Evernight
Page 4
“Come, Evernight. Hold my hand and ease me.” Her look of disgust grew. “You do realize that I could put you into a world of agony with just one touch?” “But you won’t.” He leaned back and stretched his legs out. Lucidity and comfort were wonderful things. He almost felt like his old self. Almost. The constant weight and annoying whine of his heart was still ther.
As was the thick push of metal clawing along his chest. But at least he was cognizant. “Now tell me what you have been doing all this time?” She sat next to him, but before he could grab hold of her, she turned and touched his pinky. Just that. It was effective, however. “I have been here, working on my devices.” “Here,” he repeated. “For nearly a year?” She gazed into the fire, and golden light played over her pale face, highlighting its curves and the deep wells of exhaustion beneath her eyes. “Yes. As I said.” Before he could ask her why, she turned and pinned him with a star.
“I ought to tell you now. I cannot provide you with blood.” Will’s gaze flickered to the pulse beating at the tender hollow of her neck before meeting her eyes once mor.
Weariness and caution ther.
Disgust, too. He bristled. “I do not recall asking for your blood.” “I was not referring to myself, of course,” she went on plainly. “I meant that I cannot have blood brought in for you. I realize that makes me a bad hostess, but there it is. I cannot condone it.” A hostess? Is that what she fancied herself to be in this scenario? “And I suppose you do not eat all manner of beasts here? Rare roast beef with your pudding?” “None that are bipedal, Mr. Thorne.” Touché. “You should know,” he said, “that blood is not the only thing I take for nourishment.” He almost laughed at the way her expression grew closed off, that small nose of hers lifting in a haughty manner. Oh, he knew precisely what she was thinking now. Not that she let it show in her neutral ton.
“I thought that sanguis only imbue blood and—” “Fuck anything we can get our hands on,” he supplied helpfully. She blinked. Then stared. Will rolled his eyes skyward. “Aside from all that, I can drink most beverages. Except for lemonade.” “Why not lemonade?” “Because I hate it.” He laughed when her eyes narrowed. “Hot chocolate,” he told her, “is my favorite.” He stood. Time to get her out of his room. Talk of tupping and quenching his thirst had him growing hard, and he didn’t want a show for it. Had he any hint that Evernight might allow him to crawl into her bed, he’d work his more base pains out that way. A good long tup could do much to restore him. But he rather thought she’d put a knife to his bollocks, not that he wanted to get them anywhere near her. She’d be the type to lie there and think of England. “Hot chocolate,” she repeated, her nose wrinkling as if puzzled. “Truly?” Will turned to regard her. “Energy, Miss Evernight. You understand the concept, do you not? Life force lives within blood.” And other bodily fluids he wouldn’t mention now. “It exudes out of a body while tupping. Sanguis thrive off that. As for chocolate?” He shrugged. “It gives me a rush of pleasure to drink it. And that appears to be enough. Other sanguis have their own personal drink of choice that does the same.” “A strange breed,” she muttered, drifting off towards the door. “When you humans can explain why eating the endless list of things you decide to cram into your mouths makes more sense,” he responded dryly, “I will agree to that claim.” She stopped. Slowly, she turned to face him. Just as slowly, a smile spread over her lips, and Will forgot to breath.
Hells bells, she was lovely. A glowing light in the darkest night. What a man might do to receive smiles such as that over and over again. No. He would not think of her in that way. “Point to you, Mr. Thorn.
Good night.” Holly stared, as she often did, at the familiar outlines of her room. Next door lay a demon, one who had wanted her dead. One who now needed her too much to kill her. She ought to be wary of him. Instead she nearly hummed with anticipation. A good puzzle, a proper challenge, were her favorite things in the world. He was that in spades. But when she thought of his pain and confusion, guilt loomed up and dampened all other emotions. It continued to rain, leaving the room dank and shadowed as morning cam.
