Soulbound
Page 58
“Adam.” It was a plea to stop. Gods, he had to stop. Her sex throbbed now, at once swelling and clenching with the need to be filled. “Holly will see.” Eliza whispered it against his neck, not knowing if he could hear. Perhaps that was the point; perhaps he wouldn’t and keep going.
But he pressed his mouth to her ear. “I don’t care.”
And then very slowly but very firmly, he pinched her tender nipple, not releasing it but building the pressure. Eliza gave a wordless cry, arching into him, a shudder of heat wracking through her. She didn’t know what she might have done, had the entire craft not come to an abrupt halt. From a distance, she heard Holly’s voice, crisp with command. “We’ve come alongside the barge.”
Lucien’s barge was, as Adam had said, deserted. And destroyed. Someone had torn through it, throwing furniture pell-mell, ripping silken drapes from their heavy brass hangers. What appeared to be a once-decadent pleasure home was now in tatters.
Adam’s strong features took on a fearsome cast as they walked down the narrow hall. “This will not go unanswered.” The man who had impudently fondled her breast and given her a wink just before they’d stepped out of the submarine was gone. This Adam stood taller, his broad shoulders practically brushing the walls, his expression fierce.
The passage ended at an ornately carved door. Inside were the remains of a dining room, a fairly large space that took up the back third of the barge. This, too, had met destruction. Adam stepped over a fallen chair, as Eliza picked her way past broken glassware, the floor sticky with spilt wine. No blood, however.
Adam stopped at the bulkhead beam running across the back picture window. Intricately carved fleurs-de-lis decorated the beam. Delicately, Adam ran the tip of his finger along one of the marks. “Long ago, the angel Augustus told me to hide anything of value in a place that will stand the test of time.”
That the man before her spoke lightly of conversing with angels had Eliza’s head reeling, but she pushed that aside. She’d long since fallen off the map of normalcy. “You remained in contact with Augustus? Even after the part he played in your curse?”
“Of course. I bear him no ill will. He did what he could to help.” Adam shrugged. “In truth, I consider Augustus a friend of sorts. One such as I does not have the opportunity to converse with many others.”
Eliza did not want to think about Adam’s years of isolation. She did not want to pity him, nor did she think he’d take kindly to her doing so. Instead she glanced about. “I’d hardly call a barge a place of lasting permanence.”
“That is because you don’t know Lucien. The man would never let his home go.” A shadow of worry fell over Adam’s countenance, but he blinked and the look was gone.
“What if it sank? Or caught fire?”
The corners of his mouth curled in a half-smile. Golden eyes glanced at her from over his shoulder. “You are quite the pessimist.”
She felt her face heat. “I’d call it practicality.”
That made his mouth curl in a half-smile, but he did not answer. Instead he pulled a pocketknife out, flicked it open, and pushed the tip into a seemingly random place. A panel slid open to reveal a hidden space within the wall. Adam reached into the space and pulled out a long, fairly wide iron box. Clearly, it weighed quite a bit, for it fell to the floor with a decided thud. He grimaced. “Bloody thing weighed naught but a feather when I did not have these bloody chains on.”
Eliza knelt next to the fallen box. There was a lock upon the thing, and it did not appear easily broken, nor had they brought any sort of tools to do the job.
Adam saw the direction of her frown. “Not to worry.” He knelt next to her and took the box, turning it on its end, and simply tugged it. The entire thing slid open, and Adam smiled at her. “It’s built like a puzzle box. The lock is merely for show.”
Inside lay a sword, at least four feet long, with a simple cross-shaped hilt that appeared to be made of iron.
“Ah, now,” crooned Adam, “here we are, then.” With infinite care, as though he were handling a babe, he lifted the sword out, and a sigh seemed to go through him. “Ah, my lovely, it’s been far too long.”
“Shall I leave you two alone, then?” Eliza’s lips twitched. She’d never seen such a look of reverence mixed with old familiarity. It was nearly indecent.
Adam spared her a glance. “Quiet woman, a man’s relationship with his sword is a sacred thing.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Saucy wench.” But his words held no anger. Almost tenderly, he ran the tips of his fingers over the plain hilt, and his breath visibly caught. “We’ve been through a lot together, this sword and I. Many a battle won with her in my hand.” He grasped the hilt and held it firm. In that moment, his eyes closed, as though it were almost too much for him.
When he opened them again, they were bright with emotion. “I claimed this sword in Jerusalem, after a skirmish. It called to me, felt right in my hand.” He made a sound of wry amusement. “Perhaps it was fate, after all, for I later learned that this is a fae weapon, crafted in their world. How it came to be in Jerusalem, I know not, but it has been mine ever since.” Adam held the sword out to her, presenting it with two hands. “A fae-made sword ought to cut through these chains like a knife through pudding. Strike the cuffs directly.”
