Evernight (Darkest London 5)

Food. His lush mouth flattened. “It isn’t simply about providing me with blood. An esculent is a treasured companion. Like a courtesan,” he added, as though this were somehow helpful. Now she understood the garish gown. “Well, I am much relieved to hear it,” she said with false levity. “Here I was merely worried about giving you blood.” Oh, but she’d given herself to him already, hadn’t she? For a heady moment, the memory of him pushing into her assailed her. He’d been so hard. Filled her so perfectly. She glared, forcing the memory away. Thorne’s dark brows snapped together. “All right, we know you aren’t pleased… loath to touch me again, what have you. But it will be an act.” He shifted his weight as he stared down at her, and the muscle along his jaw began to twitch. “Out with it,” she said. “Holding the truth in won’t ease the telling.” With a sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair. “The dress is not enough. There needs to be physical proof that I’m feeding from you.” She recoiled, her hand flying to her throat. Thorne’s scowl intensified, but his tone grew softer, apologetic. “It is simply an impossibility for an esculent to be free of bite marks, love.” Her cold fingers wrapped about the base of her neck. “Then I won’t go.” He held her gaz.

“You have to. I cannot risk leaving you alon.

Certainly not tonight, when I will be out and distracted for hours.” When she didn’t answer, his lips curled bitterly. “It isn’t as though I want to do this.” The sneer grew. “I loathe the thought, in truth.” “How kind of you to say.” Holly hated that hurt lodged against her breastbone at the confession. Was she so distasteful? What was she thinking? She didn’t want to be considered edible, for pity’s sak.

Unfortunately, her tender feeling must have shone, for Thorne leaned close, his white hair swinging over the tops of his shoulders. “You don’t understand. I’m afraid of losing control. I don’t want to hurt you.” It was then she truly took note of his appearanc.

Perspiration beaded his brow, and his fists were clenched tight. “You realize your worry makes this worse, not better?” she said through dry lips. “I know,” he snapped. “Shite.” Thorne pinched the bridge of his nos.

“May we get this over with?” The sound of Thorne’s clockwork heart whirring and ticking away filled the space between them. Then Holly swallowed. “What if you lose control?” “You are the one person in the world who can control m.

Hit me with everything you’ve got.” He stepped close enough that his legs brushed her skirts, and his warmth washed over her. “It won’t hurt when I bite you. That I promise.” The trepidation ebbed from his eyes, replaced by a gleam, hungry and intent. “I will only take enough to make it look convincing.” Fangs descended, needle sharp and brilliant white against his lips. Holly’s heart skipped a beat. His voice grew darker, altered. “I swear it.” She knew he’d try. Determination tightened his shoulders and creased the corners of his eyes. She knew this, and yet her heart raced, her breath growing short and making her br**sts heave against the tight confines of her bodic.

As if called, his gaze moved to them, and his eyes went black as pitch. Heat bolted down her center. Dear God, she was in troubl.

Because she was going to let him drink from her. Perhaps she’d spoken the fact aloud or perhaps he’d seen the capitulation in her eyes, for his warm, strong hands wrapped about her bare shoulders, hard enough to feel his intent but not to bruise, and he was drawing her in. Her palms hissed up his silk lapels, as his head dipped. Gently, he wrapped an arm about her waist then cupped the top of her neck with his free hand, tilting her head to the side to give him access. Holly’s pulse leapt wildly. This was too intimat.

She wanted… Warm breath buffeted her skin, and then the brush of his lips. Her sex clenched, her fingers convulsed on his shoulders. When he spoke, it was low, rough, his mouth tickling her sensitized flesh. “I won’t harm you. I won’t.” Then he struck. She expected a bit.

He kissed her neck instead, a soft, warm press that made her belly flip. With a little noise that might have been a moan, he angled his head further. The tip of his tongue flickered over her skin just before he suckled her, and she let out a strangled cry, clinging to his lapels for fear of falling. “Easy.” It was a murmur, hot and moist against her neck. “Easy. I’m preparing you.” She tried to ease but he licked her again, and everything within her grew tight and achy. Her head fell back, allowing him mor.

