Evernight

by Kristen Callihan

  “What if I chose to make it my business?” Aldous’s tone was mild, almost encouraging. “What if you were Nex once again?”

  Will’s entire body tensed. And though he’d not moved or even blinked, Aldous noted the effect his offer had upon him. Slowly, the older man inclined his head. “Acceptance once more. A place with your comrades. A renewed sense of purpose.”

  “All for killing Evernight?” The words tasted ugly and bitter upon his tongue. But he could not ignore them. Kill Evernight. And life as he knew it would return. But it wouldn’t. He’d go mad and die without her. Without his permission, his hand drifted to his chest.

  Aldous’s gaze followed the movement. “You think of that contraption within you. You believe she can help you.”

  Will flinched. How pathetic that he was so easily read. “You think you can do better?” His voice was a rasp.

  “No.” Aldous puffed upon his cigarette. “I think you’re doomed without her. Already she has restored your sanity. Very impressive, given the state you were in before.”

  Will glanced at him sharply. He leaned forward, planting his feet upon the boards of the pontoon. “You knew.”

  Aldous tapped a line of ash into his discarded beefsteak, where blood had begun to congeal. “You were not my problem then.”

  Grinding his teeth, Will struggled not to swipe that bland, superior look off his face. Affecting calm, he crossed one leg over the other and took a leisurely drag of his smoke. “Why should I be your problem now? As much as I enjoy flattery, the Nex have more than enough resources to do the deed without me.”

  Aldous chuckled. “My dear boy, your ignorance astounds me.” When Will growled, the elder’s laughter ebbed. “What you have become is a perfect killing machine. If only you knew how to control your power.” Aldous Nex gave him a look that was almost fond. “Now that your sanity is restored, it would be my great pleasure to personally train you.”

  Lucky me, Will thought dryly. “There is still the small matter of my being, as you say, ‘doomed’ without Evernight.”

  “It was your presumption that I want you to kill her.” Aldous’s gaze locked onto Will. “I’m asking you to bring her into the Nex.”

  Will could not have been more shocked if Aldous had thrown him into the Thames. He couldn’t even form words.

  “Have you any notion how valuable the SOS’s head inventor is to us?” The elder’s expression went smooth as still waters. “Whoever put a price upon her head was an utter fool to overlook her talents.”

  A sick sensation rocked through Will. “She wouldn’t work for you.”

  “We can be very persuasive, as you well know.” Aldous shrugged one shoulder. “We won’t break her. Not entirely. It would be counterproductive. When she is not working, you can keep her as yours.” Thin lips lifted. “All and all a good arrangement, I should think.”

  Save for the woman who would be a slave and an unwilling concubine.

  “Well,” Aldous reached for his wine, “think it over.” He took a sip before regarding Will. “Keep in mind that if you refuse, you will not only be out of the Nex, you will be our enemy.” He leaned in, and again his eyes flared flame bright. “Either way, we will have the girl.”

  Will’s fangs throbbed. “With an offer like that, how can I refuse?”

  Aldous gave him a pleasant smile before lifting his hand and making a swiping motion. In an instant, Will hurtled through the air, the punch of power cracking his ribs. He landed upon the lawn hard enough to kick up turf and scatter a wave of soil in his wake. The pain in his ribs was but a twinge to the crushing weight of metal as it began to race through his body, robbing his breath and pulling him down into dark terror.

  “Mr. Thorne.” A soft touch on his shoulder. Go away. Something heavy sought to pulverize his bones within his flesh. “Thorne.” Another touch, harder now, shaking. “William Thorne.”

  He tried to swat the hand away. He couldn’t move.

  “Bloody bollocking hell.”

  Had he said that? No, the voice had been feminine and prim, despite the crude words. He rather liked that. His body rocked slightly as hands ripped apart his shirt. Fresh air buffeted his icy skin. Perhaps he ought to fight? But he felt… safe. Odd, that.

  Soft, slim hands smoothed over his chest, making him grunt and his cock rise. He wanted to purr like a jungle cat, stretch himself out for the female, coax her closer and closer, until he struck and made a meal of her. Abdomen clenching, Will canted his hips and a wrist brushed against the tip of his erection. He groaned loud, and the touch fled.