Eliza blinked. “What? You expect me to cut them off?”
But he pressed his mouth to her ear. “I don’t care.”
And then very slowly but very firmly, he pinched her tender nipple, not releasing it but building the pressure. Eliza gave a wordless cry, arching into him, a shudder of heat wracking through her. She didn’t know what she might have done, had the entire craft not come to an abrupt halt. From a distance, she heard Holly’s voice, crisp with command. “We’ve come alongside the barge.”
Lucien’s barge was, as Adam had said, deserted. And destroyed. Someone had torn through it, throwing furniture pell-mell, ripping silken drapes from their heavy brass hangers. What appeared to be a once-decadent pleasure home was now in tatters.
Adam’s strong features took on a fearsome cast as they walked down the narrow hall. “This will not go unanswered.” The man who had impudently fondled her breast and given her a wink just before they’d stepped out of the submarine was gone. This Adam stood taller, his broad shoulders practically brushing the walls, his expression fierce.
The passage ended at an ornately carved door. Inside were the remains of a dining room, a fairly large space that took up the back third of the barge. This, too, had met destruction. Adam stepped over a fallen chair, as Eliza picked her way past broken glassware, the floor sticky with spilt wine. No blood, however.
Adam stopped at the bulkhead beam running across the back picture window. Intricately carved fleurs-de-lis decorated the beam. Delicately, Adam ran the tip of his finger along one of the marks. “Long ago, the angel Augustus told me to hide anything of value in a place that will stand the test of time.”
That the man before her spoke lightly of conversing with angels had Eliza’s head reeling, but she pushed that aside. She’d long since fallen off the map of normalcy. “You remained in contact with Augustus? Even after the part he played in your curse?”
“Of course. I bear him no ill will. He did what he could to help.” Adam shrugged. “In truth, I consider Augustus a friend of sorts. One such as I does not have the opportunity to converse with many others.”
Eliza did not want to think about Adam’s years of isolation. She did not want to pity him, nor did she think he’d take kindly to her doing so. Instead she glanced about. “I’d hardly call a barge a place of lasting permanence.”
“That is because you don’t know Lucien. The man would never let his home go.” A shadow of worry fell over Adam’s countenance, but he blinked and the look was gone.
“What if it sank? Or caught fire?”
The corners of his mouth curled in a half-smile. Golden eyes glanced at her from over his shoulder. “You are quite the pessimist.”
She felt her face heat. “I’d call it practicality.”
That made his mouth curl in a half-smile, but he did not answer. Instead he pulled a pocketknife out, flicked it open, and pushed the tip into a seemingly random place. A panel slid open to reveal a hidden space within the wall. Adam reached into the space and pulled out a long, fairly wide iron box. Clearly, it weighed quite a bit, for it fell to the floor with a decided thud. He grimaced. “Bloody thing weighed naught but a feather when I did not have these bloody chains on.”
Eliza knelt next to the fallen box. There was a lock upon the thing, and it did not appear easily broken, nor had they brought any sort of tools to do the job.
Adam saw the direction of her frown. “Not to worry.” He knelt next to her and took the box, turning it on its end, and simply tugged it. The entire thing slid open, and Adam smiled at her. “It’s built like a puzzle box. The lock is merely for show.”
Inside lay a sword, at least four feet long, with a simple cross-shaped hilt that appeared to be made of iron.
“Ah, now,” crooned Adam, “here we are, then.” With infinite care, as though he were handling a babe, he lifted the sword out, and a sigh seemed to go through him. “Ah, my lovely, it’s been far too long.”
“Shall I leave you two alone, then?” Eliza’s lips twitched. She’d never seen such a look of reverence mixed with old familiarity. It was nearly indecent.
Adam spared her a glance. “Quiet woman, a man’s relationship with his sword is a sacred thing.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Saucy wench.” But his words held no anger. Almost tenderly, he ran the tips of his fingers over the plain hilt, and his breath visibly caught. “We’ve been through a lot together, this sword and I. Many a battle won with her in my hand.” He grasped the hilt and held it firm. In that moment, his eyes closed, as though it were almost too much for him.
When he opened them again, they were bright with emotion. “I claimed this sword in Jerusalem, after a skirmish. It called to me, felt right in my hand.” He made a sound of wry amusement. “Perhaps it was fate, after all, for I later learned that this is a fae weapon, crafted in their world. How it came to be in Jerusalem, I know not, but it has been mine ever since.” Adam held the sword out to her, presenting it with two hands. “A fae-made sword ought to cut through these chains like a knife through pudding. Strike the cuffs directly.”
Eliza blinked. “What? You expect me to cut them off?”
