Evernight (Darkest London 5)

“You are, William. You risked your life for Jack, and suffered greatly for it. Yet I’ve never heard you speak ill of him. You risk your life for me now, even though I’ve done nothing to deserve that loyalty.” For she hadn’t found him a cur.

She was beginning to think that she couldn’t, and the very thought terrified her. Thorne’s deep voice seemed to touch at her ear. “You know that is not tru.

When I am nothing but shadow, you are the light that guides me back.” The davenport creaked as Thorne adjusted his position, as though he were as uncomfortable as she was with showing finer feelings. “No one has cared for me, looked out for my well-being and comfort. Until you.” He made an abortive attempt at a laugh. “Hell, Evernight, you know quite well that if it weren’t for you, I’d be a raving beast right now.” A flush of frustration swelled within her breast. “That is little more than me being self-serving.” “And I could say the same.” His usually smooth voice turned rough. “But I think we both know that our motives are no longer what they were.” No, they weren’t. She cared about him, to a frightening degre.

But she needed him to understand and did not know how to explain herself. “I can take a dirigible apart down to its gears and screws, but when it comes to interacting with others, I…” Face burning, she shut her mouth. “I know, petal,” Thorne said. “And even though you possess… ah… slightly maladroit social skills, that does not negate your kinder actions.” Holly snorted at “maladroit” but then sighed. “Well, I’ve mucked up this apology, to be sure.” She worried the corner of her lip with her teeth before blurting out, “Will you accept it? Believe that I think highly of you?” Though he made not a sound, she could almost feel his amusement. His tone certainly conveyed it, husky as it was. “Yes, love, I accept.” He paused before adding softly, “Thank you.” Holly nodded, feeling a weight lift off her even though she still felt awkward about the entire exchang.

Then Thorne, who never could stay put for very long, rolled to his side to spy at her from his spot on the other couch. Though she could only see him in the periphery of her vision, she could feel his study of her like a caress upon her cheek. Finally, when she could take it no longer, she turned to her side as well. “What is it?” She wondered if he’d been worrying yet again about her wound. She’d insisted several times now that it was completely healed, such was the power of Jack Talent’s blood. She’d even revived enough to give Thorne a punch of power to stave off the ever-encroaching platinum upon his flesh, though he’d protested vehemently about saving her strength before she’d simply reached out and grabbed his hand and done the deed. “How old are you, Evernight?” Thorne’s expression was relaxed, almost happy, as though he enjoyed lounging about with her on these old davenports beneath the glass ceiling. “Three and twenty.” “A babe.” She refrained from rolling her eyes. “And you? Don’t tell me your white hair is a sign of advanced age, for I won’t believe you.” Amusement lit his eyes. “Seven and twenty.” This time she both rolled her eyes and snorted. “So very ancient. I bow to your advanced age and experience.” “Now, now, Evernight,” he flicked the tip of her nose lightly with his finger, “I might not be much older, but my experience is by far superior. In that you can trust.” No, she would not laugh. She pressed her lips together. “Why did you ask about my age?” He began to grin, a slow, impish smile that broke like the dawn over his features. “Well…” He reached out to her. “It’s simply that…” His fingers threaded through her tumbled locks, sending a shiver down her spin.

Then he plucked a hair, and she yelped. “I do believe I’ve found a grey hair.” He looked positively gleeful about it. “You have not!” she exclaimed. “Give it here and let me see.” She reached for the strand but he held his hand aloft. “I will not. It’s mine, I found it.” “How positively infantil.

Found it, my Aunt Francis.” She attempted to grab it again, only to have him leap from the couch and dance away, keeping it high above his head. Holly got up as well, coming after him. “You plucked it from my head. That is theft at best.” Thorne burst out laughing, tilting his head back with it. “Theft. I like that. Very well, then.” He crammed the strand in his trouser pocket, still laughing. “I am a thief. But you aren’t getting it back.” “You don’t believe I will take it from there?” In a blink, Thorne’s gaze turned molten. “Oh, please do,” he said thickly. “I beg of you, go digging around in my trousers.” “Snake.” She wanted to hit his head, or dig about in his trousers. Each was equally tempting. His grin returned. “Trouser snake, you mean.” Holly did not want to know what he meant, but she did, and heat invaded her fac.