Thorne took a shuddering breath. And then, without warning, needle-sharp fangs broke through her skin with an audible snap. It ought to have hurt. It didn’t. She felt… penetrated. Holly rose up on her toes, pressing her aching br**sts against his chest, and his fangs sunk in deeper. And they both moaned. Gods, but she could hear him swallowing her life’s blood, feel the possessive grip of his hands upon the small of her back and the base of her skull. Her fingers tangled in his silky hair, bringing him closer. Each lap of his tongue, each drawing suck, felt as if it were against the swollen bud of her sex. To her horror, her h*ps undulated, rocking in time to every pull. Thorne gave a soft grunt, an acknowledgment of her need. The world seemed to dip and sway as he pushed her back against the wall, his thick, hard thigh inserting itself between hers. Relief. And not enough. Holly trembled. Mor.

She needed mor.

His fingers dug into her hip, his breath coming faster, sucking harder. She grew dizzy. Her head light. Fear tinged the edges of her perception with hot licks. “Thorne.” She could barely speak, barely think. The little carved putti grinned down at her from their perch in the ceiling. “William…” In a burst of movement, she was fre.

Thorne staggered back. His eyes were ice blue and wide, so wide, as if he’d seen a ghost. Or perhaps he was one, with his phantom’s hair flowing about his face like a shroud. Holly sank, her knees too weak to hold her upright. And then he was back, drawing her into his arms. “Easy,” he said again. A shiver ran through him and into her, and he tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder. “Easy for a moment. One is often overcome when giving blood.” As if her intense reaction was something mundan.

“It will pass.” He did not sound so sur.

Neither was sh.

It took all her strength, but she pushed at his chest. “Please,” she said, when he wouldn’t budg.

“I need air.” Only then did he step away, frowning as he did. Holly leaned against the wall and took deep, cleansing breaths. Silently, he watched her. Not a drop of blood marred his lips. A fastidious eater? She snorted inwardly at her macabre little jok.

“I need water.” She couldn’t phrase it nicely; she was too weak. With a curt nod, Thorne burst into action, doing as bided. He left the room, and lovely silence surrounded her. She staggered to the settee and gratefully sank into its silken embrac.

No sooner had she settled than Thorne rushed back into the room, glass in hand, his gaze darting about until he found her. When he did, he headed directly over. His expression was so like Nan’s when she was of a mind to mother that Holly bristled. She’d been in danger of reaching an orgasm, still felt the effects in the form of a delicate throbbing between her legs, and he was fretting about, not stimulated in the least. “Your water.” He placed it in her hand as though she were an invalid. Holly bristled further. “You took too much blood.” Without waiting for his answer, Holly took a long gulp of cold water. Thorne stood straight. His expression as smooth as fine porcelain. “I took the proper amount. It only feels like too much because it was your first time.” She snorted inelegantly. “Virgin no longer.” To her shock, Thorne blushed at that, a swath of rosy color that ran across his high-cut cheekbones. She lifted her glass in cheers and finished her drink. The empty glass made a little clink when she set it on the tabl.

“Well. Are we off, then?” “You’re well enough?” Another heavy, sticky-hot wave of embarrassment washed through her. She’d moaned, writhed in his arms. And he might as well have been having a midnight snack. “I am fine.” Thorne’s lips thinned. “When a woman says she’s fine, an intelligent man runs in the opposite direction.” “Too bad for you that we are stuck in this together.”

Chapter Seventeen

Walking beside Evernight on the way to the Tower Subway, Will felt anxious. An emotion he loathed. He was bringing Evernight into a world of danger. She was brave; he’d give her that. It was a quiet sort of courage that she possessed. Slow and steady. Methodical. And she’d given him her blood. Her blood to warm his body and give him strength. From the time Will turned thirteen and his voice began to drop, he had imbibed blood to surviv.

The first taste of it had made him weak at the knees and shiver with pleasure such as he’d never before known. Here, he’d thought in that moment, was the nectar of lif.

The taste of blood varied from species to species. In general, however, the flavor did not vary much more than, say, different types of win.

