Dressing in a young lad’s costume was nothing new. When she had been at the height of her fame, singing concerts every night to packed halls, the only way Layla could enjoy a bit of anonymity was to go out as a lad. Thankfully her curves were slight and her jawline more curved than narrow. No one noticed her at all.
She used that trick now as she followed Sin down the lane. Unfortunately¸ he was also quite quick, his stride having the grace of a predator and the speed of a racehorse. Layla silently cursed as she struggled to keep up but still remain hidden.
But her quarry did not seem to notice her at all. His stride remained intent and focused. He cut a slim figure through the foggy night, his tall form a mere blot on the horizon.
They were coming up on the Wellington Arch when he vanished. Layla halted, blinking at the mists eddying around the iron fencing that enclosed Wellington Park. How could he simply disappear? She hadn’t even seen him make a move to hide; he’d been walking along and then . . . nothing.
Thus she nearly leapt out of her skin, a scream tearing from her breast, when he grabbed hold of her from behind and hauled her against his hard chest. His big, gloved hand rested over her mouth, muffling her voice as he leaned in close, his lips at her ear. “You didn’t really think I was unaware of your presence, now did you, little bird?”
Though it was buried deep beneath a dark tone, there was amusement in his voice—a little huff as if he was fighting not to laugh. And she relaxed against him—for really, what was the use in fighting?
His hand slipped away and he turned her, setting her far enough away that they no longer touched but close enough that he could grab her in an instant. “Need I ask why you’re following me?” The corners of his eyes crinkled just a bit.
She could not help smiling back a little. “You were skulking about in the night. I wanted to know why.”
“Skulk.” His fine nostrils narrowed with a sniff. “I do not skulk.”
“Fine. You were innocently going out for a midnight stroll and I wanted to join you to take in the fresh air.” She waved her hand about, and the thickening brown fog that surrounded them swirled with the movement.
Sin’s lips compressed. “Curiosity killed the cat, Layla.”
Cat? The back of her neck bristled. “I am no cat.”
His beautifully carved lips softened and curled just a little at the corners. “No,” he said softly. “But you can be skinned just the same.”
She supposed that was true. Yet, oddly, she felt completely safe knowing he was near. She always had. “Where were you going, then?” The dark night and the cool fog made her feel compelled to keep her voice low. “Are you . . . Are you having an assignation?”
The very idea that Sin might be meeting a lover was repellent to her but not out of the realm of possibility. He was stunningly handsome. The most extraordinary man she’d ever seen, really.
Apparently he was not aware of his qualities, for he huffed out a laugh as though she’d said something absurd. “There is no lover, Layla. There never will be.”
“Never?” she repeated, suddenly downcast at the idea of Sin going without love.
His strong jaw bunched as he looked her in the eye. “Never.”
He sounded utterly certain. And utterly haunted. And that hurt her.
“But . . . Well . . .” Layla struggled to find an argument. She really didn’t understand why she wanted to argue. She certainly didn’t want him going off with some other woman. And yet . . . “But surely at some point—”
Sin took a step closer, enough that the warmth emanating from his body touched her skin. “Do you want me to seek a lover, Layla?” He frowned, tilting his head a little as he regarded her. “Do you fancy yourself some sort of Austen heroine, set on seeing everyone settled before finding yourself a man?”
He remembered her love of Jane Austen then.
“But, Saint,” she countered in a soft voice, “if I were Emma in this scenario, certainly you’d be Knightly.” She leaned in a touch, because he smelled divine and was irresistible to her, even when he tensed up as he did now. Her smile grew. “Surely you cannot have forgotten how they end up?”
He stared down at her for a long moment, a myriad of emotions flitting over his face. It was a subtle show but she knew him well enough to see them. Annoyance, horror, shock, longing, and finally wry amusement.
The longing interested her greatly. But he snorted and then sighed, his chin dropping down so that the long, crimson tipped strands of his raven hair fell over his brow “Layla,” he groaned, “what am I to do with you?”
Keep me. Be mine. Make me yours.