“You really are the most coarse, vile…” “Handsome?” he supplied with a wag of his brows. “Charming?” “Annoying,” she said with emphasis. “The most annoying man I’ve ever met.” In a flash, he wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her against him. “Ah, but you like me all the same.” Pressed as she was to his body, she felt the rising bulge of his c**k and the increased rate of his breathing as they stared at each other. Beneath her open palm, his heart whirred and clicked. Yes, she did like him. Heaven help her, she liked him too well. The air grew too close, too humid, and she found it hard to breath.

This was Thorne, the man who viewed relations as a quick releas.

Did he really? Did it matter? She’d not test the theory. Not when she had to live with him for the foreseeable futur.

With effort, she pulled back, but he tightened his hold with a low, complaining growl rumbling deep within his throat. They paused again, Holly gaping up at him. His dark brows knitted. He seemed almost confused by his reaction, and hers. “I am tired,” she said past her tongue that felt too thick. “I want to turn in.” Holly pushed at the solid strength of his chest. “Let me go, Thorne.” For a moment, she wondered if he’d heard her, for his scowl did not alter. Then his arms fell to his sides, and he took a deliberate step back. He said not a word but simply watched her go. Alone in her dressing room, Holly thought not of Thorne as she peered into the mirror, running a careful hand through her hair. Just behind her left ear, she found another shining strand gleaming against the black locks. Holly’s heart pounded as she reached up and plucked it fre.

Wincing, she kept hold of the strand and went to her room, where her microscope waited on her desk. But she did not need the scope to know. She could feel the truth clutching her heart with cold hands. Setting the strand of hair beneath the lens, Holly confirmed her suspicions, and a tendril of fear snaked down her spin.

It was not a grey hair at all. It was pure platinum.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Will’s blood was still up as he went to his rooms. He’d teased Holly too far tonight. And not far enough, for she hadn’t cracked the way he yearned for her to do. Perhaps he should have simply kissed her, but he wanted her capitulation. He wanted her to want him. Yet she remained steadfast in her determination to keep him at a distanc.

But that was not what truly bothered him now. No, it was her “grey” hair. The one resting heavy as a ballast stone in his pocket. Will caught sight of himself in the mirror above the mantel and winced at the smear of blood on his shirt. It wasn’t Holly’s but the tainted, foul blood of the raptor that had tried to kill her. It upset him down to his marrow. Women had flitted through his life, bright and brilliant as butterflies. Here one moment, gone the next. He’d loved them, enjoyed their company, but breathed a sigh of contentment when they’d gon.

One could only interact with another for so long before it became tedium. A hard tup, a good laugh, a warm body to hang onto his arm when he went to the theatre—that was what a woman meant to him. Holly was none of those things. Oh, he wanted to tup her, and she made him laugh, and he’d love to take her to the theatre, if only to hear her opinions. But she did not flit, and he did not want her to go. She was weightier than anyone he’d known befor.

Her being had a substance that stuck to him. Which made him all the more irritabl.

Apparently, he had nothing, not even the novelty of sex, to offer her. Only his protection, and once that ended, they’d part ways. Hells bells, but she’d made that perfectly clear. Will turned away from his reflection and took the long skein of silvery hair out of his pocket. Two feet long if an inch, the lone hair danced and glimmered like a gossamer thread. But it was not fragil.

He pulled on it just to test. No, it was strong as steel. Or platinum. Will’s heart began to churn out a hard pac.

Reaching up, he found a similar shining thread hiding out with his natural white hairs. He plucked the platinum strand free and held the two hairs side by sid.

