He didn’t give her a chance to say a word, but snatched her up and wrapped her so tightly in his arms that her ribs creaked. Holly didn’t protest. For the first time in what seemed like hours, she felt saf.
Unashamed, she burrowed into him, holding onto his lean waist, her nose lost in the sweat-damp folds of his linen shirt. He smelled wonderful. Dark heat and safe harbors. She’d never been so afraid in her life as she’d been when facing that raptor. One wrong move and she would have died. It had taken all she had not to break down, but to focus, to formulate a plan: take the raptor out immediately, don’t get hit. Now that it was done and over, she found she could barely stand. That was all right. Thorne would hold her up now. “My girl,” he whispered into her hair. “My girl.” Kisses to her head punctuated his words. “So very well don.
My girl.” A shudder rent through her at the thought of what she’d just done, and he held her tighter. They stood as one, a quiet cocoon in the midst of a shouting crowd. And for once, Holly soaked up Thorne’s power, letting it bolster her. When she could stand without trembling, she eased back. He protested only for a moment, then loosened his grip. Their gazes clashed, and for one bright instant, they grinned at each other like mad fools. Excitement and victory fizzed through her like champagn.
“I told you I had the situation under control.” Her voice was breathless, buoyant. Thorne barked out a laugh, but his lower lip wobbled before he grinned down at her. “I may have lost a decade of my life watching you, but yes, you managed that quite nicely, love.” Quick as a cat, he slung his arm about her shoulders and hauled her back to his sid.
His lips pressed hard against her crown, and his warm breath gusted through her hair. “But you are never doing that again.” She wasn’t going to argu.
Nor did she get a chanc.
Kettil waddled up, beaming. “Well now, lass, you certainly took the egg! ’Course, ye lost me my best fighter.” Thorne growled, his fangs elongating with an audible snap. Kettil held up a placating hand and chuckled. “Hold your fir.
It was worth it. Best bout we’ve had in ages.” He glanced at Holly. “Would have been better if it had gone on a bit longer, but the upset was unparalleled.” “The contact,” Thorne bit out. Kettil paled. “Alamut.” The name did something to Thorn.
He flinched, recoiling as if slapped. Then his expression went blank. All but his eyes. They darted about as if seeing some other time and plac.
Silently, his lips formed the word again as if saying a prayer. And then he broke out of the tranc.
Thorne lashed out, grabbing Kettil by the neck then wrenching him clos.
Since Holly was still securely held by Thorne’s other hand, she was treated to Kettil’s stench as he floundered about, trying to break fre.
Thorne gave him a rough shak.
“Blood vows have passed,” Thorne snarled. “You cross me on this and your stones are the first thing I rip off.” “It’s square,” Kettil insisted on a choked breath. “I swear it.” Thorne let him go so abruptly that Kettil tottered. Thorne wheeled Holly around and marched them out of the arena. The crowd parted for them like the proverbial Red Sea, and quickly, for Thorne’s stride was brisk and unwavering. Though it was a struggle, Holly matched his pac.
Her heart was still racing, the knowledge that she’d fought a supernatural and lived coursing through her with increasing strength. For nearly a year, she’d been terrified of every shadow, every sudden noise that occurred outside of her purview. That fear, the helpless feeling, started to dissipate like London fog against a hot sun. Her cheeks grew warm. “All in all, a productive day’s work,” Thorne said as they entered the long, narrow corridor that led the way out. As if he’d never been afraid. As if she’d never been in danger. As if he’d bloody planned the entire thing. Ah, yes, that reminded her. Her spectrometers. The ones currently in that rat Kettil’s possession. Holly stopped short, grabbed hold of Thorne’s lapels, and hauled him close, setting him off balanc.
They both stumbled back, her shoulders meeting the cold wall of the tunnel. “Touch another one of my inventions without my express permission again, Mr. Thorne, and I’ll cut off your cods and feed them to the dogs.” Heat flared in his eyes as his lips curled into a smil.
Irritating man. He leaned into her, caging her smaller frame by bracing his arms against the wall on either side of her head. He watched her, not at all cowed but as if he’d soon gobble her up for his dinner. “We don’t own dogs, love.” She gave him a little shake, wanting to push him away, yet somehow bringing those smiling lips closer. “I’ll bloody purchase some then.” She let him go before she did something irrational, like kiss him. It was only when they’d climbed into a coach, and the last vestiges of the agitated energy gained from the fight had waned, that she felt the pain and the blood trickling down her side.