And every sanguis had a blood preferenc.

Sanguis blood tasted of watered down wine, and rarely satisfied, which was likely due to some innate repulsion for feeding off one’s own kind. Lycan had a rather gamey flavor. Raptor’s blood was unpalatable, like bitter coals mixed with mud. Shifter blood was rich and full, like the darkest chocolate and the finest win.

And angel’s blood was fruity, delectable, and as addicting as opium. Human blood, however, was Will’s favorite because of the variety offered. He was convinced there were a few set types of human blood, for he’d encountered certain but varied base notes over and over again. However, diet and health could alter the richness and flavor within those set types. Wouldn’t it figure that Holly Evernight’s blood was utterly divine? A cosmic joke upon him. Her flavor was subtle, elusive in the beginning, before growing savory and exciting the taste buds at the back of his tongue as he swallowed. Hells bells, nothing since his first taste of blood had given him such pleasure as drinking Holly Evernight. If it were a matter of simply craving her blood, Will would not be the shaking, distracted mess he currently was. It was the act of taking it that had turned his insides to suet and his c**k to granit.

It was the scent of her surrounding him, it was holding her slim body against his, the long, white column of her neck so willingly tilted to the side so that he could plunge his fangs in deep. It had taken far too much control—all of it—not to sink down to his knees and lift her skirts, not to run his tongue along her rosy bud before sucking it to plumpness. And when it had swollen in his mouth, when she was crying out for release, he would have punctured her with his fang and drunk her blood to completion. Will’s step stuttered, his c**k thickening all over again. Damn it all. “What is amiss?” Evernight asked immediately. Damn her observant hid.

He had to say something. She’d not let the thing go. “I hunger.” No need to say for what. Her pert nose wrinkled. “How can you possibly be hungry? You just… ate.” She blushed. Will had the sinking suspicion that he’d always hunger for her. He gave a negligent shrug that belied his inner turmoil. “I’ve always had a voracious appetite.” Her blush intensified. Now that he had part of her very essence inside of him, his connection to her was that much greater. Her scent bloomed stronger, and he could identify a buttery rich note of sexual agitation that had his metal heart churning fast. Patienc.

He needed it in spades. Either she eventually wanted him for the demon he was, or she would not, and he’d find a way to work through the disappointment. Until then, he’d keep his c**k in his damned trousers. And wait. Will took a breath and simply let himself look at her. Against the bleary backdrop of grey sky and coal black buildings, her profile was a pristine alabaster. Next to them loomed the Tower of London, the great old fortress a dark and hulking shape in the shadows. At his other side, white caps peaked on the greenish waters of the Thames. There, rising up like broken teeth in a dark maw, were the beginnings of two great piers that stretched out to a cluster of barges that held mountains of steel framing. Work had begun on the Tower Bridg.

Expected to take years, the project promised a bascule bridge that would give testament to Britain’s industrial might and glory. Which, in Will’s experience, usually meant it would be big and ugly and gaudy, but he’d wait to bear judgment. The wind shifted as they rounded a bend, and Evernight’s scent surrounded him with fragrant coolness. How was he going to play the part of her master and keep his fangs and hands off of her? His c**k wouldn’t survive the experienc.

A growl rumbled in his throat. Mistaking the sound for hunger, Evernight rolled her eyes. “Here.” Briskly, she reached into her inner cloak pocket and then handed him a wide, brass flask. “That should hold you.” He didn’t want vodka, or whiskey, or any other alcohol it might contain. However, not wanting to reveal the true source of his agitation, he unscrewed the cap. “It’s rather large.” Roughly the size of his hand—outstretched fingers and all—the container was bulky and unrefined. “And ugly.” Evernight’s mouth pursed, her fine nostrils flaring in that way that told him she was about to blow like a geyser. “There’s gratitude for you.” Her response was clipped, controlled. Of cours.

No matter how much she wanted to explode, she wouldn’t. What would it take? He fancied she’d be magnificent in a temper. “I was simply making an observation. It wasn’t—” Will stopped short, almost choking as the liquid he’d been tipping into his mouth made contact with his tongu.