  “No.” Blindly he reached out, trying to stay those lovely hands.

  “Calm yourself, Thorne,” said a crisp voice. That voice. Focus.

  He forced his eyes open. The grey night wavered and shimmered then pulled into focus. Holly Evernight’s pale face hovered over him, her lips pinched and her brows drawn. “Be still,” she said, “and let me work here.”

  “Never wanted you to stop,” he mumbled through stiff lips. Hell, his head pounded.

  Her cool gaze studied his chest as though it were a puzzle to be solved. Then she resumed her cruel work upon him, concentrating her efforts on the thick, twisted coil that made up his scar. He nearly sobbed in relief, and in despair.

  Hells bells, but he enjoyed having her hands on his skin. Exquisite torture. Will soaked it up. It felt so good. So bloody good. Like joy and life and pleasure. He wanted her to touch him endlessly. If she never stopped, he’d be perfectly happy. His fangs itched to drop and impale themselves in the plump little swell of her breast. Right above her nipple. He could drink her and suckle her all at once.

  A whimper caught and died at the back of his throat, and he lurched upright. “Enough.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I’m well enough now.”

  Evernight sat back on her heels, and he truly took in their surroundings. He was on the lawn, sitting in a depression of overturned earth. Right; Aldous had been here, making offers and promises. Will glanced at Evernight. She stared back, placid as always.

  “Why are you out here?” she asked.

  “Why are you out here?” he hedged.

  Her shoulders drew inward, diminishing her size. “Believe me, I do not want to be here. But the terrace is safe enough for the moment.” With that odd statement, she glanced about before returning her focus to him. “I came to help you.” Her eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

  Hell, but he couldn’t tell her the Nex’s grand elder had been here, or that he wanted to keep Holly as his slave. Will kept his gaze on the river and tapped the side of his bent knee as he thought of what to say, but the silence was stretching thin and he panicked. “Bad fall.”

  “ ‘Bad fall.’ ” She repeated his lame excuse with the sarcasm it deserved.

  Feeling foolish, Will nodded as though it made complete sense. Then decided to change the subject. “Tomorrow, we shall be going out.”

  “Oh?” She didn’t sound very surprised.

  The idle rhythm he tapped grew faster. “We accomplish nothing staying here, waiting for someone to come for you. We must become the hunters, not the hunted.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her arm tense. And then he caught the deadly scent of Christ’s thorn wood. His breath stilled. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Time slowed as he turned his head, and their gazes clashed. Understanding flared between them, of her cool rage and quiet determination, and what she planned to do. The knowledge punched through him, swift and shocking.

  He reacted without thought, grabbing her wrist and hauling her close. Her chest fell against his with a thud and a sharp exhalation of breath. He wrenched her arm upward until the sharp point of her wooden stake pressed into the tender underside of his jaw.

  Will kept a tight grip upon her wrist, holding the deadly weapon where it was as she trembled. But defiance lit her eyes, and he did not know if what he felt was admiration or deep hurt. Perhaps both.

  “It’s a simple thing,” he murmured in the r
inging silence, “just thrust hard and deep.”

  Her wide, clear eyes bore into his. “I know.”

  Oh, he bet she did. The sharp tip of the stake burned his skin, and his sense of self-preservation screamed for him to thrust it away. He ignored it. “Do you wonder if I am so altered that Christ’s thorn will not harm me? Is that why you hesitate?”

  She appeared unrepentant. “Will it?”

  “Do you not smell my flesh burning?” It was a subtle scent now. Like a stuck match in a stuffy parlor. It hurt. But if the wood went up into his brain, he’d be dead. Just like any other sanguis.

  The bones in her wrist shifted as she tightened her grip. Bloody hell. Will pushed the point in deeper, ignoring the pain, refusing to flinch as he watched her. She pulled against his grip, as if fearful that he’d do the job for her. He did not let her go. “Why?” His question came out far too rough and pained. “Why bother healing me at all?”

