Soulbound (Darkest London 6)

“Eliza, if this is about your orders from Mellan —”

“Oh for the love of… I already told you that I have no wish to do as he says. It has nothing to do with that, Adam.”

Only slightly appeased, he searched her face. “Then what?”

She sighed. “Michaels told me to hold my own council.”

Adam was going to kill Sean bloody Michaels. Turn around and stuff his fist right into the man’s gob. Maybe pull his tongue out for good measure.

“Why? Why would he tell you that?”

Eliza uttered a little, incredulous laugh. “I rather think answering that question would be counterproductive to his original request.” She glanced at him. “And you need not growl. It won’t change my mind.”

“I was not growling.” Adam halted and turned to confront her, and, yes, growl in displeasure. Instantly, she lifted her chin and met his glare without flinching, her face pale against the dingy backdrop of the alleyway they’d been traversing. He’d become too isolated. It must be so, for her lack of deference to him both unsettled and made his insides warm. For centuries, anyone who came into his sphere either rushed to do his bidding or rushed to get the bloody hell away from him as quickly as possible. He’d had enemies. But no equals.

Some of the starch melted from his shoulders, and he fought a sigh. “You promised to be mine. As such, there should be no secrets between us.”

The rosebud of her lips went tight. “Yours? Hardly.”

“We are handfasted. Which is as good as declaring yourself mine.” At least until his time was up. But he wasn’t about to make that distinction. “Hiding things from me is hardly a fortuitous start.”

Eliza’s velvet-brown eyes flashed with ire. “If that is your logic, then you are mine as well.”

She couldn’t know the heady satisfaction those words had on him, else she wouldn’t have flung them with such enthusiasm. He felt himself grinning. It was not a nice smile but one of primal satisfaction, and he took a step closer. Not that Miss May noticed. Her voice grew in agitation as she continued her rebuttal. “Regardless of who owns whom, every person has a right to keep secrets.”

“Secrets imply lack of trust. What good is joining together if we cannot trust one another?”

Her slim shoulders lifted on a sigh, and she glanced away. Guilty. “What Mr. Michaels told me had nothing to do with you. It was about me.” Her gloved fist pressed against her sternum as she met his gaze once more. “It was about my life.”

Something hot and writhing seemed to go through his lower gut. “Are you in danger? Tell me that at least, Eliza, or I will not give you a moment’s peace.” He wouldn’t be able to.

A soft chuff of air left her. “No.” The thick fan of her lashes swept up as she stared into his eyes. “Adam, upon the souls of my family, I give my word that I will not betray you.”

The simplicity of her declaration, the unexpectedness of it, took the breath from him, and it shamed him that he hadn’t made certain things clear.

He sank to his knees before her. She gave a little squeak of surprise when he pressed his forehead between the soft pillows of her breasts. But she did not push him away. Adam knelt, his neck exposed, his hands at his side. “What kin I had have long since turned to bones. I’m no longer a knight but a broken-down shadow of that man. Hardly worthy to be your champion.”

He glanced up then, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “But Eliza May, your champion, I am. Upon the souls of the only ones that mean anything to me, my children, the ghosts in the machine, I swear, while there is breath left in my body, I will protect you.”

She went quietly pale, her soft lips parting. But it wasn’t her voice that cut through their fraught silence.

“Now that’s a rare sight round these parts, a man servicing a tart.”

Every battered muscle in Adam’s body tensed as he slowly turned, still on his knees.

Two street thugs ambled into the small alleyway. Both were tall yet wiry in the way of street criminals. And despite the friendly smiles they wore, their eyes held no pity, only a low simmer of lust and violence.

“Never been one for tipping the velvet muff meself, Pike,” the bald one said to his blond friend before his eyes roved over Eliza. “But I’m of a mind to try it with this here toffer.”

An old but familiar rush of sheer energy lit through Adam, the desire to kill. It hit him so strongly, he could barely see through the emotion, but he held it at bay. Blind rage only hurt a man in battle, making him sloppy and vulnerable.

“We’ve no blunt,” Adam said in a voice that carried. “I suggest you walk away while you can.”

“While we can? Oh, that’s a fancy cant, comin’ from the man on his knees,” Blond said with a sneer.

Pike’s face split into a grin. “Mayhaps we work our payment out on the mort. What says you, Jim? Care to grease your wick between those buttered buns?”

Eliza’s hand drifted down to Adam’s shoulder. He did not know if she sought support or wanted to offer it. But he knew quite well what she thought. Here he was, stuck on his knees, a broken fibula and radius, cracked ribs, and the chains leeching his strength. What protection could he provide, no matter how pretty his words were?

“A true man doesn’t take from a woman,” said Eliza, her tone far from afraid.

Pike snorted. “You’ll be bowin’ to me before the night is over and working the gutter lane.”