Tyon stepped closer. The light of the phoenix cast azure shadows over his hard features. “The Monk visited you.”
“I, I.” She swallowed the hard ball of emotions in her throat. “It was a dream. I thought it was a dream.”
He took her hand and inspected it. When he moved it out of the moonlight, the phoenix disappeared, her palm normal and boring again, but when he shifted it back in the silver rays, the symbol erupted in a light show. “You’re protected. It’s a shield.” He frowned. “The Monk came to you. When? How?”
“The other night when you left.” Her tongue was stuck on the roof of her mouth. “I entered your bedroom.” She paused, but he didn’t recoil or scowl. “I saw the sword under your wardrobe and read the motto. It said . . .” What was it?
“Ex tenebris, ad lucem. Ex umbrae, ad solem,” he said, tightening his grip on her hand.
“Yes.” That proved it. He couldn’t know the motto unless it was real. If it’d been a dream, he couldn’t have known it. “A man in a cowl appeared. He said you needed me and marked me with this.”
“The Monk.” Something like hope rang in the two words, pronounced with reverence. “He came to you.”
“He said he couldn’t stay because it required too much energy.” Odd how she could discuss an apparition so calmly.
“He hasn’t left me,” he murmured.
She remained silent, not trusting her voice. Here it was in front of her an event she couldn’t explain with science.
“Even if a sin-breather came here, he couldn’t have contaminated you.” He curled her fingers, closing his trembling hands around hers. “Your kiss was genuine.”
“My kiss?” She snatched her hand from his grip. “You’re worried about my kiss when I’ve just discovered that magic and curses are real?” She paced with long strides, the hem of her dressing gown sweeping the floor.
Oh God. It was real. It was all real. The sin-eaters, sin-breathers, the hallows, the Monk. Father had been right. She skidded to an abrupt stop and pivoted towards him. “So it’s true. When you told me the story of the Order of the White Blade and said the knights fought together for hundreds of years, you weren’t talking about your ancestors.”
He shook his head. “I told you I was talking about me.”
“Oh hellfire.” No. Probably she shouldn’t swear like this anymore. “You’re eight hundred years old.”
Tyon’s broad shoulders swayed as he walked closer. “Hazel, I tried to tell you.”
The room spun. She cradled her head in her hands. “Are you almost eight hundred years old? No, don’t say anything else.”
“Hazel—”
“Don’t.” She shrank back, hands up. “Don’t come closer.” Panic coiled around her in steel spirals. He’d always told the truth. The signs had been there all the time. She’d been stupid, or maybe she’d simply refused to believe. Either way, it was as if the floor and the walls were closing in on her, suffocating her. Grabbing handfuls of the dressing gown, she ran away from London’s mist, the treacherous moonlight, and Tyon’s heady scent.
Chapter 13
THE CUFFLINKS ON Tyon’s wrists caught the light of the morning sun in the dining room. He poured himself a cup of tea and glanced up towards Hazel’s room. She hadn’t come down for breakfast yet, and he hadn’t checked on her, guessing she wanted to be left alone. Everything from scrambled eggs, marmalade, cinnamon cake, and bacon filled the table, but his stomach clenched too tight to allow any food in.
He propped an elbow on the table and massaged his forehead. His skin still tingled after he’d caressed her beautiful, soft body. Her tongue had stroked his in a slow sensual caress that he’d felt right on his cock.
Hot tendrils of need trailed along his limbs, and the table shook. He slammed a fist on his thigh, cursing under his breath. She might know the truth and believe him, but his power was still out of control. The only good news was that the Monk had visited Hazel. She was provided with a good protection from evil. Aleximanus wouldn’t be able to hurt her.
He sipped the tea, curling his hand around the hot cup. They had only three days before the hallow stopped working. After that he wouldn’t see Hazel again. He couldn’t. He’d already dragged her into dangerous situations more than it was necessary. Once this was over, he’d help her leave London and start again somewhere, anywhere she wanted to be as far as possible from danger.
