Soulbound (Darkest London 6)

He looked at her as though she were daft. “Only my bride can cut the chains. Or do you think I’m capable of doing this myself?”

Well, of course he couldn’t. Only she’d never wielded a sword in her life. Eliza kept her hands upon her lap. “And if the sword does as you predict, I could end up cutting off your hands in the process.” She swallowed reflexively. No, she would not be ill now. Save that for later.

His eyes gleamed with humor. “You’re wise to worry, lass. I can assure, you do not want me to lose my hands.” He grinned broadly, looking darkly handsome, before sobering when she paled. “Have faith, Eliza. You’ll not injure me. I promise.”

Muttering things best not said by ladies, Eliza took hold of the ancient weapon. The leather-wrapped hilt slipped against her damp palms, and she fought back a wave of mad laughter. She could do this. Adam laid his arms across the iron box and waited for her, his strong, corded forearms relaxed, the thick cuffs around his wrists glinting in the torchlight. One strike. She’d come at it in a slight angle, hopefully missing his hands, and, please, dear God, with just enough force to cut the metal and not through his limbs.

Adam’s deep voice came as if from a distance. “Swift and true, Eliza May.”

Taking a breath, she lifted the monstrous sword and struck. The blade hit with a shower of sparks and the clear ringing of steel. And then Adam bellowed, his great body falling back as he clutched his arms to his chest, curling over them as if in agony.

Eliza cried out in terror, tossing the sword aside, and flinging herself upon him. “Adam! Where did I hit? Let me see.”

She got as far as touching his head before her caught her up and tumbled her back onto the ground, his arms – quite unharmed – wrapping around her as he laughed with abandon. Shocked, Eliza stared up at him, his head thrown back, his eyes crinkled into half-moons by his laughter. And then she broke.

“You complete and utter bastard,” she shouted, pounding her fist against the curve of his shoulder. He only laughed harder, tearing up with it, his solid body shaking on top of her.

“Oh, but you should have seen your face,” he got out between chortles. He pulled back then and made a ridiculous expression of wide-eyed horror. Eliza would kill him now. As soon as she was free. She wiggled against him, trying to get in a good hit, but he held her too close as he laughed on.

“Vile, hateful… shitting pig!” Her blows grew to light slaps as a small snort left her. No! No, she would not laugh. But his laughter was too infectious, and she found herself joining in. They lay upon the ground, cackling like loons, until her side pinched. She didn’t want it to stop. He was all around her, his body protecting hers, his joy flowing like a warm wave. Nothing else mattered. She needn’t think of who they were or what they were doing. She could just be.

Eventually, her laughter ebbed, leaving a pleasant ache within her chest. “That was a terrible thing to do, Adam.” But she was no longer truly angry, and her words came out low and easy.

At the sound of his name, a pleased light entered his eyes. “Yes, I know.” The way he looked her over, as if luxuriating in the sight of her, sent a small but heated shiver down her spine.

“I’ll not be sorry,” he said so softly, it was a caress. “You were wound so tight, fear and guilt making those warm brown eyes of yours go cold. I’d rather see them alight with life, even if it means you’re railing at me.”

His thumb stroked her temple, slower now, and his gaze grew slumberous and hot. “I like playing with you, Eliza.”

Everything inside of her became slow and quiet, until each breath seemed to brush along the small space between them. “I know.”

He’d been a virtuous knight and an isolated king. When had he ever been a mere man but when he was with her? As for Eliza, she’d never been able to laugh or play with carefree abandon. Not since she was a child.

She did not feel like a child at the moment. The hard press of him against her soft, aching places grew more pronounced. She wanted to spread her thighs, let him sink farther in. He, who she’d resented for so long. Resented, yes, but never hated. She could admit that now. This man, handsome as sin, heady as spiced rum, had always tempted her.

As if he knew her thoughts, Adam studied her face, his lips soft and parted. He leaned in, his attention set upon her mouth, and Eliza’s breath grew agitated. Yes, now. Past all logic that told her to retreat, Eliza slid her hand along his shoulder to cup the heated skin on the back of his neck, drawing him closer.

At her touch, a sigh seemed to flow through him. “Eliza.”

She loved the way he said her name, as though it were a song. She might have answered with a kiss. Only a sudden cold invaded the room, strong enough to halt her progress. He felt it too, for they turned as one, in time to see a low, rolling fog creeping along the floor. Tinged an ugly pea green, the fog seemed as though it had a life of its own. Adam made not a sound as he came to his feet in one smooth movement. Adam’s gaze stayed on the door, but his hand reached for her, and she took it, letting him help her up.

“Eliza,” Adam said, his deep voice hard yet steady, “get well behind me.”

She did not hesitate. Something was coming for them. Already the room grew icy.

Adam picked up his sword, his grip on the hilt not tight but firm. He stood, feet planted apart, sword at the ready.

At the dark mouth of the doorway, lights flickered and shadows stretched. From out of the fog, dark shapes solidified into the forms of men. Four of them. They were tall and thin, their hair flowing free about their shoulders. Eliza needn’t see any more of them to know they were fae; she felt it in her bones.