Evernight (Darkest London 5)

“It’s hot!” Rich, gloriously hot chocolat.

He glanced at the flask. The brass surface was cool to his touch. Evernight’s smile was smug. A trifle too smug. “All right,” he said before taking another long pull at the chocolat.

Delicious. “Tell me how you did it. Have you a secret gift for heat conductivity?” “Hardly.” Then she glanced at him, her twilight eyes sparkling. “It is a simple matter of form and function. There is a smaller inner flask made of glass. A vacuum is created between the sealed space between the brass flask and the glass container, creating a void, which prevents the conductivity of the—” “Yes, all right,” he said hastily. “You are a genius. Understood. Acknowledged.” He took another drink. And then smiled at her. “A bloody, brilliant genius. I recant any dark thoughts or murderous impulses I’ve had about you this day.” Imagine; hot beverages that one could carry about without fear of rapid cooling. He wondered if blood could be conveyed in it with the same results. No matter. Chocolate was better than nothing. He drank deeper, loving the feel of warmth filling his gut. “I suggest,” she said in measured tones, “that you resist glutting yourself on the chocolat.

It is meant to be sipped, and your devotion to that flask has become unseemly.” Ignoring her, Will imbibed until only a drop remained, illusively hanging upon the rim on the flask. “I’ve discovered a design flaw.” He tucked the empty flask into his pocket. “It is too small. I suggest a larger size.” Unperturbed, Evernight walked along in her even strides. “I have created a picnic-sized insulated flask. But it would not fit in your pocket.” Laughing, Will just resisted slinging his arm over her shoulder. “My clever Miss Evernight, you let me sort out the inconvenience.” Holly had heard of the Tower Subway. Officially opening in 1874, it had operated as a shuttle service, running beneath the Thames. A long, narrow tube fitted with an omnibus-style car was propelled by cables. Holly had been a young girl at the time, but was desperate to have a ride, wanting to see for herself the mechanics of the process. Her father never got around to taking her, and the business proved a failure in the same year. Now it operated as a pedestrian tunnel, where persons could pay a halfpenny fare and travel between Tower Hill on the north side to Vine Lane on London’s south sid.

Being close to midnight, the subway was closed. That didn’t stop Thorne, who simply shoved the tip of his claw into the locked door at the station entranc.

The door popped open, and he slipped inside, fiddling about until a dull, yellow light glowed from the spac.

Thorne reappeared and held out a hand. “All set.” It soon became apparent that Holly had not properly thought out this particular task. Inside, the air was dank and cold, smelling of river water and earth. Like a grav.

She shivered. A gloomy pit of darkness, visible just over the edge of a rail, seemed to drop to endless depths. They descended a wooden, spiral staircase so narrow and steep that the ends of her skirts batted the back of Thorne’s neck. With each step, the risers creaked and groaned, the whole structure vibrating with the movement. Perspiration broke out on Holly’s brow, and she swallowed down the discomfort that swelled up her throat. “How far does this go down?” Her voice sounded thin and hollow. “About eighteen feet, I believe.” Unlike her, Thorne appeared unaffected. The rotter. Down, down, down they went, and the air grew heavier, colder, the stench seeping into her skin. A slow, deep shake built within Holly’s lower belly, and the back of her neck tensed to near pain. On all sides, rough-hewn walls oozing with condensation closed in on her. When she thought she might scream, the staircase ended. “There now,” Thorne said happily. “We are in.” In? Holly licked her upper lip, tasting the sweat pebbling ther.

Gads but they still had to traverse the actual tunnel. It was a horrid space, a little over six feet in diameter, so low, in fact, that Thorne had to remove his hat and duck his head a bit. The iron tube stretched out towards the blackness with lines of evenly spaced gaslights fading from sight. Holly let Thorne take her hand, and they walked on. She was going to be ill. The pavers rocked beneath their steps, and every noise was amplified, echoing back at them in this eerie bowel beneath the Thames. She tried not to think of the many meters of earth and water that lay just above her head. Or the crushing weight of it. She was a scientist, for gods’ sak.

She understood the principles that kept them saf.

It did not matter her.

Water dripped somewher.

Drip, drip, drip. The floor pitched, and the tunnel stretched on. Her breathing grew strained. Her corset too tight. Blindly, she put out a hand, but the walls curved in and she fell off balanc.