Footfalls echoed from the staircase, and he rose on his feet, straightening his jacket, nervous like at the edge of a battle.
Hazel paused on the threshold, her light green dress with a white underskirt enhanced the brightness of her eyes and the paleness of her cheeks.
“Good morning.” He bowed to not stare at her pillow-like lips. Lips he’d kissed last night. Lips he wanted to kiss again. Desperately. “I hope you slept well.”
She brushed dark locks of hair from her face. “I didn’t sleep much, actually.”
A carriage rattled past the window, and she jolted.
Instead of making her feel safer, he’d made her feel more in danger. He ground his teeth. “You’re safe with me.”
She put a hand on the white lace covering her throat. “Of course. I suppose a knight who fought during the crusades almost a thousand year ago should be able to protect me from a bunch of sin-breathers and a killer who slaughtered a poor girl to contaminate the hallow.”
Her words rushed out of her mouth as if she’d waited all night to say them. He understood. What she’d learned was a lot to take. He straightened the plate of bacon, wishing he could say something to reassure her.
“I’m sorry. That was mean.” She massaged her forehead, strolled to the table, and sat on a chair. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. It’s that, the whole story is hard to digest. And I’m sorry I fled last night. I was shocked.”
“I understand.”
“You told me the truth since the beginning, but I didn’t listen.” Her voice sounded steadier.
“I’m not surprised, and I don’t blame you.” He offered her a cup of tea.
She accepted and helped herself with toast and eggs. He stifled a smile. Appetite was a good sign.
Her gaze seared down on him. “Why the cilice?” she asked, twirling her teaspoon in the cup.
“Pain keeps me focused, keeps my power down.”
The teaspoon clunked against the cup.
She added lemon to her tea. “Why do you lose control of it?”
Tyon fiddled with his cufflinks, not sure he wanted to have this conversation with her. “Desire fuels my power to the point it explodes. Without my brothers to balance my energy, it lashes out. The earthquake is merely the first warning. Unless I rein my power again, the earth would crack and free all the evil I channelled in it. I can’t allow that.”
“So since you got separated from the other knights, you haven’t . . .” She spread marmalade on her toast, but she was staring at him, and the knife kept spreading the same corner.
“What?”
“You know, you haven’t been with a woman?” Pink blossomed in her cheeks.
“No, I haven’t.” He loosened his collar. “I had to stay celibate.”
Hazel lowered her cup, her eyes wide. “Oh.”
He pushed away his plate, his stomach in a knot. “I can’t say it’s easy.” Especially with you next to me.
They ate in silence, only the sound of cutlery and the china of the cup resounded.
She took a long sip of tea, her finger tapping a rhythm on the china. “So we won’t . . .” She coughed in her closed fist. “I mean, is it too dangerous?”
The room temperature rose a few degrees. Anxious flusters turned his gut into a mess of knots. “I don’t want to hurt you, or anyone else. I, ah, I could bed a sin-breather without problems because our energies would balance each other, but I don’t find them that appealing.”
“Yes, of course. I shouldn’t have asked.” She hid her face behind her tea.
Another long silence. The toast plate w
as empty, and even the bacon had vanished.
“What’s the schedule today?” she asked, wiping her mouth with the napkin.
“We’ll go to The Sepulchre and see if we can ask a few questions to the other members.” Then I’ll find another, stronger cilice.
~ * ~
“I DON’T CARE IF you’re private detectives or the inspector of Scotland Yard itself,” the president of The Sepulchre said, smoothing his goatee so thin it made him look like someone had drawn it with a pencil.
Hazel stifled a smile at the thought.
“I can’t reveal information about the members of my club unless you show me a proper warrant signed by a judge.”
She cast a glance at Tyon next to her in the foyer of the association. It was a bloody book club, for goodness’ sake. What was so secret about it? Although the thick red carpet, chandeliers glittering in the sunlight, and the French furniture spoke of money and rich toffs. It looked more like a five-star hotel than the seat of a readers’ association.