Chapter Twenty
Report.” Adam cut into the thick slab of steak in front of him. Juice pooled around the tines of his fork. “Mab is in London,” Lucien Stone, his right-hand man and leader of the London GIM answered. Dressed as a man out of the eighteenth century, with a shimmering blue satin frock coat and lime green waistcoat and britches, he appeared more ghost than ghost in the machin.
“Tell me something that I do not know, Lucien,” Adam said before taking a bite of beef. Delicious. “I gather she’s searching all and sundry for me?” Lucien’s gaze flicked to Eliza May and then away. “Not for you.” Predictably, Eliza stirred from her slump against the wall on which she’d been leaning. Adam and Lucien sat, tucked in a corner of a packed pub, while Eliza stood as far away from them as the chain would permit. Around them, humans supped and caroused with abandon. Which was really quite perfect. Adam remembered being human, and though centuries had passed, he had frequented similar pubs. “She can try to find her,” Adam said, “but she shall fail.” Adam had a natural ability to cloak himself from any form of supernatural. He only allowed the humans to see him now. And the GIM who served him. “Mon commandant”—Lucien leaned in, and the rings on his fingers glinted in the gaslight—“will you not tell me why the fille is so important as to tangle with Mab?” Adam paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. Lucien’s expression was not only imploring, it was worried. Hell. “You believe that is what this is about? That Mab simply wants her kin returned?” Adam knew better. Mab could not care less about Eliza May. She was a pawn to Mab, nothing mor.
Eliza took a step closer to them. Though she made not a sound, Adam could feel her do it. Damn, she ought not to be listening to this. “I know fae too well to believe anything they do is altruistic.” Lucien’s jade green eyes glowed with unearthly GIM light. “However, I cannot know what to believe until you tell me the truth.” Adam set his fork down, his meal now leaden in his stomach. “As much as it pains me, my old friend, there are things in which I cannot confid.
To anyone.” Bloody, f**king curses. Lucien stared at him for what felt like an eternity, but was closer to a second. Then he shrugged and took a sip of his win.
Guilt slid over Adam. Lucien had done much for him and was loyal to his cor.
Now the man thought Adam did not trust him. It was far from the truth. Bloody rules. Binding him. Adam nearly rubbed his wrist, around which the golden chain attached him to Eliza May. He wanted to howl. If only she’d look at him, let him in, this could all end. His voice was a ghost between them, so low that Eliza could not hear. “She is the most important thing in my world.” She was his existenc.
Literally. But Adam could not say that. Even so, Lucien’s eyes widened. Slowly he blinked, as if to say, “understood.” Then his expression reverted back to its usual insoucianc.
“Well then,” Lucien drawled as if not having heard Adam’s confession, “I would pay particular attention to William Thorne.” The one man who could bring about Adam’s downfall. And the bloody curse forbade him from causing the bloody sanguis-crawler mutt any harm. Damn it all. He kept the anger and frustration out of his voic.
“I have it under control.” Darby would hold Evernight and Thorne, and Adam would discuss the matter with them. Maddening, but it was all he could do. Lucien did not appear assured. Adam grunted in annoyanc.
“You think Mab can force Holly Evernight or William Thorne’s hand?” “She’s done so to stronger beings.” “Fae cannot attack humans on this plane of existenc.
It is forbidden. Nor,” Adam added, “would she ever harm one of her own blood.” That was the ultimate dishonor. “You put too much faith in what people ought to do, master.” Adam could not help but look over his shoulder at the one soul he needed to put his faith in more than any other. “Yes,” he said, turning back to Lucien, “unfortunately I do.” Thorne kept a running commentary on Holly’s bout the entire way home, as if she hadn’t a firsthand account of the proceedings. What shocked her the most was how… proud he appeared. Which annoyed and pleased her in equal parts. He hadn’t been so confident of her prowess before the fight. Then again, most men underestimated women. Now he wouldn’t. Which was good. “The use of the claymore to create metal whips was most inspired, Evernight,” he went on, his eyes alight with demon gle.
