What’s going on?” She almost hated to ask, but this was her apartment, damn it. She couldn’t hide in her bedroom and bury her head under the pillows.