  “I had to be certain.” Her eyes narrowed in accusation. “I gave you the chance to answer me truthfully. You failed.” The delicate muscles of her throat moved on a swallow. “I heard your little chat, Mr. Thorne.”

  “And you believe I will hand you over to the Nex? Make you a slave once more?” He wanted to laugh, and to snarl.

  Her black brows rose a touch. “You said you couldn’t refuse his offer.”

  “It never ceases to amaze me how utterly sarcasm eludes you.”

  She let out a huff. “He offered you everything you have lost.”

  Will was silent, his clockwork heart pumping hard, and then his grip loosened. Slowly his fingers slid along the silky skin of her wrist before his hand dropped to his lap. She kept the stake where it was, her shoulders vibrating with tension.

  “Perhaps,” he whispered, “I don’t want what I’ve lost. Perhaps I want something new.”

  She frowned, her expression making clear as day that thoughts whirred within her massive, logical brain. “What do you want, Mr. Thorne?”

  If he answered “you” would she run? Likely. The truth was, that answer made him want to run too. So he told her another truth. “To be wanted for who I am, not what I can do for others.”

  That cool, analytical frown grew.

  “Go on then,” he said against the puncture wound. “Do it, if that is your wish. For I’m dead without you anyway.”

  Her entire frame stiffened, intent and determination lighting her eyes. He found himself holding his breath, willing himself not to react. But then the tension drained from her, and she lowered the stake. And heavy silence fell over them. Will gave her time to collect herself.

  “You should know,” she said after a moment, “I did not want to use this.” But she would. And he respected that. Her chin lifted. “The Nex want me.”

  “Yes.”

  “They aren’t trying to kill me.”

  “No. Which means whoever is has no loyalties other than to himself.” Much like Will, he realized with a rather ugly start.

  She looked away, her profile clean and pale against the indigo sky. “I’ll never be truly safe.”

  Gently, he rested his hand atop hers, when what he really wanted was to haul her into his lap and hold on tight. “None of us are. It is a sacrifice of the life we chose,” he said. “That doesn’t mean we must live it in fear.”

  Dully she nodded. Will suspected she lived far too much in fear now. It kept her here in this house, an odd little sitting duck. He gave her thin hand a squeeze. “Come, love, we are in this together, are we not?” True, he’d tried to kill her, and she’d tried to kill him. But that meant they were even now.

  Her wan, reluctant smile was like moonbeams breaking through a cloudy night. “We are.”

  A strange sense of elation and purpose filled him, and he stood, holding his hand out to her. “Right then. Tomorrow we go out.” And they’d be official partners. Then she had to go and ruin it all.

  “No.” Her prim face had returned, the starch back in her knickers. “I shall stay here. It is up to you to go.”

  Chapter Ten

  Holly’s refusal to go out was not well received by Mr. Thorne. It incensed the man, as if she had personally insulted him by wanting to stay at home. Which was the furthest thing from the truth. Not that she would confide her fears to him. Lord above, but the demon was like a dog with a bone. He would not let the thing go and hounded her to the point of madness.

  Why, he asked her, wouldn’t she go out? Did she truly think he was trying to trick her? That he wanted to give her up to the Nex? No, she did not. Then what? What was more important than ending the contract out on her life, that she couldn’t spare the time to leave her house?

  What indeed. That she’d be a crippled wreck the moment she hit the streets, perhaps? Holly calmly maintained that he did not need her to accompany him on his outings.

  When his badgering had no effect, Thorne hung about the laboratory like a specter. He settled in a chair across from her desk, his ankle propped on one knee and a leather-bound book in his hands. He made a pretense of studying whatever it was in the book and had even brought a pencil, presumably to make notes. Holly didn’t believe it for one moment. Perhaps he thought that if he kept in sight it would wear down her defenses. Well, he was sorely mistaken.

  Keeping that in mind, she went to work on the schematics for a submersible ship. The concept was hardly new. Submersibles had been around, in some form or other, since the 1600s. But the Americans had made significant strides with submarines, using them to some success during the Civil War in the 1860s. She’d been corresponding with Mr. John Philip Holland, an Irish engineer who had quite interesting theories on propulsion methods. But she knew they could be improved.

