“He’s dead, petal. He cannot harm you anymore.” “I know. I know this!” She glanced about, as if expecting the diseased fallen angel to jump from the hedgerow. “My bloody fool emotions cannot seem to accept that truth, however.” Holly leaned against him, her shoulder just touching his. A gesture of trust. A shock to his system. Slowly, he wound an arm about her cinched waist. He looked up into the grey sky. He did not know how to offer true comfort. Sexual release? Of course, with pleasur.

But to coddle a frightened woman? What could he do? He could hold her, but it would not take away her fear. Giving her one last squeeze, he drew her back and peered into her eyes. They glimmered like polished lapis. “Here is what we shall do. You put your hand in mine, keep me sane while I keep you saf.

And then you shall put one foot in front of the other until you no longer have to count your steps, and I will not let you go.” Her pink lips trembled, so soft and succulent that he wanted to taste them. But he held fast and kept his gaze locked on hers. “One step, petal min.

Surely that you can do.” Dimly, she nodded. “One step. Yes. I can manage that.” Swiftly, he kissed her smooth forehead, just beneath the dark curls of her fringe, then caught her hand in a firm hold. Gods, but she was cold. Her fingers twined with his and squeezed to the point of tender pain. Will did not let go. “One step,” he said, leading the way to the carriag.

She mumbled an agreement, but then looked up at him sharply. “Petal? What sort of nonsensical drivel is that?” Ah, there was his Evernight. The corners of his mouth twitched. “You are soft and delicate like a petal.” “Bosh.” She gave an inelegant snort, her neat, little boot heels clicking against the pavers. “There is nothing soft about me.” This time Will gave her a wicked smil.

“Having had my hands on you, I can safely assure the contrary.” She went scarlet. A rare blush. And he reveled in it. “Softer than a petal, really,” he pointed out, his chest feeling buoyant now that she’d recovered enough to grous.

“Especially your ars.

Why, just last night, I likened it to a plump pillow—” “Oh, all right,” she snapped. “Enough of that, thank you.” He laughed, happy to note that she climbed the carriage steps without hesitation—afraid maybe, but she was with him, and he would not give her cause to regret it.

Chapter Eleven

Being in the carriage was better. Contained. Confined. Holly pressed her spine into the poorly sprung seat and stared straight ahead. She could almost pretend that she was sitting in her study. Only the damned thing rocked and bounced over the road, reminding her at each point that she was not safe at hom.

All due to the bullying horse’s arse sitting next to her. Had he crowed over her fear or been smug, she would have bitten his head off. No, she would have turned him into a lump of metal and left him on the flagstone driv.

But he’d been kind. Comforting. His care had disarmed her enough that she found herself obeying his command, putting herself into his keeping. How horrid. How foolish. A bitter well of panic rushed up her throat like acid. And though she did not make a sound, somehow he knew. His grip upon her hand—for he never truly let her go—tightened. “Lovely day, is it not?” he observed lightly. Rain misted the windows, and the lamps had to be turned up high to ward off the dark. At her speaking look, he smiled. “Well, for a sanguis, at any rate.” He leaned back, crossing one long leg over the other, causing his foot to sneak up under the hem of her skirts. Holly shifted her legs away from him. “Although,” he went on, “I do admit, it would be better if there was a nice, thick fog, and a warm, balmy temperature instead.” He winked at her. “I do so love the warmth.” Good lord, had the man turned into her great aunt Patty in the last block? Was he going to wax on about knitting patterns next? Thorne craned his head to peer out of her window, and his chin nearly touched hers. “Perhaps the rain will soon stop.” She pushed at his shoulder. “Are you attempting to simultaneously bore and annoy the fear out of me, Mr. Thorne?” He turned, bringing his face, mouth, and eyes far too close to hers. His warm breath touched her cheeks. “Is it working, Miss Evernight?” “Yes.” She gave him another push. “Now give me room to breathe, or your efforts will be for naught.” He hovered there, his eyes lowering to her lips, and his own lips parting. Everything within her went tight and warm, but then he did as bided and sat back. “Interesting to note,” he said, his gaze watchful, “that my nearness sets you into a panic.” She smoothed her skirts, thankful that her black leather gloves hid her damp palms. “More like I understand the concept of social distance while you do not.” “Ah, but petal, a demon’s sense of social distance is far more intimate than a human’s.” His sudden, wide grin had her pulse leaping as he added, “I suppose we’ll have to meet somewhere in the middle.” Indeed. She needed to be out of this coach. Though Thorne was lean, his shoulders seemed to take up entirely too much spac.