She said none of those things but merely tucked a lock of his hair back behind his ear, careful not to touch his skin. She did not know what had happened to her old friend, but his once deep affinity for touch had dissolved like acid to paper. With a quiet plea, she answered him. “Tell me where you’re going?”
On a breath he leaned in, coming just shy of resting his forehead to hers. But she felt it. She felt it everywhere, as if his body had melded to hers. And her eyes fluttered, wanting to close. But she needed to keep her eyes on him, for fear he might leave her again.
Hands fisted at his sides, he simply stood, swaying a bit, perhaps fighting the same urge to hold her close.
Please, she thought. Please.
But then he inhaled and drew himself away, his spine stiff once more. “Come along, then. You’ve made me late as it is.”
Despite the loss of his warmth, she could not help but grin wide. “You’re truly taking me with you.”
Sin gave her a sidelong glance. “Would you truly stay put if I took you home?”
“No.”
“Then you have your answer.”
Sin had finally fallen off his nut. That was the only explanation for why he’d decided to take Layla with him. He ought to take her home. Go another night. And yet, having her walk beside him, her gait happy and light, as if they were out for a stroll in the park at midday instead of creeping about at midnight, made him feel lighter too.
No matter how dark his mood, no matter how hard he tried to harden himself against her, Layla broke through. It was as if the ghost of his boyish self recognized her as his safe harbor, his little friend who’d always made him laugh, and would not let older, dour Sin turn her away.
Lightly touching her elbow, he guided her up to the Wellington Arch.
At some point in time, all leaders apparently felt the need to grace their cities with victory arches, commemorating their military’s great feats. Rome had the Arch of Constantine, Paris had the L’Arc de Triomphe, Munich had its Victory Gate, and London had the Wellington Arch.
What the human world did not know was that every arch hid an entrance that went down to a hidden underground. Depending on the city, that entrance either led friend or foe. And while Sin knew the Wellington was “friendly,” he was not certain of his reception.
By the time he’d walked beneath the vaulted arch, his skin was clammy and his heart pounded a hard, uncomfortable rhythm. Layla stayed quiet as they stopped before a door on the side of the arch’s base.
“We’re going to the gift shop,” Layla asked in a dubious tone.
“Not quite.” Sin pulled a skeleton key from his pocket—a golden key that, aside from opening nearly all locks—was actually shaped like a skull at the top. A bit of whimsy that he supposed its creator had found ironic. A pang went through him as he realized that his cousin Holly might very well be that creator. Her absence in his life cut deep.
Pushing maudlin thoughts away, Sin inserted the key into the lock. The door opened with a faint click. “Take hold of my coat.”
“Why?” Layla whispered, even as her small hand grasped the edge of his suit coat.
He thought the reason fairly obvious but answered anyway. “It is dark in here and I cannot risk using a light.”
“Oh.” She said nothing more but followed close behind as he led them into
the gift shop.
With only the ambient light coming in through the glass at the front door, the space was as dark as a tomb. Sin’s sight shifted from a normal human’s to Judgment’s superior abilities and the world went from pitch black to cool blues and grays.
To her credit, Layla kept pace without hesitation or stumbling as he wove past shelves housing picture books and wire racks displaying post cards with pictures of Queen Victoria, Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park, and the like.
Crossing the room, he made his way to the lift in the far back corner. Ordinarily he would have taken the stairs down to a hidden door. But tonight was no ordinary visit. Damn, but he hated the gnawing pit in his stomach that seemed to grow wider with each step he took.
Layla’s soft breaths sounded loud in the silence as they stopped and he inserted the skeleton key once more. A faint hum filled the air, then soft vibrations tickled the soles of his feet. Pale white light shot through the edges of the inner lift doors as the cab within glided to a stop.
Sin pulled the wrought-iron gate doors open and then slid the inner doors open. The small cab, illuminated by an ornate electric lamp at its ceiling, lay empty and waiting. “After you.” He held out an arm, directing Layla to enter.
She shot him a look but walked forward. Sin followed, closing the gates and the door.
