Chapter Thirteen

Men were decidedly odd creatures, incapable of acting with cool logic when it came to practical matters. For instance, Holly could not understand why they would tup whomever they pleased with no compunction, but became downright missish when a woman did the sam.

Take Thorne, who now wore such a scowl that one would think he’d been forced to drink unsweetened lemonad.

He hadn’t spoken more than a few gruff words to her since they’d left the restaurant, and she could only conclude that he disapproved of her experience with Mr. Mather. Honestly, one would think he’d be glad for her. The loss of a woman’s virginity had the possibility of being a horrid experience, yet she’d accomplished it with a minimum of pain and a maximum of pleasur.

Nor could Holly believe the man who threw the word “cock” and “tup” around as others did “please” or “thank you” expected her to remain virginal until marriag.

Yes, on the whole, his behavior was illogical and odd. Now she was stuck with a mercurial demon in a temper. “Are we going home, then?” she asked, after a prolonged period of silence in which they simply walked along Regent Street. He merely grunted and sidestepped a large puddle of muck, which meant she had to jump over it, for he hadn’t let go of her hand. At this point, she’d touched Thorne more than anyone else in her entire lif.

The constant physical interaction between them ought to be commonplace now. It wasn’t. A humming thrill still shot through her every time he took hold of her. And the fluttering in her belly had yet to abat.

Especially when he did as now, clasping her in a proprietary manner. “Ought we hail a hack?” she asked when they reached Piccadilly Circus. “I like walking.” Three whole words. An improvement. She glanced down at their linked hands and then up at his stern, sharp profil.

“Mr. Thorne, are you perhaps jealous of my encounter with Mr. Mather?” He twitched before glancing at her sidelong, his eyes now full black. “Mather is his name, is it?” Oh, but he sounded cold now. Irritated. “Did I not just say it was?” Holly said. “You did.” He went back to frowning. “And you are also ridiculous. The very idea of my being jealous is laughabl.

Why on earth would you assume so?” A twinge of doubt went through her middl.

Thorne sounded so sure, so reasonabl.

But then she steeled her spin.

“Given your current petulant manner, it is the most logical conclusion.” Thorne huffed and halted, turning to face her. His expressive mouth thinned. “And it never occurred to you that I might be put out due to the fact that I am virtually shackled to a woman who views one of life’s most basic pleasures as a bloody scientific experiment? Everything is an experiment to you.” He yanked up their linked hands, holding them high as his lip curled in a sneer. “Even me.” For a moment, she could only blink. Hurt punched into her chest like a spike through a shield. She’d thought, despite their initial strife, that they were becoming friends. She hadn’t many, especially of late, but the idea of his friendship had begun to warm her. Now she felt cold. Foolish. Drawing into herself, Holly shook free of his grip. “You may walk on without me.” Ignoring his stormy expression, she turned and hailed a cab. As the circus was filled with them, a hansom immediately rattled up to the curv.

Holly did not look back as she gave her direction and started to climb insid.

She didn’t see Thorne move, but suddenly she was pushed inside with a brutal shov.

Heart in mouth, Holly fell in an inelegant sprawl upon the dirty coach floor. “What the bleeding—” Her shout of outrage died as she looked over her shoulder. Thorne moved in a swirl of black, the ends of his coat flaring out, tendrils of shadow licking around him as he fought five hooded figures. Knives flashed as they came at him like a murder of crows, pecking away at all sides. The coach driver shouted in alarm, and people stopped what they were doing and gaped. But no one came forward to help. With Holly’s blasted corset and the heavy fall of her skirts and bustle, righting herself was a struggl.

Her ribs creaked as she heaved upward, trying to reach for the gun strapped to her calf. Next time, she thought bitterly, she’d keep her weapons on her arms and damn what the public thought. Blood sprayed as a knife caught Thorne along his cheek. He didn’t falter, only lashed out with claws that had lengthened to metallic blades. But he couldn’t hold back all of them. One figure slipped past, his eyes gleaming onyx and his fangs extended as he rushed the coach. A scream bubbled up in Holly’s throat as she fumbled with her gun. The handle scraped the skin on her leg as she finally ripped the gun free from its holster. Claws ripped into the edge of her skirts just as she fired in rapid succession, massive booms going off, making her ears ring. The bullets, filled with a mix of powdered gold and silver, tore into the sanguis. With a howl, he staggered back, but quickly righted himself. Then he grinned as blood bloomed over his shoulder. Shit.

