Soulbound (Darkest London 6)

“Mmm.” She moved back another step, taking herself away from temptation. But her hand lingered on his cheek. “You are to me. Burning hot and the devil’s own temptation.”

His nostrils flared, the need in his eyes almost pained as he leaned in, his lips parting. She held him back. An illusion, for even with the cursed chains draining his strength, he was far from helpless. In truth, she was in more danger of succumbing to him than ever before. “We’ll be late for the oracle.”

Weak, weak argument. His expression said as much. But Adam glanced down at his bound wrists and then back up at her. “You want me, Eliza May. Deny it all you like, but I’ll be using that knowledge, dove, and you’ll not be evading me for much longer.”

Chapter Twelve

Rain came down with steady determination, as if its sole purpose was to wash London clean. A failed effort. The streets grew thick with sticky muck that covered boots and ruined hems, and coal-leaden rain left grimy tracks along all that it fell upon. It was slow going for Eliza and Adam as they made their way from the GIM tavern down to Fleet Street.

Tension coiled tight upon Eliza’s shoulders as they wove past equally downtrodden pedestrians. She’d kissed Adam, and kissed him well. His promise still rang clear in her head, and with it, a dark anticipation that tightened her nipples and made her lower belly ache. She tried to ignore it in favor of the practical, such as not being taken by the fae.

“This is foolish,” she muttered.

“It is necessary,” Adam retorted beneath his breath.

“It’s only a matter of time before we’re discovered. People are staring as it is.” She gave a quelling look to a man who gaped at them and then she huddled closer to Adam’s side. She had to; he hadn’t yet the strength to hold himself up, and there was the nuisance of his chains to contend with. The blasted things rattled and clanked with each step he took, and it was Eliza’s job to hold their length tight within the folds of her skirt to keep them as quiet as possible.

The corners of Adam’s mouth twitched. “If anyone asks, we’ll say I’m playing the part of Jacob Marley at the local theatre.”

“A Christmas Carol? In April?” she hissed. Another glance over her shoulder confirmed that people were watching them pass. They might not see the chains hidden beneath Adam’s sweeping great cloak and Eliza’s unfashionably voluminous skirts, but they certainly heard them.

Adam merely shrugged. “Very well. Perhaps you have a penchant for clattering chastity belts?”

Eliza made a noise of disgust. “I rather think that would be your proclivity.”

“What? To wear one?” He appeared so utterly horrified that she snickered.

“I meant asking women to wear them. Wasn’t that just the thing back in your days of jousting, old man?”

He snorted. “Those chastity belts are a myth, you realize? Made up in this century, likely by some bored lord in need of titillation.” He slanted her a sly look that was far too effective at warming her skin. “However, I’m willing to play that game if it pleases you.”

Her cheeks were surely red, and she ducked her head as yet another man walked by and gave them a curious stare. “What would please me,” she ground out through clenched teeth, “is to be off the streets. We’re exposing ourselves to attack.”

“Fae cannot tolerate London rain. Its polluted nature irritates their skin.” He glanced at her from beneath the thick fringe of his black lashes, and his golden eyes lit with amusement when he caught her rubbing at her damp cheek. “Tuck yourself farther back under the umbrella. We are almost there.”

A flush of annoyance rushed through Eliza. She did not like seeing proof of her fae blood. Her annoyance grew when Adam slid her a knowing look. “Elementals are born of fae blood, and they are some of the most brave and noble beings I’ve ever come across.”

Which was all fine and dandy, except she wasn’t an elemental. Evil ran through her veins without any of the benefits. Eliza pushed the thought away, not wanting to be a Sulky Sue.

Thankfully, they reached a rather decrepit doorway. A peeling sign that read The Daily Tattle hung woebegone overhead, the board swaying slightly in the rain. “The oracle is a reporter?” Eliza asked as Adam opened the door and ushered her, rather clumsily, inside.

He caught her surprised look and made a small noise of acknowledgment. “It makes perfect sense to me. After all, who else is in a better position to warn us of future woes than one who chronicles the stories of our present folly?”

“I don’t know,” Eliza muttered. “I pictured a gypsy woman leaning over her crystal ball.”

“What a pedestrian imagination you have, Eliza.”

His white teeth flashed in the dim light as she scowled, but then he turned his attention to their surroundings. A darkened and narrow stairwell stretched upward, and Adam muttered a ripe curse under his breath. She knew how badly he hated his weakness. Likely, he’d never been anything less than extremely fit his entire life. Until now. She’d seen that frustrated rage and fearful helplessness in the eyes of soldiers back home. Good men who’d lost limbs to grapeshot and cannon balls and now struggled to find some sense of their former selves.

Glancing down at her feet, she frowned. “Horrid shoes,” she said with bitterness. “I declare they’ve worn a hole clear through my foot.”

Adam leaned heavily against the crackled plaster wall, a faint sense of amusement lighting his austere features. “Got yourself a blister, did you?”