Soulbound (14 page)

“I do not believe in soul mates,” she said. “I do not believe that this attraction we feel has anything to do with fate or anything deeper than a simple surface interest. Mine based on the fact that you come wrapped in a pleasing package, and yours perhaps due to some misplaced gratitude because you suddenly feel something you’ve been denied for hundreds of years.” When he kept on watching her with that self-same, easy smile and heated want, she stomped her foot. “We’ve been at odds since we met.”

“You are correct,” he said. “I’ve fostered an intense dislike of you for the past year and a half.”

That ought not to sting. But it did.

He wasn’t finished, however. “I like you better now.”

Horribly, she liked him better too. Somehow he’d drifted closer without her knowing it. Stopping beside her, he leaned his hips against the windowsill and crossed his arms over his chest. The stance ought to have diminished him. It only made his shoulders appear broader and highlighted the bulge of his biceps beneath his plain coat.

“You should kiss me,” he said.

The breath left her body in a rush of air and a raspy “What?”

His gaze drifted to her lips. “How else are we to know? Kiss me. And find out if your want of me crumbles to dust or grows.”

A gentle throbbing started low in her belly, traveling downward. They stood so close, a handspan apart, close enough that his smoky scent and powerful warmth enveloped her, compelling her to move closer still. She planted her feet, refusing to give in.

His hands grasped the edges of the sill, holding it tight, as though he needed an anchor as well. “You’ll be in control. I’ll not touch you, nor try to stop you from pulling away. I vow it.” He spoke softly, forcing her to strain her ears and edge toward him. “Put your lips to mine, sweet dove. See if you like my taste.”

Her mouth went dry, her lips parting.
She wanted. She wanted.
It was perverse, this need. He’d chained her, kept her at his side without a care of how she’d felt about the situation. To even consider this…

Her heart beat hard and strong within her chest. Adam’s own chest rose and fell with greater speed. Half-sitting as he was upon the wide windowsill, they were nearly eye to eye.

Trying to buy time, Eliza looked him over with a deliberately bland expression. “Was this entire conversation simply a trick to get me to kiss you?”

He grinned again, the pink tip of his tongue just visible between his even teeth. “Absolutely.”

“I thought you did not want to kiss me.” Eliza scowled at the memory of him outright rejecting her.

“That was before. This is now,” he answered easily. “Now, I want that kiss.” On a deep breath, his lids lowered, his gaze somnolent and hot on her mouth, his voice rough and urgent. “Kiss me, Eliza.”

She was going to. She had no resistance when it came to him. This close, he seemed immense. Not just in size, but in presence. Vitality sparked along his skin, drawing her like a magnet to his firm flesh.

Not daring to meet his gaze, she studied his mouth. It tempted her. So finely shaped, the upper lip just slightly bigger than the bottom, as if it were swollen. Dark stubble of the day’s growth framed that soft mouth of his, and she wanted to feel the different textures of his skin. As if bidden, her fingertips drifted up and grazed along his chin, just beneath his lower lip. Rough, silken.

His breath visibly hitched, and a puff of warmth escaped him and ghosted over her skin. Her hand slid down to his chest to press against the rapid beat of his heart. And then she was closer.

Their lips nearly touched, but he halted. “I’ve not done this before, so you’ll —” His breath caught when, unable to resist, she brushed her lips against his, the contact fleeting but capturing all of her attention. A spark of heat lit through her. She wanted more. “Have to…” He groaned, opening his mouth to let her lap at his upper lip with the tip of her tongue. “Guide me.”

Part of her had kissed him simply to shut him up, call his bluff. And yet… A whimper of want echoed in her mouth as she leaned into him, her lips melding with his. Heat and need suffused her, as she delved farther into the warm depths of his mouth. He tasted divine.

That she knew more than he, that she was teaching him, gave her a heady, erotic, little thrill. Eliza tilted her head, the tips of her fingers cradling his jaw as she enjoyed his mouth. He made a murmur of approval, his slick tongue twining with hers. A quick study. Adam’s breath came in disjointed pants, his lips following hers, seeking and nuzzling.

How very good it felt to kiss this man. Her head swam with pleasure, and she pressed her body into his, until there was no space between them. The hard length of his cock seemed to throb against her lower belly. And Eliza moaned.