She’d missed his heart. The gold would weaken him, eventually poison him, but not quickly enough to save Holly. “For that,” he said, “I’ll make you hurt.” “Wait!” Holly grabbed Thorne’s top hat that had landed upon the coach floor during the scuffle and lobbed it at him. Not expecting it, the demon flinched, giving Holly time to scramble around and escape out of the opposite coach door. Right into traffic. A horse whinnied and wheels screeched as a driver cursed and tried to swerve away, only to bang into another coach. “What the bloomin’ ’ell! Get out of the road!” Holly darted forward, and the demon assassin jumped out of the coach after her. “Run, run, as fast as you can,” he taunted at her heels. I can run away from you, I can. Grimly, Holly picked up her skirts and sprinted, weaving through lumbering coaches and creaking drays that threatened to crush her. Her lungs burned. Blast, but she was reverting to wearing her short stays from here on. The handle of the gun, clutched tight in her sweaty palm, threatened to slip fre.

She couldn’t stop to fire it, not her.

“Evernight!” Thorn.

She couldn’t turn to se.

The demon’s footsteps were nearly on top of hers. Holly’s breath came on sharp and raw. An omnibus loomed ahead. Crowded top and bottom with riders, it crawled along like a tortoise in the field of hares. Cursing, Holly let her gun fall, grabbed hold of the bus’s brass stair rail, and hauled herself up. The muscles along her arm and side screamed in pain as the abrupt move swung her in the opposite direction from which she’d been running. The demon, still in a full sprint, skidded past her, swiping at her with his claws and snarling when he failed to catch hold of her. Distracted as he was, he didn’t see the massive coal-leaden dray until it was on top of him. The dray driver cried out, but he couldn’t stop. And the demon went down in an abrupt thud. Massive wheels rolled over him in a sickening crunch as people screamed. Holly closed her eyes for a mere second before taking a deep breath. “Evernight!” Thorne’s shout cut through the commotion. He ran towards her, his coattails flapping, his wild hair streaming like a white banner. But it was the four assassins in black cloaks that caught her attention. They’d abandoned Thorne in favor of hunting her down. And they were closer to catching her than Thorne was. Bloody hell. Hands shaking, Holly rooted around in her mantle pocket. Her fingers curled over a round metal object the size of a billiard ball. She didn’t want to use it, but she had no choic.

Leaping from the bus, Holly pushed through the now-stalled road traffic and headed towards the Shaftesbury side of the circus where pedestrians mulled about, pointing at the downed assassin crushed beneath the dray’s wheels. Too many peopl.

It couldn’t be helped. Her fingernail found the depression in the metal ball and pushed it in. An ominous series of clicks came from her pocket. Holly wrenched the device free and dropped it in the center of the circus. On.

Two. Three steps. The assassins were almost on top of the devic.

A loud hissing sounded, and then, with a burst of green light, the ball shot open, sending a cloud of thick fog whizzing and shooting into the air. Instantly, the circus became a murky bog. People ran to and fro, crying out and coughing, not able to see or breath.

Holly held a gloved hand to her nose and backed up until her shoulder hit the side of a building. Heart in her throat, she glanced around. Gods, where was she? Disorientation took hold. Her head swam, and her lungs burned. Someone ran past. A man, his hat askew in his panic. Sounds echoed. Limping from the stitch in her side, she headed away from the smoke and down Shaftesbury. The air cleared as she emerged out of the fog. A hack drove by. “Hold,” Holly shouted. The hack didn’t slow. “Ten guineas if you do!” That got his attention. The driver pulled up short. Breathless, Holly rushed towards the waiting coach. So clos.

Her hand landed upon the door latch. Hard fingers bit into her shoulder and spun her about. The back of a hand bashed into her lip, the recoil sending her head into the side of the waiting coach. “Here, now,” shouted the driver. The assassin grinned down at her, his yellow eyes burning bright. A raptor. “I’ll enjoy making you beg for mercy.” He moved to strike again. Instinctively, Holly thrust up the heel of her hand, catching her attacker under his nos.

It was like hitting a block of iron, but he staggered just enough for her to get her knee up, skirts and all, and hit him between his legs. Not very effectual, but his next swipe to grab hold of her neck went wid.