She waggled her brow at Tyon. Why was it taking him so long to do his mind trick? Hazel shuffled on the dark red carpet and stepped aside to let a maid pass. The woman flashed a timid smile before carrying on with her trolley of cleaning products.
“We’re investigating the death of one of the members of your association,” Tyon pointed out. “A warrant would require too much time, time during which her killer might escape.”
The man didn’t flinch and waved a hand in the general direction of the exit. “Please, leave these premises or I’ll call the police.”
Hands closing into fists, Tyon turned and marched out of the building.
Hazel had to hurry to keep up with his quick strides along the busy pavement. “Why didn’t you use your trick?”
“It didn’t work. I told you some people can’t be swayed.” He sped up.
“Tyon, slow down.”
He obliged, hands shoved in his trousers pockets. “I’m not sure about what to do.”
“I have an idea. Come.” She rounded a corner towards the rear of the building. The narrow alley didn’t let the sun in, and long shadows crawled up the walls.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“The back entrance. Did you notice the maid cleaning the foyer? I bet there are others maids, and one of them will talk with us for a few pounds.”
From over the wall enclosing the back garden, chatter and feminine laughs drifted. A double wooden door closed the access to the back of the building. Hazel paced along the wall, searching for a passage, but the wall didn’t have any opening aside from the door. No, it wasn’t like a five-star hotel, but a fortress.
“Damn.” She stopped in front of the red brick wall. If she could peep over the wall and call one of the maids, they’d open the door. But the bloody wall had to be ten-foot tall. “Lift me up.” She beckoned Tyon closer.
He tilted his head towards her as if he hadn’t heard. “Excuse me?”
“I need to see over the wall.” She brought up her arms. “It’ll take a moment.”
A shadow crossed his face. “You know I can’t touch you.”
“For goodness’ sake, I’m not going to ravish you. You have to lift me up, that’s all. I’m sure you can control your power for a brief contact?”
He didn’t move. Didn’t seem to breathe either.
She balled her fists on her hips. “The hallow isn’t going to work forever. Lift me up.”
His gaze was smouldering enough to make a corpse blush.
“All right.” He stretched out his arms stiffly.
The moment the hard wall of his chest came closer to her, warmth enveloped her. Then his arms circled her waist, and she put her hands on his shoulders. His tongue darted out and licked his bottom lip, and had she asked him to do what? She couldn’t remember as he swept her off her feet.
Their gazes met, their lips inches from each other. His muscles tensed under her hands. The maids’ chatter receded until only her wild pulse thudded. A burning flush of desire speared her and coursed through her body until she had to rub her thighs together.
His body shivered, and he closed his eyes. “Be quick.” Pain laced his voice, and regret stabbed her heart for having put him through this torture. It was torture for him.
She gripped the edge of the wall and hauled herself up. Tyon’s hands slipped to her hips, fingers digging softly into the layers of fabric. A new rope of need curled around her, tugging at the throb between her legs, and stealing her focus. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who required a cilice.
Biting her tongue, she searched the backyard. The blonde maid who had been standing behind her in the foyer was emptying a garbage bin.
“Hello.” Hazel waved.
The maid jumped and gazed up. “What are you doing up there, miss?”
She propped her elbows on the wall. “Can you open the door? We want to ask you a few questions about Rachel.”
The maid glanced at The Sepulchre’s building and twirled the basket from its handle. “Boss won’t be happy.”
“How do two pounds sound?”
She grinned. “Great.”
Hazel smiled at Tyon. “You can put me down now.”
He released his grip, and his hands ran up her thighs, to her hips, and waist, and stayed there. His chest rose and fell quickly. Tension caused his neck muscles to stand out.
She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. “See? Nothing happened.”
“I beg to differ.” He pressed his body against hers until the unmistakable bulge in his trousers touched her abdomen.
“Oh.” Something did happen. She trailed a hand lower, over his broad chest to—
“Missus?” the maid called from the other side of the alley.
