Soulbound (Darkest London 6)

“Go,” Eliza told her.

“I am but a messenger,” the woman said. “The next one who comes will be here for your head.”

“Do you know,” Eliza said, “I find that threat no longer scares me?”

When Adam finished his drink with the GIM – a novel experience, listening to their concerns and attempting to assuage them that he was trying to regain his powers, and thus their safety – he’d found Eliza nursing an ale and looking pale.

“Are you well, dove?”

Eliza flinched as though she hadn’t heard him approach. Her brown eyes were round, almost too large in her face, as she blinked up at him. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I am well. I… it is hot in the inn.”

“Shall we retire then?” Jesu, simply asking the question sent blood surging to his cock and made his breath quicken.

Still not fully roused, Eliza gave an absent nod of agreement and rose. He wasted no time in leading Eliza toward the cheery little cottage a ways off from the inn. His hand rested upon the small of her back, a simple gesture, and yet she quickened her step as though she might outpace his touch.

And it felt as if he’d been slapped. Was his touch so very distasteful? She hadn’t been so reserved when she’d lapped at his cock like a cat seeking cream. It had been the single most erotic moment of his long, long life. The mere memory made him hard and his step awkward.

“Eliza,” he said, pressing his hand once more against her slim back, “you are practically running from me.” She shot him a look over her shoulder, her golden brows furrowed. And he snorted without humor. “Do not scowl. You are, and I’d like to know why.” He cleared his throat. “Do you regret it? What we did?” He was not certain what he’d do if she did, but thought it would include punching a wall somewhere close by.

Eliza slowed to a stop, which made him stop too or run over her entirely. Inches separated them. Her scent flooded his senses, and he struggled not to close the gap, to fit his mouth to hers once more, and take this time. The warm light of the inn’s window shone down upon her, picking up the copper filaments in her bright hair and highlighting the sweet curve of her mouth. That mouth. He repressed a sigh of longing and focused on his irritation. “Well?” he asked, his tone short.

The little furrow worked deeper between her brows. “It lies between us, our bad beginning.”

“What does that have to do with your flinching from my touch?”

“It taints every experience we have.” Her lashes lowered a fraction, and her attention drifted to his mouth. Adam’s heart began to pound, but she flicked her gaze upwards once more, and her chin lifted. “Adam, I would not have touched you if I hadn’t wanted to. As you should well know.”

He stepped close to her, his hand wrapping around the base of her throat, because he needed to touch her. The contact settled him, yet his heartbeat kept a hard rhythm. “Then tell me what has upset you.”

Her fingers clutched his biceps, their tips digging in, and a surge of protectiveness swamped him. Adam rested his forehead against hers, the difference in their heights making him duck his head low. “Truth, Eliza. Surely we can have that between us.”

“A fae came into the taproom.”

He lurched, ready to turn and hunt down the fae, but she held him fast. “She is gone, but she had a message for me. She said they would be coming for my head next.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Fear for Eliza held Adam by the cods, hard enough to kill his ardor, or at very least, take the edge off of it. When they returned to the innkeeper’s cottage, Adam locked them in tight and then went about securing all the windows. He could only be thankful that the old cottage shutters were decorated with iron laths. Not much iron, but enough to deter most fae.

Task done, he walked Eliza to the tiny bedroom.

“I’ll take the couch and keep guard out here,” he said somewhat grimly, for the baser part of him still wanted to sink into her warmth and stay there. An eternity just might relieve his need.

Eliza gave him a long look but then sighed. “Very well.” She glanced at the door. “Will you be all right?”

“I’ve my sword and my strength back.” Adam ran a knuckle over her silken cheek. “All will be well, dove.” He’d keep her safe or die trying.

She left him then, and he stood for a long time in the middle of the cold cottage, listening to the sounds of the night and cursing Mellan to hell and back. To deny sleep was foolish; a tired warrior made for a sloppy fighter. So Adam lay upon the couch, sword by his side, just as he’d done centuries ago. Sleep was a long time coming, but eventually it took him.

He became aware of himself the very moment Eliza slipped into the room. His eyes snapped open in time to see her walk past, her white nightgown billowing behind her like a ghostly sail, her steps steady and sure. She never looked his way.

Huddled into the too-small couch, his body creaked with protest as he slowly rose to follow. He barely paused as he grabbed hold of his sword and back scabbard, strapping them on as he went. Cold floorboards chilled his feet as he moved across the cottage. She was far enough ahead not to notice him creeping up behind her. Out the door she went, never hesitating, looking neither left or right, and into the crisp night air.

Fog rose up from the ground, a soupy swirl, thick and pale green. Fae’s fog. The herald of evil. The hairs at the back of Adam’s neck lifted, his muscles tensing for battle. Eliza’s golden curls bounced, her gown swaying as she walked, keeping that eerie, unwavering pace.