Identical to Holly’s. The heaviness in his chest grew as he entwined the threads—his and hers—together. Will wound the hairs around his ring finger. Over and over, until they made a band. He tied it off in an unbreakable knot and then curled his fingers into a fist. The ring of platinum bit into his skin. Dread filled him. He could not think of a single harmless or natural reason for Holly to be growing platinum hair. Worse, Will had no clue in hell as to how he could protect her from the Alamut, a group that never went back on a contract. A group whose very honor rode upon finishing the job properly. When morning came, Will could barely wait to see Evernight. He found her in her room, perched upon her sette.

A tea tray, holding two pots, was on the table before her. Will knew one pot contained his chocolat.

The sight of her pouring him a cup as he strode towards her filled him with an almost rabid sense of satisfaction. His chest swelled with it. He wanted to swoop down, claim her mouth, devour it before he drank his cup of chocolate in one gulp, then crawl on top of her and shove himself into her. Like a brut.

So great was his distraction that he almost missed the dagger peeking out from the folds of her gown. She surely hadn’t seen it, or she wouldn’t have sat almost on top of it. Not wanting to startle her, he came close and touched her shoulder before pointing out the dagger. “Careful now,” he murmured when she stiffened upon seeing it. “Don’t jostle it any more than you hav.

Ease to the side.” Eyeing the thing as if it were a snake, she did as he requested and slid to the very edge of the seat, pressing against the bolsters. The blade, though razor sharp, had no sheen, but was nearly black. Etched in the blade was a tangle of thorns. It was a perfect replica of the dagger Darby had dropped. There was no message attached to it. Not any that was visible, but with a sudden and cutting tightness in his gut, Will understood what was needed. He picked up the blad.

It fit his palm, felt at home ther.

A shiver of pleasure ran down his spin.

He forced his expression to neutral. “I don’t suppose you’d agree to give a length of your petticoats up to the cause, would you?” She blinked at his odd request, her nose wrinkling in a way that spoke of a forthcoming interrogation. But then she promptly lifted up her skirt, revealing a pristine, white petticoat of fine-spun cotton. That capitulation, the way she’d willingly exposed herself, was like a fist around his cock. He smothered a grunt of surprise and managed to keep his composure as she lifted a brow and looked at him to proceed. Being as careful as he could, Will cut a square of petticoat free with the knif.

The section was as large as a piece of stationery. When he was done, he set it upon his thigh, and she leaned in. “What now?” she whispered, her ubiquitous curiosity high. He gave her a small smil.

“Now the fun part.” Before she could ask more, he sliced through his palm, quick and deep enough that blood welled up and dripped down in crimson splotches on the snowy whit.

Evernight made a noise of protest, reaching out to grab his hand, but her gaze strayed to the linen. There, where the blood pooled, a dark, ruby glow began to emanat.

Before their eyes, the blood moved, wriggling and shaping itself, much like metal did for Evernight. But here, it formed words. William Halvor Thorne and Hollis Penelope Evernight, Your presence is required. Abbot Theatr.

Box 12. At the dawn of the coming day. “Hollis?” he asked. Her smooth brow wrinkled. “After my grandfather Eamon Hollis Evernight.” “I suppose it could be worse,” Will offered with a smil.

“I could be calling you Eamon.” The corners of her lips twitched. “Do you always deflect with jests?” “Come now, lov.

Don’t ask questions to which you know the answer.” She made a noise that might have been a snort. “The dawn of the coming day?” she asked him, all business once mor.

“Midnight.” When she frowned, clearly dubious, he smiled faintly. “To most of the underworld, the dawn of each day is midnight.” Slowly she nodded, her attention on the words written in blood. “We shall meet the Alamut.” He nodded onc.

Unease sat heavy in his gut. “Is it a trap, do you suppose?” Worry creased the corners of her eyes. “No.” In this, Will was certain. “Someone placed this dagger in your room.” A cold shiver touched his metal heart. “Had they wanted you dead now, you’d be so.” And he’d be seeking vengeance this moment. One thing was for certain: he was never leaving her to sleep alone again. Evernight balked but swallowed quickly. “Why refrain from killing me now?” “That,” Will said, “is but one of the questions we’ll seek an answer to tonight.”

Chapter Twenty-Three