“Why not take the stairs?” Layla asked. “After all, the lift is rather loud. We risk attention this way.”
“True. Unfortunately, this is the only way.” To demonstrate, Sin pulled off his gloves, tucking them into his pocket, and then grasped the bass operator handle that would drive the cab up or down. Squeezing it tight, he let his power go, sending both little zings of electricity and heat into it. The lift hummed again. Then he moved the level indicator to the letter “G”.
With a slight jerk, the lift began to rise.
“I don’t understand,” Layla said, glancing from him to his hand upon the lever.
“There are certain safeguards in place come nightfall. Tonight, the lift is set to rise only by my power.”
“And the stairs?” She appeared fascinated.
“Rigged to prevent anyone using them at the moment.”
“Curious,” she muttered.
Sin found himself flashing a quick smile. “To be sure.”
They grinned at each other, and the action was disorienting to Sin, making the muscles in his face ache. When had he last willingly smiled just for the fun of it?
The lift came to a halt at the top floor. He moved the lever to “hold” and then opened the doors. They were on top of the arch, at the viewing gallery floor, and the cold night air touched Sin’s cheeks.
Layla’s hand rested once more on the tail of his coat, and he paused, wondering if she had trouble adjusting her vision from the lit elevator cab to the dark terrace. But she glanced at him, her perfect brow lifting in question, and he realized she’d merely wanted to hold on to him.
Flushed, he led them towards the middle of the arch.
A slim figure moved from around the corner, and Sin’s chest grew tight. He halted, waiting as the figure came closer. Layla gave a little jerk of surprise, likely shocked that he was, in fact, meeting a woman.
The woman came to a halt before them. She was tall enough that she barely had to tilt her head to meet Sin’s gaze. As always, he was struck by the steel in hers. She was the only one who still spoke to Sin, and that was more out of necessity than actual need.
Augustus had told her Sin was working for him. Poppy Lane, his eldest sister and leader of the SOS, had demanded to know why, but Augustus would not relent, only informed her that she would be sociable to Sin. It was awkward and painful, if Sin were truthful with himself, but he would not hide from her or any of his sisters.
Poppy had always been a cold one, but now she was downright icy for most of their meetings.
“St. John. You look . . . well.” She appeared a bit amazed by this observation.
Sin inclined his head. “As do you, sister.”
A small gasp escaped Layla, and she moved forward. “You’re Sin’s sister?”
Poppy’s pale, sharp face turned her way. “One of three. And you are?”
“Layla Starling,” Sin said for her. “My old friend.”
Poppy’s red brows lifted high. “The neighbor girl and heiress.”
Well, he wouldn’t have put it exactly in those words.
“Yes,” Layla said. “Pleased to meet you. I did not know Sin had sisters.”
Poppy peered at Layla, a frown on her face, then it cleared and she almost smiled. “I know you, though. Layla Starling. You are the famous soprano.” The look of pleasure grew, turning Poppy’s stern features almost soft. “My husband and I saw you perform in Rome last year. You were marvelous.”
Layla ducked her head. “Why, thank you. That is most kind of you to say.”
“Merely honest.” Poppy glanced back at Sin. “Though I do wonder why my brother brought you along. Forgive me for saying, but we have a private matter to discuss.”
Sin held Poppy’s gaze and was about to reply, but Layla beat him to it.
“Oh, I followed him and wouldn’t give up until he relented.”
Poppy’s lips compressed, and Sin knew she wanted to laugh. Surprised amusement was in her eyes.
Sin glared. “That scenario,” he drawled, darkly. “Or, perhaps, the fact that Layla is the reason I asked for this meeting.”
“What?” Layla said a bit shrilly.
But Poppy went still, her gaze slashing from Sin to Layla and back again. Oh, but she was a quick one, clearly putting it all together. Sin gave her another long look. “I need answers, dear sister.”