“Hold on there, love.” Thorne caught her arm and tugged her to him. “Take a moment.” She couldn’t see him. Everything grew fuzzy. A loud ringing filled her ears. Her heart would burst. It raced too fast, too hard. “Evernight?” Thorne’s voice came as if from a great distanc.

Warm hands touched her fac.

“Breathe, lov.

Breathe.” Another soft touch. “It’s all right. You’re all right.” “I’m not,” she blurted out through lips thick with panic. “I want to go.” She pulled at the hand that held her. “Let me go.” “Shh…” The hand upon her arm slipped to her palm. “I’ve got you. You are safe with me.” Despite her need to flee, she grasped it tightly, crushing the long fingers. “I can’t. I can’t.” “Ask me a question.” Holly blinked, trying to concentrat.

“A question? Why?” He laughed, a soft husky sound that drew her attention closer to the surfac.

“Ask me a better question than ‘why,’ Evernight.” Holly blinked again, and Thorne came into focus. He nudged her chin with his knuckle, reminding her of how Sin used to tease her. “Ask me anything. Come now, a good question will put you to rights.” She took a shaky breath. Her pulse slowed. Damn it, her mind was a blank. Rubbing a trembling hand over her sweating brow, Holly searched for on.

Panic threatened. “Surely there is something that must rouse your curiosity,” Thorne persisted. “About tonight, perhaps? Come along, Evernight. Don’t let me down now.” Holly scowled up at him. He grinned in that lewd manner of his. It called to mind the last time he’d been lewd. Just before she’d lost her senses and kissed him. “Your fangs,” she blurted out. “They weren’t long.” Holly cleared her throat. “That is to say, they weren’t there when we were… kissing.” There were times when she truly hated her curiosity. Such as now. How was this helping? She’d expire of mortification at this rat.

Thorne’s eyes narrowed with a catlike smugness. “My dear Miss Evernight, you haven’t been replaying that lovely moment in your head, now have you?” Her face burned. “Forget it.” “Not on your life.” He took a few steps, dragging her through the horrid tunnel. “What is the true question you are bumbling into?” Holly took a deep, bracing breath. “I don’t understand how you can… Well, they’re quite sharp and…” “They retract.” “Really? I did not realize they could fully retract.” He made a sound of amusement through his nos.

“See? Ever the scientist. I knew you had it in you. Well, my dear, I shall explain.” He stopped and rounded on her. “My fangs can both retract and extend. It is the equivalent of flexing a muscl.

Although,” he lifted a finger like a professor at a lectern, “when I am angered or threatened, my fangs will extend on their own.” Thorne paused and gave her a small, patronizing smil.

“As for the reason why my fangs were retracted when I kissed you—” his voice was low, intimate, and entirely annoying—“they would have shredded both your mouth and mine.” His smile grew into something warmer, disturbing. “And we wouldn’t want that.” Holly ignored the flush washing over her skin. “No,” she said somewhat thickly, “that would have been painful.” She glanced away from his too-steady gaz.

“So you don’t like to…” Cease! Do not ask it! “Drink blood when you…” She couldn’t finish. Mortification had swollen her tongu.

Thorne grinned wide, appearing almost boyish. “Miss Evernight, if I did not know you were ceaselessly analytical, I’d believe you had a naughty mind.” “Shut up.” She tromped along, no longer caring about the dank dark, but he caught her hand and held it fast. “Oh, no, darling, we cannot leave it at that.” He laughed lightly, and she jerked her arm, succeeding only in drawing him closer. He was wholly unrepentant. “You asked the question, now let me answer.” “Fine,” she snapped, wanting to kill him. Chortling, the smarmy bastard wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her against him. Holly was too annoyed to do anything other than glare up at him. “Do you usually eat while you tup, Miss Evernight?” he murmured. “Well no…” “Neither do I.” His hand slid up her back, and it felt so lovely that she shivered. “However, I have been known to eat what I tup.” He glanced up at the low ceiling overhead, his brow furrowed, and nibbled on his bottom lip in contemplation. “Or is that, I tup what I eat?” “William Thorne,” Holly slapped his chest in irritation, “you are an utter beast!” When he laughed, it was with his whole body, the gleeful sound of it echoing through the darkness, obliterating the gloomy atmospher.