Janelle crept in on cat feet and stoked the fire, adding coals. She did not tidy—no one but Holly was allowed that task in here—but held the door open for Sara Anne, her newest maid, who brought in Holly’s breakfast tray. The scent of fresh coffee and warm sweet buns filled the air. Holly pushed to sitting as Sara Anne set the tray on a table by her bed. “Mr. Thorne shall require a large pot of chocolate,” she told the girl. “Have cook make it as thick and rich as she can.” “Yes, mum.” Holly sank her teeth into soft, warm bread, and then she heard the crash. A moment later, the connecting wall between hers and Thorne’s room shuddered. Instantly sparks crackled and blue bolts of electricity snaked over the wall, followed by a bellow of rage from the other sid.
The two maids flinched, fear and horror holding them in plac.
“Stay here.” Holly whipped out of her bed and, turning off the electric field she’d placed between their rooms, hurried to seek out Thorn.
Only to find chairs upended and a set of curtains torn from their hangings. A flicker of movement had her turning even as strong arms came around her and she was hurtled bodily to the floor. Knowing her attacker was Thorne, she instantly wrapped her limbs around him and held on. They skidded across the floor, rumpling the heavy carpet and pulling her nightgown tight on her throat. They came to an inelegant halt halfway beneath the coffee table before the hearth. Ears buzzing and head throbbing, she clung to the hard body on top of her. Something sharp scraped her neck, and she lost her breath. Fangs. Bloody hell. Holly sent a bolt of power through Thorne, freezing him. Which only made him heavier. His cold cheek pressed against hers, the long strands of his hair covering her face and threatening to fall into her mouth. She resisted the urge to pummel his back. “Are you calm?” she snapped. When he said nothing, she realized that he was under her thrall and not capable of speech. Cursing, she pulled back on her power until he went limp against her. His chest lifted on a breath, and then he rolled away. The table upended with a crash, and he swor.
In an effortless glide, he rose, hauling her up with him. Head spinning, she leaned against the smooth, hot wall of his chest. But when his arm came around her waist, Holly stepped quickly away. “What in the bloody blazes has come over you?” She barely refrained from shouting the question. Thorne huffed through his nose and raked his long hair back from his fac.
Standing in the weak morning light and wearing nothing more than a pair of loose, black linen trousers that hung low on his narrow hips, he fairly gleamed. Over half of his torso, both arms, and the left side of his face were entirely platinum. He shook. Whether it was to keep still or from pain, she did not know. Likely both reasons. A feather floated past her nose, distracting her. He’d shredded his bed. Seeing the direction of her gaze, he winced. “I did not know where I was.” His voice was rusty and dark. A maid chose that moment to step in, carrying his breakfast tray. Her pale eyes went wide upon seeing the destruction. Holly strode over to her and took the tray from her unresisting hands. “Cleanup can wait, Sara Ann.
Please bring my breakfast in her.
Thank you.” Carrying the tray back into the room, she eyed Thorn.
He’d wrapped an arm about his abdomen, as if holding his suffering in, but when he saw her, he let his arm fall and stood straight and glowering. Sinewy and lean of form, he was more a blade than a battle-ax.
She would not look at the tight stretch of his abdominal obliques as they veered down in a sharp V between his solid hipbones. Nor would she note the dusting of dark gold hair that started below his navel and began to thicken at the line of his trousers. “Pick up the table, will you?” she asked him in perfect blandness. He reacted swiftly, the muscles along his side flexing as he bent and righted the tabl.
There was something almost indecent about the way he moved his body, all sinful promise and decadent indulgenc.
Holly set the tray down with enough force to rattle the china and then poured him a cup of chocolat.
Thorne watched her, his nostrils flaring as the dark liquid filled up the white china cup. “Here.” She offered it to him. “Drink up.” But he hesitated, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, then thankfully hiked his trousers a bit higher on his waist. “What the devil did you do to your room? I could not get into it.” He sounded so put out that Holly’s lips twitched, but she rather thought it a bad idea to smil.
“Employed an electric field, which is quite good at repelling all things metal.” Thorne scowled deeply and ran a hand along the back of his neck. “Smarts like hell. I don’t like it.” “When I trust you not to harm me in my sleep, I’ll leave it off.” A sound of annoyance left him. “I wasn’t trying to harm you. I was trying to see you.” He looked off as if not wanting to continu.
His gaze ran over the ruined furnitur.
“I apologiz.