At the sound, tremors rent Adam’s body and his mouth surged forward, capturing her lower lip in a suckling kiss. “Let me touch you,” he whispered, tasting her mouth in a series of urgent nibbles. “Let me, Eliza. Release me.”

She wanted that. Her skin seemed to stretch and tighten with the need to feel his hands upon it. But it wouldn’t end there. She’d soon want him inside of her, filling her up. Madness. Her mouth shaped the word even as she kissed him. “No.”

A half laugh, half groan left him. “Evil, wee besom.”

She could not help but smile against his mouth. “Wiley, wicked demon.”

He huffed, and she pulled back a little. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, the lush curve of his top lip touching hers. Little shivers of pleasure danced along her spine as he spoke. “I told you, dove. I’m no demon.”

“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.”

R
ain 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?”

She gave an exaggerated grimace, as she went on in a blithe tone. “Only a small one. Go on without me, I’ll just rest here a moment.”

His expression grew softer. She knew perfectly well he was on to her. They both knew. But neither of them addressed the truth. Instead, he offered her his arm. “Lean on me,” he said in a soft rasp. “And we’ll climb the stairs together.”

And if, in truth, Adam ended up leaning into her, letting her shore him up as they limped up the stairs, it was nobody’s business but theirs. Nor did she take notice when he panted upon reaching the landing. Instead, she pulled out a kerchief.

“Here,” she said, wiping the sweat from his brow with brusque strokes. “You are filthy. I thought Mr. Brown gave you leave to use his bath.”

Tall as he was, she had to rise up on her toes to reach him, and his hand settled upon her waist to steady her. Eliza ignored the little kick his touch set off inside of her. Quietly, he watched her, his face bent towards her so she might clean him. But she felt the weight of his stare, the strange tenderness of it.

What on earth was she doing? He did not need fussing over and certainly not by her. She took a hasty step back, pocketing her kerchief.

“There.” She made her voice bright and cheerful. “All better.”

He watched her for a moment more, his expression solemn, then cleared his throat. “Come along then, mother hen.”

His fingertips found the small of her back as he led her into the inner press office, and she realized that, no matter what his mood or predicament, he acted the gallant knight first and foremost. And though the chain leached his strength, he moved with the grace of a warrior.

Cheaply dressed Adam might have been, yet as soon as they walked into the cramped newsroom, a man hurried over not with an intent to eject them from the premises but with clear deference. “May I help you, sir?”

“We are here to see Mr. Michaels.”

Mr. Sean Michaels, it turned out, was a cheerful Irishman of medium height with hair the precise shade of Christmas gingerbread. It curled around his ruddy face and highlighted the color of his brilliant blue eyes.

“Have a seat, then.” He hastily cleared stacks of yellowed papers from the bentwood chairs in his small, chaotic office. Towers of paper and books tottered higgledy-piggledy and threatened to come crashing down as Eliza and Adam took their seats in the little area cleared for them. “Here we are. We’ll have a spot of tea and a fine chat.”

Bold as you please, Adam threw back his cloak and the blasted length of chains clattered around him. Michaels’s brows rose. “That’s quite a… spiffing outfit.”

Adam laughed, deep and full. “Eliza insisted I wear them. She finds the chains titillating.”

“Horrid man,” she whispered, barely resisting the urge to pinch him, even though part of her fought a smile.

Adam shrugged at Michaels. “They are merely part of a garden variety curse. Pay them no heed.”

“If you say.” Michaels caught a folder midslide and tossed it into a corner. “I’ll get us that tea.”

In the time Eliza had to give Adam a dubious look, the young man returned, carrying a plain, wooden tea tray, laden with a clunky crockery teapot and three mismatched earthenware teacups. “Were this a social visit,” Michaels said as he set the tray down, “I’d ask you to do the honors, Miss May. As we’ve a bit of work to do here, I’m afraid I must be pouring the tea. Milk or sugar?”

“Both,” Eliza and Adam said as one. They glanced at each other in mild surprise before Eliza turned her attention back to Michaels.

He went about serving them with surprisingly graceful movements. The aroma of good, strong, milk-in-first Irish tea filled the office and made Eliza aware of how very cold and weary she’d become. Gratefully, she accepted the hot mug and, not standing on upper-crust manners, wrapped her icy fingers around the heavy bowl of it.