“I swear, watching that bit got me hard as a rock.” “Lovely,” Holly murmured. She leaned into the side of the coach, letting the windowpane cool her heated skin as she surreptitiously pressed the folds of Thorne’s overcoat hard against her wound. She’d left her cloak behind when they’d abruptly quit the arena. They were nearly hom.
There she could tend to her injury. In peac.
“Do you not have an inner censor, Mr. Thorne? Or are you merely attempting to provoke?” He grinned, the swaying coach lamp moving his sharp, handsome features in and out of shadow. “Miss Evernight, you know perfectly well that I live to provoke you. That it also happens to be the truth merely makes it more fun for me.” She made an inelegant snort. And he peered at her, a thoughtful expression gracing his strong fac.
“You are still cross about the spectacles.” “How astute you are, Mr. Thorne.” “Ah, now, petal, you know I had to offer a proper inducement.” “I know nothing of the sort.” If she thought too long on her lost spectrometers, she’d haul off and hit him on his elegant nos.
“And you might have asked.” “And you would have refused.” Precisely. He must have read her silent retort, for he chuckled. “Would this facilitate a step in renewing our accord?” With a lightning quick move, he flicked his wrist, and the light caught on his hand. And her spectrometers. Holly’s pain ebbed with a surge of joy. She plucked her precious invention from his outstretched hand and held them carefully against her breast. “How?” Fangs flashing in the lamplight, he chuckled again. “Easy pickings for a former fine wirer.” His warm gaze was a caress. “Come now, petal min.
Did you honestly believe I’d let that sluggard have your clever little device?” Yes. Yes she had. Holly refused to thank him. Not when he’d deliberately teased her, drawing out her suffering over the loss of her invention. She tucked the spectrometers away, then pinned him with a look. “You needled me on purpose.” His inane grin returned. “Of cours.
I’ve such fun doing so.” He leaned in closer. When he spoke, his voice was low, intimat.
“Someday, you’ll learn to trust me, Evernight.” “Who is Alamut?” He winced, looking for all the world like a youth caught out. Then his expression turned inward. “Not ‘who’ but ‘what.’ Alamut was a citadel, and the place where the world’s first known assassins lived and trained.” In the dim coach light, Thorne’s eyes shone like stars of platinum and onyx. “For our purposes, however, the Alamut refers to a band of assassins, named in the citadel’s honor. They started out as Nex assassins but the Nex could not control them. Now they are mercenaries and work for the Nex, or those sympathetic to their cause.” Holly glanced at his arm, which rested so benignly against his thigh now. “Your tattoo.” Slowly, he nodded. “I am Alamut.” “You?” His attention darted to her fac.
“What? You don’t believe I am capable?” Of murder? Yes. But a cold and calculating assassin? “A hunter needs patienc.
Something you have yet to display.” An ironic smile flitted over his mouth, but he was pale with sweat blooming at his templ.
“I recall having far better patience before I ran afoul of you, love.” She resisted the urge to pinch him. Only just. And because he was an arse, she couldn’t help her retort. “You are also rather flamboyant. Both in appearance and in natur.
Hardly the sort to blend in with a crowd.” “Oh, I see,” he drawled. “You imagine an assassin as some silent, brooding bloke who slips about like shadows in the dark.” His upper lip curled, revealing a bit of fang. “Upon entering a public room, who do the wary most focus on first? Who do they instantly fear? It is the dour wallflower hiding back in some corner, not the jolly gent making merry with a flock of doves.” Well, all right, he had a point. From under slanting brows, his dark gaze bore into her. “A word of advice, Miss Evernight. The devil wears many hats. Believing in appearances, whether pretty ones or ugly ones, could find you skewered.”
Chapter Twenty-One
It was fortunate the coach ride was short, for Holly could no longer pretend that she was well. She did not wait for Thorne or the driver, but opened the door and hopped down. That she managed not to wince was but a small victory. Unfortunately, she only took a few steps before Thorne’s hand wrapped about her upper arm, and he whipped her around. The move was quick, but he handled her as if she were blown glass. Frowning, his gaze darted over her. “I smell blood. Fresh blood.” Without pause, he flipped open the overcoat she wor.