For the room.” “Accepted. Now take your drink.” He did not say a word as he took the cup from her and gingerly sat upon the sofa. As it was the only place left to sit, she took the spot next to him. His hand shook as he lifted his cup and drank deeply, his strong throat working on a swallow. The heavy fall of his silky hair pooled at the tops of his bare shoulders. Extraordinary how differently an unclothed Thorne smelled. Like baking bread, stoked fires, and pure, clean platinum. A lock of hair hid his eyes from her, and she had to resist the urge to tuck it back behind his ear. Such strange hair. Not coarse or tinged with yellow. It was the pristine white of fresh snow, shiny, smooth, and thick. Up close, one could detect glints of silver and pale gold highlights in the strands. The effect of his hair was even more startling in contrast with his unlined, dusky ivory skin and dark bronze brows. “How do you get away with this hair in society?” she found herself asking. His head jerked up. Eyes more silver than black stared at her. “You would be surprised by what one can get away with when one carries themselves with enough aplomb. Most think it some sort of infirmity or defect. Not,” he added, with a trace of amusement, “that I keep company around many humans.” “You never thought to cut it short?” At the very least, it would be less showy. His lip curled in distast.
“So I can look like one of them? A proper sanguis male would rather go to his grave than live with such an affront.” He glanced down at where his hair ended just below his collarbones. “It used to be longer, reaching the small of my back. But it…” He winced and touched his forehead. “I… cut it.” His elegant fingers, tipped with little claws that had shot out with shocking speed, rubbed a spot on his head. “I think because it was a detriment to fighting.” Confusion and irritation clouded his eyes as he lifted his head. “I don’t know.” His gaze flicked away. “Thank you for the chocolat.
For remembering.” “Thorne.” She set her own cup of coffee down. “Have you any memory of attacking me just now?” The corners of his eyes tightened. “It wasn’t an attack. I wanted…” He shrugged. “I knew you’d take away the pain.” Knowing he needed more relief, she set her hand upon his platinum-covered biceps. His arm felt like flesh but was cold and entirely smooth. Holly curled her fingers around the corded muscle there, and a shiver went through his arm. Demon hot skin soon greeted her palm. He held still as she traced her fingers down his smooth and taut forearm. Even here, veins stood out against hard muscles. Gently, she turned his arm, exposing the soft, ivory inner flesh. At his wrist was a tattoo of a stylized crimson “N” circled by a crown of thorns. She’d seen this image befor.
On Amaros and his minions. Only the “N” had been in different colors and circled by different images, depending upon the person. Amaros had a pair of black wings sprouting from his. Thorne peered down at it dispassionately. “To signify my membership in the Nex.” The Nex, an order dedicated to bringing down the reign of humans and letting supernaturals live in the open. An idea that Holly could find merit in on principle, but in practice, knew that it would upset the world order. Despite their weaknesses, humans were far more plentiful in number, and they would not be able to tolerate the idea of the supernatural. Nor did Holly agree with the Nex’s methods, which favored fear, torture, and slaughter. “And the thorns? For your name?” Absently, she stroked the spot. Thorne broke out into gooseflesh, and she let her touch drift off. “No. It represents sanguis.” His expression gave none of his thoughts away. She moved on to his other arm where the flesh was still entirely platinum. Cold seeped into her hand as she rubbed along the surface, leaving ivory skin in her wake, and revealing yet another tattoo, this one larger. Thorne gave a small start as the black ink appeared. The design was of a long, wicked dagger, wrapped with more thorns. It traversed the length of his forearm, bisecting it with its darkness. Holly held his wrist in her hand, feeling the pulse beating there, and watched his expression alter from surprise to confusion to a deep frown. “And this one,” she asked in a low voic.
“What does this one signify?” “I…” The soft curve of his bottom lip caught on a fang. “I cannot recall. When I try to think of anything more about that part of me, I simply see another wall of black.” “Has your memory been tampered with, do you suppose?” His brow quirked. “Tampered with or damaged?” “Your memory is certainly damaged. But the fact that you cannot recall even a glimmer of what this tattoo means suggests that certain memories may have been wiped clean.” There were supernaturals who could do such things. Primus, fae, witches. “It just becomes better and better.” Scowling, he looked up at her. “How long do I have, do you reckon? Before the metal takes over again?” Holly stared off into the dying embers behind the grat.