“Drink it while it’s fresh and hot,” Michaels said as he sat himself behind his desk. The eerie greenish light of rain-soaked London shone through the rice paper shade covering his window and set his curls aglow.

Eliza took a bracing sip and sighed.

“A Yank who appreciates her tea,” Michaels said with a small smile. “Now that is something I like to see.”

“A Yank, yes,” Eliza answered after taking another sip. “But three-quarters Irish to boot.”

“Well” – Michaels’ eyes crinkled – “we won’t hold that one-quarter against you, now will we, lass?”

Adam set his cup down with more force than necessary. “As charming as discussions of ancestry are, I do believe we are here on other business.”

Michaels simply grinned, his ruddy cheeks plumping up like autumn apples. “There’s been talk, speculation that you disappeared because you fell in love. But, until now, I didn’t believe it.”

“Shouldn’t you know the actual truth,” Eliza couldn’t help but ask, “seeing as you are an oracle?” She didn’t want him running on about Adam being in love, at any rate. Nor did she care to have Adam correct his error. Their odd relationship was uncomfortable enough without others knowing about it.

Michaels glanced at her, his blue eyes mischievous. “Oracles aren’t omniscient, Miss May. We’ve limitations just as much as the next supernatural.” Not to be distracted, Michaels turned his attention back to Adam. “That’s it then? You’ve lost yourself in a woman?”

Adam relaxed into his chair and draped an arm along the back of Eliza’s, looking for all the world like a man at perfect ease, despite the reporter’s nosy questions. “As a matter of fact —”

“The GIM are growing weak,” Eliza cut in. “Do you know why?”

Michaels scratched beneath his chin. “Speculation is all I can give you on that.”

Some oracle.

“Illuminate us,” Adam drawled.

“Well…” Michaels looked Adam over. “Their power is tied to their sire, is it not?”

Which meant that as Adam grew weaker, so did they. Eliza wondered if Adam knew this all along, for he waved a lazy hand. “Speculation, to be sure.” But Eliza knew Adam well enough to see how much the weakening GIM upset him.

“We are here,” Eliza hurried on, wanting to smooth over the moment, “on account of me. I’m Mab’s granddaughter.”

Michaels lurched upright, his teasing manner falling away. “You’re serious?” His skin paled but his cheeks turned crimson.

“As the grave,” said Adam, his catlike eyes gleaming.

The young man ran a shaking hand through his curls, sending them into disarray.

“Tell me,” Eliza said in a softer tone, “about the fae.”

“What? You’re Mab’s granddaughter. I cannot possibly tell you anything you don’t know better.”

“I know nothing.” Eliza clutched the edge of his desk. “I didn’t even know my true kin until a few months ago. Adam seems to think you are the best person to tell me, so… please?”

“Of course, of course.” He poured himself another steaming cup of tea, then took a gulp of the hot brew, his eyes watering. With a deep breath, he sat back. “Here’s the thing, Miss May. Fae, demons, lycans, elementals, angels, gods, goddesses, they’re all interconnected with mankind. It’s a bit like the chicken and the egg. Did humans create the myths or did the myths come before the humans?”

“You mean no one knows?” Eliza found that hard to believe.

“Aye, well, according to the angels, who are the oldest beings anyone knows of, the humans, with their powerful imaginations, gave birth to all but God. But that in itself is dicey because what you’d think of as God is the collective power of human consciousness.”

Michaels steepled his fingers and pressed the tips to his lips. “Theology aside, we do know that fae, in particular, did grow out of myth. No other being is as closely linked to human thoughts. And, to be quite frank, this brasses the fae off something fierce. They hate that humans have so much control over them.”

When Eliza frowned in confusion, he leaned in close, his voice becoming emphatic. “You’ve no notion how powerful human belief can be. Nor how much it effects the Others. That is why being seen and acknowledged means so much to them. They have power because we gave it to them.

“Over their existence, the fae have had many incantations, distinctions made by humans wishing to expand and explain the myth. They’ve been the Seelie Court and the Unseelie Court, Trooping Fairies, Solitary Faires, Light fae, Dark fae, Tots, household fae. Mab, your grandmother, holds great power simply because she’s so well known in the human world. Every time someone orates Mercutio’s speech about Mab or some poetically inclined sod recites Shelley’s Queen Mab, she gains strength.”