She hadn’t any opportunity to do more before a snarl like that of an enraged dog tore through the air, and her attacker was plucked away. Fangs extended like gleaming daggers, rage and murder in his eyes, Thorne held the raptor aloft as though he were a child’s toy. He moved to rip the assassin’s head from his body when the three other cloaked figures jumped upon him. They went down in a black heap of swinging arms and razor-sharp claws. Blood sprayed. Then another of Thorne’s roars broke out. He disappeared in a maelstrom of ink-black shadow. In a blink, it enveloped the attackers. The black cloud twirled tighter and faster. And then, as quickly as it had formed, it ended. Thorne reappeared on the ground, one hand resting in a scummy puddle, his legs in an inelegant sprawl, and his white hair covering his fac.

At his feet, four headless males lay. Someone screamed. People stared, horrified. A shrill whistle pierced the air. The bobbies were headed their way. Holly slumped against the side of the coach. Even though she wore a heavy mantle, she shivered as though ice cold. Perhaps it was cowardly of her, but aftershocks of terror quaked through her, and she wanted nothing more than to jump into the coach and hid.

She needed heavy walls and a solid door between herself and the world. But she needed Thorne to come with her, and he wasn’t moving. Holly stumbled forward and ran to him, ready to assist when he raised his head. Her boot heels skidded against the slate sidewalk. Not an inch of skin remained upon his fac.

He was entirely platinum. It shone bright in the weak light of day. Brilliant and beautiful. And causing him extreme pain, by the way he shook and clenched his teeth. “Mr. Thorne,” she whispered. She ought not have spoken. She knew that instinctively. And too lat.

A sound rumbled low in his throat. A growl. He snapped at her as an animal might. And then whimpered, as he began to pant, his body curling in on itself. She hesitated no longer. “William.” He flinched as soon as she touched him, rearing back and hissing, his long, wickedly sharp fangs gleaming pure white against his silver-toned lips. “It’s all right.” Her hand rested on a shoulder so hard and so cold through his coat that she knew it was completely metal now. “It’s all right, big man.” A choked sound left him but he soothed a bit, the violent shaking in his shoulders ebbing, but tension still held him hard. “Come.” She pulled at his arm. “Let’s get you home.” Awkwardly, they rose together, him resting upon her. He was ridiculously heavy for such a lean man. Another whimper left him, and she tucked closer into his sid.

“Easy now, big man. Easy.” Tossing a bag of coin up to the driver and shouting “go!” in a manner that promised pain and suffering if not heeded, Holly helped Thorne into the coach, landing by his sid.

The coach lurched forward, careening down a side street. Thorne hauled her close, his hands upon her hips, and rested his forehead against hers. Another shiver lit through him. His neck was torn open. Blood, hot and thick, dripped upon her collarbon.

Holly ignored it and carefully cupped his nap.

The slashed flesh was already closing, but he didn’t seem to eas.

“Where do you hurt?” she whispered. His eyes were closed, and he swallowed hard. “Everywhere.” Convulsively, he clutched her h*ps tighter. “Are you harmed?” With clumsy fingers, he touched her lower lip. It throbbed, the curve stinging where it was split. Thorne cursed low and viciously. “It’s all right,” Holly assured. “Do not make light of this,” he ground out, his thumb stroking her lip. “You might have been—” His teeth snapped together so hard that she heard them connect. “But I wasn’t.” She pulled at the metal that invaded his flesh. As if unable to help himself, Thorne leaned into her touch, his hands moving over her hair, her cheeks, shoulders. He trembled, his movements weak, sluggish. She’d need to do more for him at hom.

Hom.

How could it be that she already thought of home as a place they both belonged? It was madness. When she’d done what she could for the moment, she sank into him. The coach swayed and rattled as they simply held onto each other, holding each other up, their former strife forgotten. Thorne’s fingertips caressed her neck as he spok.

“ ‘Big man’? Is that what you called me?” “Er…” Holly’s cheeks flushed hot. “Yes.” The coach rocked gently. “You called me that before.” Thorne’s voice was a mere breath. “In the cellars. I remember your touch upon my face, the sound of your voice.” She had. It was an endearment her grandmother had used on her grandfather. Holly flushed hotter. She had merely wanted to comfort the hurting sanguis. Silence took on a life and weight between them. And then Thorne huffed. “Big man.” He’d said it as though scoffing. But she could hear the question in there, that he wanted to know why she’d called him that. She almost smiled. No, his frame wasn’t what anyone would define as “big.” He was lean and strong, a sharp blad.