As was the thick push of metal clawing along his chest. But at least he was cognizant. “Now tell me what you have been doing all this time?” She sat next to him, but before he could grab hold of her, she turned and touched his pinky. Just that. It was effective, however. “I have been here, working on my devices.” “Here,” he repeated. “For nearly a year?” She gazed into the fire, and golden light played over her pale face, highlighting its curves and the deep wells of exhaustion beneath her eyes. “Yes. As I said.” Before he could ask her why, she turned and pinned him with a star.
“I ought to tell you now. I cannot provide you with blood.” Will’s gaze flickered to the pulse beating at the tender hollow of her neck before meeting her eyes once mor.
Weariness and caution ther.
Disgust, too. He bristled. “I do not recall asking for your blood.” “I was not referring to myself, of course,” she went on plainly. “I meant that I cannot have blood brought in for you. I realize that makes me a bad hostess, but there it is. I cannot condone it.” A hostess? Is that what she fancied herself to be in this scenario? “And I suppose you do not eat all manner of beasts here? Rare roast beef with your pudding?” “None that are bipedal, Mr. Thorne.” Touché. “You should know,” he said, “that blood is not the only thing I take for nourishment.” He almost laughed at the way her expression grew closed off, that small nose of hers lifting in a haughty manner. Oh, he knew precisely what she was thinking now. Not that she let it show in her neutral ton.
“I thought that sanguis only imbue blood and—” “Fuck anything we can get our hands on,” he supplied helpfully. She blinked. Then stared. Will rolled his eyes skyward. “Aside from all that, I can drink most beverages. Except for lemonade.” “Why not lemonade?” “Because I hate it.” He laughed when her eyes narrowed. “Hot chocolate,” he told her, “is my favorite.” He stood. Time to get her out of his room. Talk of tupping and quenching his thirst had him growing hard, and he didn’t want a show for it. Had he any hint that Evernight might allow him to crawl into her bed, he’d work his more base pains out that way. A good long tup could do much to restore him. But he rather thought she’d put a knife to his bollocks, not that he wanted to get them anywhere near her. She’d be the type to lie there and think of England. “Hot chocolate,” she repeated, her nose wrinkling as if puzzled. “Truly?” Will turned to regard her. “Energy, Miss Evernight. You understand the concept, do you not? Life force lives within blood.” And other bodily fluids he wouldn’t mention now. “It exudes out of a body while tupping. Sanguis thrive off that. As for chocolate?” He shrugged. “It gives me a rush of pleasure to drink it. And that appears to be enough. Other sanguis have their own personal drink of choice that does the same.” “A strange breed,” she muttered, drifting off towards the door. “When you humans can explain why eating the endless list of things you decide to cram into your mouths makes more sense,” he responded dryly, “I will agree to that claim.” She stopped. Slowly, she turned to face him. Just as slowly, a smile spread over her lips, and Will forgot to breath.
Hells bells, she was lovely. A glowing light in the darkest night. What a man might do to receive smiles such as that over and over again. No. He would not think of her in that way. “Point to you, Mr. Thorn.
Good night.” Holly stared, as she often did, at the familiar outlines of her room. Next door lay a demon, one who had wanted her dead. One who now needed her too much to kill her. She ought to be wary of him. Instead she nearly hummed with anticipation. A good puzzle, a proper challenge, were her favorite things in the world. He was that in spades. But when she thought of his pain and confusion, guilt loomed up and dampened all other emotions. It continued to rain, leaving the room dank and shadowed as morning cam.
Janelle crept in on cat feet and stoked the fire, adding coals. She did not tidy—no one but Holly was allowed that task in here—but held the door open for Sara Anne, her newest maid, who brought in Holly’s breakfast tray. The scent of fresh coffee and warm sweet buns filled the air. Holly pushed to sitting as Sara Anne set the tray on a table by her bed. “Mr. Thorne shall require a large pot of chocolate,” she told the girl. “Have cook make it as thick and rich as she can.” “Yes, mum.” Holly sank her teeth into soft, warm bread, and then she heard the crash. A moment later, the connecting wall between hers and Thorne’s room shuddered. Instantly sparks crackled and blue bolts of electricity snaked over the wall, followed by a bellow of rage from the other sid.