He had sisters. Three of them. How had she not known this? Layla felt an odd sense of loss. Truth was, she did not know St. John Evernight the man very much at all. As a youth he had been cagey and yet oddly sweet, watching out for her wherever they went. But she’d known him. Known everything that happened in their day-to-day lives.
He was still cagey and oddly sweet, but now he was a man of secrets and hidden pain. And as he exchanged a look with his sister, one full of silent understanding, jealousy stabbed through Layla’s heart. He had an entire history that did not include her.
Poppy, a tall, pale woman with flame-red hair that glowed a dull copper in the night, gestured towards a stone bench by the gallery wall, where one could sit and look out over Hyde Park. All was quiet now; a few bobbies strolled in the distance as they took the night watch.
“I believe we have much to discuss,” Poppy said.
Layla hadn’t a clue what they were going on about, but Sin had said it had to do with her. That irked too. She’d thought he’d wanted her presence for the simple fact that he enjoyed her company. She ought to have known better. The dratted man did nothing without a plan.
Layla sat and Poppy joined her, but Sin remained standing, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “Tell me about Lena.”
Poppy clearly detested Lena, for the woman’s long nose wrinkled as though smelling something foul. What would she think of Layla if she knew her to be Lena’s child?
“She was my second in command. Though, honestly, it ought to have been the other way around, for Lena had been a part of the SOS before I’d been born. Before my mother had too.” Poppy leaned back against the wall, crossing one long leg over the other in a way that was almost a mannish slouch. Layla approved.
Poppy glanced at Layla. “In my family, membership in the SOS followed a matriarchal line. I, as my mother before me, entered into service. Lena trained me.”
Sin’s expression was as bland as ever. “And she was a compatriot of Father?”
“I suppose,” Poppy said. “They were certainly the eldest members. And they always seemed to know what the other was doing. But I never saw them together. Ever. Which is decidedly odd.” She gave a brief, wry smile. “Then again, most things in our world are odd.”
“She was your friend. What went wrong?” Sin a
sked.
Poppy’s gaze went utterly cold. So cold that Layla shivered. And then she realized that it had actually become colder. A lacy dusting of frost edged out from where Poppy sat, until Sin gave her a pointed look. At once, the cold died down, but it still lingered.
“She hid you from us,” Poppy said crisply.
“Me?” Sin edged closer. “When Miranda found me, she said I’d been a surprise. That you all believed me to be dead at childbirth. But she never told me who kept it from her. Only that it was a misunderstanding. ”
“It was Lena. Just before our mother died, she made Lena promise not to reveal your hiding place to any of us. She feared you’d be found by our father.” Poppy glanced at Layla before looking back at Sin. Poppy’s lips stayed shut.
Sin waved a hand. “No secrets between us now, Poppy.”
His sister snorted. “Fine one to talk,” she muttered.
Sin went stiff but Poppy continued. “As you know, our father was a powerful primus demon. A primus is one of the original and oldest demon kind,” she explained to Layla. “Our father believed that Sin could be talked over to evil and become a powerful ally.”
Sin’s fine lips curved down a touch. “Why did he believe that?” His voice was soft and raw.
“Because he was drunk on his own delusions.” Her hard expression eased. “He thought the same of me as well, St. John. And I destroyed him for his efforts.”
Sin blinked slowly, then a small smile pulled at his mouth. “Good.”
Brother and sister stared at each other in perfect understanding. Then, in a blink, Poppy resumed her cool manner. “Lena disappeared then. I have not seen nor heard from her since.”
Sin nodded almost absently. “Did Lena ever take a lover that you know of?”
A strangled, embarrassed snort left Poppy. “That wasn’t something I’d want to know.”
“But did you?”
Poppy shrugged. “She’s a sanguis demon, Sin. I assume you understand that sanguis crave and feed off sex as well as blood.”
“I know what Sanguis demons are, Poppy.” Sin kept his gaze decidedly away from Layla.
This was news to Layla, however, and she wondered if she’d suddenly want to tup every male she encountered. The thought turned her stomach. She glanced at Sin, standing tall and elegant in the night. Now, with Sin, she could see the appeal.
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