  Scribbling away, she soon lost herself in her work, and a measure of warm calm stole over her. That is, until Thorne’s voice snapped like a whip.

  “Just look at yourself.” Thorne tossed his hand up in her general direction.

  And here we go.

  “I’m rather busy at the moment.” She made a correction in her calculations and moved on. “Nor do I have a mirror on hand.”

  Thorne snorted in that scoffing way of his that never failed to annoy. “You’re closeted up like Christmas linen, only to be let out into the fresh air once yearly.”

  “I receive fresh air more than once a year, thank you.” Holly tapped her pencil upon the draft board. Would the thrust be sufficient for the weight needed to maintain structural stability?

  Leather squeaked as he sat forward, setting aside his book and bracing his hands upon his knees. “Responding with obstinate literal-mindedness will not work with me, Miss Evernight.”

  “No?” She did not take her attention away from her plans. “And here I thought it might silence you.”

  “Not your first miscalculation of the day.” He sounded far too smug.

  Holly glanced up to glare at him properly, and he eyed the little flecks of rubber eraser covering her papers like black snow. Bothersome man. His grin grew, stretching past gleaming fangs.

  “You do not allow yourself to live,” he said, serious once more, his brow furrowing. “Instead you hide away in your laboratory.”

  “I do not hide, Mr. Thorne. One can locate me quite readily.” She teased now, not that he ever caught on.

  As she expected, his jaw bunched as if he worked not to curse. Striations of silver flashed in his black eyes. “So help me,” he muttered, before going on in measured tones. “Life is out there.” He pointed to the windows with his thumb in a sharp, stabbing motion. “Not in here.”

  A broad sigh left Holly. Carefully, she set down her pencil. “What do you believe the purpose of life is, Mr. Thorne?”

  Thorne flinched, his knife-blade features tightening. “What do you mean? Are you asking if I’ve discovered the secret of life or some other nonsense?”

  “It isn’t nonsense. One ought to consider how one fits into the grand scheme of things, what his or her role shall be in this play called life.” She allowed a sma
ll smile as his scowl grew. “Especially an immortal such as yourself, Mr. Thorne. For you’ll be a player in it long after most of us are dust.”

  Oh, but he truly did not like that. His lip curled in a sneer. “State your point, Miss Evernight.”

  “What is this ‘life’ you are so keen on me seeing outside of these walls? Is it the sky? The sun? The river? People going about their daily business? What?”

  “All if it,” he snapped, his fist curling tight against his thigh.

  “You still have not answered my original question. What do you think we are here to do?”

  “Bloody hell, woman.”

  “Come now, Mr. Thorne. We are here to create.”

  He laughed shortly. “You really are a literal creature, aren’t you?” His brow was quirked, his expression cool and still vaguely annoyed.

  She resisted a smile once more. “To create, in whatever form or manner we choose. To use our minds, bodies, whatever talents we’ve been given to create something, be it of beauty or practicality. That is the point of life. Anything else is simply a waste of time and opportunity.”

  She pointed to her drafting table. “Here is where I create. Here is where I am truly alive, using my mind and my body to build things. You have no notion of what life means. You, who find it preferable to sit in idleness, playing cards, drinking, and tupping.”

  Thorne shot to his feet, his eyes blazing, but he didn’t say a word; she didn’t let him get that far.

  “And what do you create?” she pressed on. “How do you express yourself, your soul, to the world? By killing?” She wasn’t being fair; she knew it. But he’d poked and prodded at her feelings, and she’d borne it. Perhaps he’d like to see how it felt.

  Needle sharp fangs grew long in his mouth.

  “Have you no answer?” she persisted, both hating herself and wanting to know.

  “You assume your life has more meaning because you have a talent for creation that I do not?” he ground out.

  “Not more meaning, but more satisfaction.”

  He laughed—a cold, brittle sound. “You are either a pretty little liar or completely deluded. Fear has kept you in this house, going on a year!” In an instant, he was in front of her, his hands on either side of the desk, trapping her against it. His glossy white hair swung forward around his shoulders as he leaned in, going almost nose to nose with her. “That isn’t living, darling. That is dying. By degrees.”