Properly kitted in a charcoal grey suit and a fine black wool overcoat, he might have appeared the perfect gentleman, were it not for the fall of snow-bright hair over his shoulders. Paired with the top hat tilted down over one eye and his blade-sharp male beauty, William Thorne was something exotic, dangerous, and far too tempting to be allowed to roam through bland and somber London. “How does a demon end up with such a proper English name?” “Ah,” he propped a polished boot heel upon the base of the opposite bench. “I suppose we ought to thank my proper English mother for that, hadn’t we?” His smile was not at all nic.

“I come from a long line of William Thornes. However, I have the distinction of being the one inhuman of the lot. Quite the taint to the illustrious line of the Marquis of Renwood. I daresay my ancestors would be rolling in their graves had my family failed to be rid of me.” “You’re a Marquis?” It certainly explained his arrogance and bearing. “No,” he said patiently. “I am a sanguis demon. Left for dead on the streets of the East End while—” another cold, tight smile—“a distant cousin stepped in to take up the title upon my untimely death.” Holly turned to stare out of the window where the grey clouds hung upon a bleak, white sky. “How did you end up in a human household?” “It is the way of demons, you see.” His smooth voice filled up the spac.

“We crave luxury, warmth, frivolity. Things that go hand in hand with money and power. Things,” he added, “we aren’t allowed to obtain in our own right because we must hide our true nature from humans. Thus, when it comes time to procreate, a demon will take on the identity of some titled nob, wealthy merchant, or what have you, and put his seed in the bloke’s wife.” Her stomach turned. “And what of the man whose identity was stolen?” He shrugged, making the gesture appear casual, when the dark look in his eyes was anything but. “A demon needs the person’s blood to take on his appearance, and they don’t want to be caught. So…” They used the victim’s blood for as long as need be, then killed him. It was the number one crime the SOS fought against. Seeing her look, he made a noise of dark amusement. “Not the most noble of actions, I grant you. But in the demon’s eyes, he is providing his offspring with a step up in lif.

Alas, many humans never catch on that they’ve birthed the devil’s get. Until it’s too late.” A strangled sound escaped her. “It is horrid,” she said. “To deceive and toy with the lives of others in such a fashion. To take what you have no right to.” “What is horrid,” he answered in clipped tones, “is that we must pretend to be something we are not for fear of your delicate sensibilities. That we must take, like thieves and beggars, when if we were free, we could be something so much more.” Such bitterness ther.

“And I didn’t say I was planning to do likewise,” he said dryly. “Personally, I’d rather make my way in the world upon my own merit. I am merely explaining how I came to be the son of a Marquis. Not—” he lifted a finger as if giving a lecture—“that I can truly claim to be of his blood. Although my mother was an earl’s daughter so I suppose there is some true-blue English blood in me after all.” “How glib you’re being, Mr. Thorne.” His eyes narrowed, flashing filaments of pure platinum. “How would you prefer me to act, Miss Evernight? Ashamed of something I had no say in? To apologize for my origins? Oh, but I almost forgot. You are SOS.” He sneered. “You lot expect us demons to beg and scrape as we crawl back into Hell so that you may pretend we never existed.” Abruptly, he turned away. A muscle ticked in his clenched jaw. Holly’s insides cringed. “You are correct. You had no say in the matter.” She frowned down at their clasped hands. How was it that they still held hands and she hadn’t noticed? She relaxed her grip. “I apologize for insulting your honor.” His grip eased as well. “No need. It is all rather unsavory. And yet one more reason I loathe the way my kind must hide what they are.” Holly wasn’t about to dwell on that discussion to save her life at the moment. “What is your natural form then?” “What you see is what you get, love.” His mouth quirked. “Well, aside from this metal muck.” Holly shook her head. “But you said demons needed blood to take on the appearance of a human…” He rolled his eyes. “To steal another’s identity. Really, you ought to know better. Aside from raptors, and a few unsavory breeds who feed off of evil and are never allowed out of Hell, we are essentially human in appearance.” He inclined his head towards her. “We onus are, after all, part human.” Her cheeks heated. “Of course.” The onus were the offspring of primus—the original, and rather rare, first demons of creation, and humans. Despite an inner warning that she’d not tread further upon his feelings, her curiosity was running rampant. “The color of your hair is distinctiv.