She gaped at him, drawn to the sight of his taut neck muscles, straining with his laughter. He grinned down at her, appearing more a young, handsome man than an outright fiend. “I am,” he admitted happily. “I can’t help it, Holly.” His gaze darted over her face, and the tension in his body shifted to something darker, languid, as both of them realized he held her still. His smile slipped, his lids lowering as he looked at her mouth. “I just can’t help myself around you.” It was a husky whisper in the silenc.

Somehow, she was closer, her lips feeling fuller, parting for him. God help her, but if he kissed her, she’d let him. Here in the dark, it wouldn’t really count, would it? Thorne dipped his head. The scuff of a shoe echoed loudly in the tunnel, and Thorne snapped to attention, rounding and putting himself in front of Holly. Like an apparition, the little man moved out of the shadows and into the light. They watched him shuffle closer. Dressed in a grimy and billowing sack suit that made it appear as though he’d shrunken within it, he was a boney thing, small and hunched. Tufts of white hair stuck out from beneath a battered bowler of an indeterminate color that sat precariously on top of his large ears. And though thoughts of trolls who lived under bridges to collect their dues ran riot through Holly’s head, Thorne seemed to relax and slapped his hat back on his head as he stood tall. The man came to a stop before them and blinked up at Thorne with wide eyes that glowed milk-white in the weak electric lights. “Invitation?” came a voice like rust, followed by a long wheeze through his beak of a nos.

“Matilda gives her salutations,” Thorne replied amiably. The little man grunted. Still mumbling, he patted about his suit as though looking for something. He found it in his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick, silver disk. With a flick of his wrist and a little click, the disk unfolded to form a silver cup, composed of three collapsible rings. The man cocked his head to the side as he held the cup out to Thorn.

“Dues.” Far from being lost in this odd interplay, Thorne stretched out his arm, exposing the delicate blue veins of his wrist. As with all demons, his nails could shift into claws with a thought. He grew one on his index finger and promptly speared his extended wrist. Holly winced, but Thorne did not, as thick, deep crimson blood poured from his vein into the cup. After a moment, Thorne pressed a thumb over the wound and held it, as the little man lifted the cup to his dry lips and drank down Thorne’s blood. Finished with his gruesome drink, the man licked the blood off his lips and grunted again. “Right. House rules apply.” He glanced at Holly, and she fought a shiver as that milky gaze travelled over her. It settled on her neck, where the puncture wounds from Thorne’s fangs seemed to puls.

“Esculents,” the man added with a sneer, “are the responsibility of their master.” Thorne touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgment, earning him yet another grunt. The man said no more but turned. “This way.” “What other way would there be,” Holly murmured close to Thorne’s clean-shaven cheek. “It only goes but one direction.” Thorne’s lips twitched. “Quiet. You’ll upset Freddie.” “His name is Freddie?” How positively cheerful. Though he fought a smile, Thorne shushed her again. “All right,” she murmured. “What was the point of the blood drinking?” “It’s a blood vow of sorts. In giving mine, I am promising not to harm Kettil or attack any of his workers during the duration of the fights.” He shrugged. “It’s a simple matter of security.” That this Kettil felt the need for safety measures did not ease Holly’s anxiety. They followed Freddie further into the bowels of the tunnel. Just when Holly thought she might scream with the need to get out of the subterranean hell, Freddie stopped at a spot and pushed at what seemed to be just another wall panel. A door slid open, bringing with it the sounds of laughter, shouts, and cursing. Thorne smiled at her. “Welcome to Kettil’s Cauldron, love.”

Chapter Eighteen

At first sight, Kettil’s Cauldron was nothing more than yet another dreary tunnel, save for the bright light that glowed at the end of it. Holly headed towards that light, holding Thorne’s hand as if it were an anchor. The scent of brimstone and blood thickened the air. Demons. Holly would soon be surrounded by them. Exposed. She wanted to turn and run. But she could not. One did not let oneself be fed from like a liquid buffet just to flee at the first sign of danger. It took all of her considerable restraint to refrain from touching the spots where Thorne’s teeth had sunk in deep. Those two little points throbbed in time with the beat of her heart. Memories of Thorne’s mouth upon her neck, his tongue sliding over her with little flicks, heightened her awareness. Her entire body was sensitized, her skin too thin and her flesh swollen and heavy. Beneath her fine cashmere cloak, the satin lining slipped and slid over the exposed tops of her br**sts, and she repressed a shudder of tactile pleasur.