Hazel stepped back from Tyon. He had a point. If they kept this up, they wouldn’t solve any mystery. He let out a low growl like a wounded animal and closed his fists tightly. She hurried to the maid, hoping her curls were hiding her boiling cheeks.
“Money first, if you don’t mind.” The maid stretched out a hand.
Tyon dropped the coin on her palm, his gaze on the maid. “Did you know Rachel?”
“Of course I did, sir.” She slipped the money in her bodice. “Everyone here knew her and her inseparable friend, Miss Verna. Always gossiping and giggling about something.”
“Were you here the night Rachel was killed?” Hazel asked.
The maid nodded. “I was serving teas and sandwiches, and after the lights went out, I had to clean the mess afterwards.”
“The power went out?” Hazel exchanged a glance with Tyon.
She nodded. “The manager, Mr Martin, put those new electric lights on, and in the middle of the evening, they stopped working. People screamed, and someone knocked the table over with the tea and everything. It took me an hour to clean the floor. Then, half an hour later, Mr Martin lit the old chandelier and gas lamps.”
“Was Miss Verna alone?” Hazel asked.
“No, she was accompanied by a gentleman.”
“Who?” Tyon said.
The maid frowned. “I saw him only a couple of times here. Tall, dark hair, good looking. I don’t know his name and he isn’t among the regulars. Members of the association can invite friends over, and their names aren’t usually listed in the logbook.”
Tyon gave her another shilling. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Thank you, sir.” The maid pocketed the money, a smirk stretching her lips.
Hazel and Tyon trudged towards the main road. She shuffled her skirts he’d dishevelled when had put her down. A power outage.
She touched his arm lightly. “Did the maid tell the truth?”
“She did.” He glanced at the spot she’d touched.
“Verna didn’t mention a gentleman.”
“We might need to ask her a few more questions. She didn’t mention the power outage as well.”
Hazel shrugged. “Perhaps she didn’t think it was important, in fact, I�
�m not sure why it should be. Are we going to see Verna now?” She raised her voice when London’s traffic assaulted them with the screech of tyres and neighing of horses.
He curled an arm around her waist and pulled her aside when a newspaper hawker strode along the pavement and almost bumped into her. “Careful.”
She snuggled closer, unable to resist the temptation.
The ground shook. Now that she knew it was him, she recognised the signature.
His long eyelashes fluttered down and fanned over his cheeks. He released her, his arm trailing along her waist. “I’d like to see an expert in poisons, an apothecary. A man I’ve been known for years if you’re willing to walk.”
“Of course.” It came out husky and breathy.
They took a secondary lane, away from the chaos of the main road, standing a few feet apart. There might be a curse, but the attraction between them was strong.
She touched his hand lightly. “Is there a counter-curse? Something we can do to keep you power under control?”
Tyon opened his mouth, but closed it when a man strode towards them from the opposite direction. The man’s flat hat was pulled down over his face. Tyon tensed and moved closer to her in his flawless gait.
“What?” she whispered.
“Not sure.” He squinted, likely studying the man’s aura.
The man brushed past them and aimed a fist at Hazel’s face. Tyon slipped between her and the attacker as fast as a kingfisher, shoved her behind him, and blocked the punch in one smooth move.
Hazel staggered on her feet when a heel got caught between two cobbles and gripped Tyon’s arm to steady herself. She bit down the sting of panic coiling in her belly. A sickening thud of bone against flesh came when Tyon hit the man’s rib with a hook.
The man doubled over, but charged back with a series of kicks and punches that slammed every available inch of Tyon. His movements were growing too fast to follow them.
She lifted the hem of her skirt and waited for the fight to slow, but Tyon and the thug flashed from one side to the other. Hellfire, the only thing she could see was the black swirl of their clothes and the glinting of blades. Then the man was slammed against the wall, and she had a clear view of him. Hazel spun and sank the hard tip of her leather boot into the man’s knee.
The Pact of the White Blade Knights Page 14