Has no one recognized you?” “Once I grew out of leading strings and could no longer be mistaken for towheaded, they colored it. Plain brown. Regardless, we see what we want to se.

I assure you, my former family turns a blind eye to m.

And I them.” “And yet you go by the name they gave you.” When he did not answer, Holly risked a look. His profile was to her, stark and tight with displeasur.

“That I do,” he finally murmured. “And you never knew your real father?” Thorne blinked once, so slowly that it seemed as though he braced himself. “No. But I heard quite a bit about him.” He stared out of the window. “He fell in love with my mother, you se.

So much so that he revealed himself.” He grew silent, and Holly thought he would speak no mor.

Then his voice drifted out like a ghost in shadows. “She killed him and then waited to see if I’d turn out the same as h.

She told me this on the day I began to mature and my demon nature became clear. The day she let me out in the East End and told me never to darken her doorway again.” Idly, he traced a pattern through the condensation upon the window. “I heard she died a few years back,” he said, as if remarking upon the weather. Flicking his gaze to her, he leaned forward as the cab came to a stop. “Had enough of chitchat, Miss Evernight?” “Quite.” It was all she could manage to say past the lump in her throat. Thorne opened the door and hopped down before turning to offer her a hand. “Let us to it, then.” “You won’t find a GIM able to bring you to Adam, boyo. That’s plain fact. Nothing mor.

Nothing less.” Sin frowned over his glass of scotch. Sitting opposite, his companion watched him. “You doubt I speak the truth?” “I shall ask my sister Daisy.” Sin didn’t want to involve her; she’d ask too many questions. The woman had the curiosity of ten cats. But he would. She was a GIM and one of Adam’s favorites. His companion laughed. Several rather stuffy gentlemen frowned at them from over the edges of their daily papers. Sin’s brother-in-law Archer had sponsored him for this private club, all in an effort to civilize him. Not that it did much good. And though Sin would rather be in a tavern than this tomb, Mr. Magnus, as his companion wanted to be called today, would only meet in humans’ most exclusive haunts. “Sin, me lad, Daisy Ranulf couldn’t help you even if she was willing.” Magnus leaned in, and his golden cap of curls gleamed under the gas lamps. “Adam is a being of extraordinary power and foresight. Do you think he doesn’t have safeguards in place? No GIM can call him unless it is to his benefit.” “How does he know it is to his benefit without first hearing the request?” Magnus rolled his eyes. They were so deeply blue that they appeared purpl.

A little too close to purpl.

Arrogant ars.

Of course, Magnus had picked a handsome form too. It wouldn’t do to traipse about in any form that was less than perfect. Sin wondered how many humans had fallen for the glossy façade and never lived to tell the tal.

“Magic.” This news was delivered as if the answer were bloody obvious. “A simple spell is all it takes for one such as him.” In short, Sin was bolloxed. Damn, but he hated dealing with ancients. Vain, selfish, and slippery bastards, each and every one of them. “The answer lies with Holly Evernight.” Magnus took a lazy sip of scotch. “Our clever girl has the solution to our problem, to be sure.” Magnus wanted Holly involved. Which made Sin that much more wary to do so. If he’d learned anything, it was to never trust Magnus. “She has problems enough.” His poor cousin was a self-imposed prisoner in her own hom.

“I’ll find another way.” Magnus’s mouth turned down at the corners, making him appear like an angel in a pout. “She is an Evernight. She will comply.” For a fleeting moment, a flicker of flame danced within Magnus’s purple gaze, a promise of pain and hellfire should he be disobeyed. “Even if she wanted to help,” Sin argued, a little less steady now, “she cannot break the chain that binds Eliza to Adam.” “Right you are,” Magnus agreed. “Only one of Adam’s kind can do that. For it isn’t really a chain made of metal, but of his power.” “Well, there you go,” Sin said. “We are at an impasse.” Magnus gave Sin a beatific smil.