The two maids flinched, fear and horror holding them in plac.
“Stay here.” Holly whipped out of her bed and, turning off the electric field she’d placed between their rooms, hurried to seek out Thorn.
Only to find chairs upended and a set of curtains torn from their hangings. A flicker of movement had her turning even as strong arms came around her and she was hurtled bodily to the floor. Knowing her attacker was Thorne, she instantly wrapped her limbs around him and held on. They skidded across the floor, rumpling the heavy carpet and pulling her nightgown tight on her throat. They came to an inelegant halt halfway beneath the coffee table before the hearth. Ears buzzing and head throbbing, she clung to the hard body on top of her. Something sharp scraped her neck, and she lost her breath. Fangs. Bloody hell. Holly sent a bolt of power through Thorne, freezing him. Which only made him heavier. His cold cheek pressed against hers, the long strands of his hair covering her face and threatening to fall into her mouth. She resisted the urge to pummel his back. “Are you calm?” she snapped. When he said nothing, she realized that he was under her thrall and not capable of speech. Cursing, she pulled back on her power until he went limp against her. His chest lifted on a breath, and then he rolled away. The table upended with a crash, and he swor.
In an effortless glide, he rose, hauling her up with him. Head spinning, she leaned against the smooth, hot wall of his chest. But when his arm came around her waist, Holly stepped quickly away. “What in the bloody blazes has come over you?” She barely refrained from shouting the question. Thorne huffed through his nose and raked his long hair back from his fac.
Standing in the weak morning light and wearing nothing more than a pair of loose, black linen trousers that hung low on his narrow hips, he fairly gleamed. Over half of his torso, both arms, and the left side of his face were entirely platinum. He shook. Whether it was to keep still or from pain, she did not know. Likely both reasons. A feather floated past her nose, distracting her. He’d shredded his bed. Seeing the direction of her gaze, he winced. “I did not know where I was.” His voice was rusty and dark. A maid chose that moment to step in, carrying his breakfast tray. Her pale eyes went wide upon seeing the destruction. Holly strode over to her and took the tray from her unresisting hands. “Cleanup can wait, Sara Ann.
Please bring my breakfast in her.
Thank you.” Carrying the tray back into the room, she eyed Thorn.
He’d wrapped an arm about his abdomen, as if holding his suffering in, but when he saw her, he let his arm fall and stood straight and glowering. Sinewy and lean of form, he was more a blade than a battle-ax.
She would not look at the tight stretch of his abdominal obliques as they veered down in a sharp V between his solid hipbones. Nor would she note the dusting of dark gold hair that started below his navel and began to thicken at the line of his trousers. “Pick up the table, will you?” she asked him in perfect blandness. He reacted swiftly, the muscles along his side flexing as he bent and righted the tabl.
There was something almost indecent about the way he moved his body, all sinful promise and decadent indulgenc.
Holly set the tray down with enough force to rattle the china and then poured him a cup of chocolat.
Thorne watched her, his nostrils flaring as the dark liquid filled up the white china cup. “Here.” She offered it to him. “Drink up.” But he hesitated, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, then thankfully hiked his trousers a bit higher on his waist. “What the devil did you do to your room? I could not get into it.” He sounded so put out that Holly’s lips twitched, but she rather thought it a bad idea to smil.
“Employed an electric field, which is quite good at repelling all things metal.” Thorne scowled deeply and ran a hand along the back of his neck. “Smarts like hell. I don’t like it.” “When I trust you not to harm me in my sleep, I’ll leave it off.” A sound of annoyance left him. “I wasn’t trying to harm you. I was trying to see you.” He looked off as if not wanting to continu.
His gaze ran over the ruined furnitur.
“I apologiz.
For the room.” “Accepted. Now take your drink.” He did not say a word as he took the cup from her and gingerly sat upon the sofa. As it was the only place left to sit, she took the spot next to him. His hand shook as he lifted his cup and drank deeply, his strong throat working on a swallow. The heavy fall of his silky hair pooled at the tops of his bare shoulders. Extraordinary how differently an unclothed Thorne smelled. Like baking bread, stoked fires, and pure, clean platinum. A lock of hair hid his eyes from her, and she had to resist the urge to tuck it back behind his ear. Such strange hair. Not coarse or tinged with yellow. It was the pristine white of fresh snow, shiny, smooth, and thick. Up close, one could detect glints of silver and pale gold highlights in the strands. The effect of his hair was even more startling in contrast with his unlined, dusky ivory skin and dark bronze brows. “How do you get away with this hair in society?” she found herself asking. His head jerked up. Eyes more silver than black stared at her. “You would be surprised by what one can get away with when one carries themselves with enough aplomb. Most think it some sort of infirmity or defect. Not,” he added, with a trace of amusement, “that I keep company around many humans.” “You never thought to cut it short?” At the very least, it would be less showy. His lip curled in distast.
“So I can look like one of them? A proper sanguis male would rather go to his grave than live with such an affront.” He glanced down at where his hair ended just below his collarbones. “It used to be longer, reaching the small of my back. But it…” He winced and touched his forehead. “I… cut it.” His elegant fingers, tipped with little claws that had shot out with shocking speed, rubbed a spot on his head. “I think because it was a detriment to fighting.” Confusion and irritation clouded his eyes as he lifted his head. “I don’t know.” His gaze flicked away. “Thank you for the chocolat.
For remembering.” “Thorne.” She set her own cup of coffee down. “Have you any memory of attacking me just now?” The corners of his eyes tightened. “It wasn’t an attack. I wanted…” He shrugged. “I knew you’d take away the pain.” Knowing he needed more relief, she set her hand upon his platinum-covered biceps. His arm felt like flesh but was cold and entirely smooth. Holly curled her fingers around the corded muscle there, and a shiver went through his arm. Demon hot skin soon greeted her palm. He held still as she traced her fingers down his smooth and taut forearm. Even here, veins stood out against hard muscles. Gently, she turned his arm, exposing the soft, ivory inner flesh. At his wrist was a tattoo of a stylized crimson “N” circled by a crown of thorns. She’d seen this image befor.
On Amaros and his minions. Only the “N” had been in different colors and circled by different images, depending upon the person. Amaros had a pair of black wings sprouting from his. Thorne peered down at it dispassionately. “To signify my membership in the Nex.” The Nex, an order dedicated to bringing down the reign of humans and letting supernaturals live in the open. An idea that Holly could find merit in on principle, but in practice, knew that it would upset the world order. Despite their weaknesses, humans were far more plentiful in number, and they would not be able to tolerate the idea of the supernatural. Nor did Holly agree with the Nex’s methods, which favored fear, torture, and slaughter. “And the thorns? For your name?” Absently, she stroked the spot. Thorne broke out into gooseflesh, and she let her touch drift off. “No. It represents sanguis.” His expression gave none of his thoughts away. She moved on to his other arm where the flesh was still entirely platinum. Cold seeped into her hand as she rubbed along the surface, leaving ivory skin in her wake, and revealing yet another tattoo, this one larger. Thorne gave a small start as the black ink appeared. The design was of a long, wicked dagger, wrapped with more thorns. It traversed the length of his forearm, bisecting it with its darkness. Holly held his wrist in her hand, feeling the pulse beating there, and watched his expression alter from surprise to confusion to a deep frown. “And this one,” she asked in a low voic.
“What does this one signify?” “I…” The soft curve of his bottom lip caught on a fang. “I cannot recall. When I try to think of anything more about that part of me, I simply see another wall of black.” “Has your memory been tampered with, do you suppose?” His brow quirked. “Tampered with or damaged?” “Your memory is certainly damaged. But the fact that you cannot recall even a glimmer of what this tattoo means suggests that certain memories may have been wiped clean.” There were supernaturals who could do such things. Primus, fae, witches. “It just becomes better and better.” Scowling, he looked up at her. “How long do I have, do you reckon? Before the metal takes over again?” Holly stared off into the dying embers behind the grat.
