Kisses to Steal

by Tilly Wallace

His nose led him straight to Ianthe's door. He didn't need to read brass numbers attached to stonework. Her scent lingered on the short path and the house drew him as though it were magnetized and he made of metal.

  He charged at the front door and knocked it open, then almost skidded over the tiled entranceway as his back legs caught up with the reduced pace of his front feet. Quinn snarled at what appeared to be an undertaker standing at the foot of the stairs. The man's eyes widened on seeing the massive wolf stalk across the floor but he held his position with arms crossed over his chest.

  Sarah let out a yelp and then collected herself. Perkins tsked under his breath and Quinn vaguely wondered if he had just trod dirt over the clean floor.

  "He won't let us pass," Sarah said, wringing her hands together.

  Quinn narrowed his eyes at the man and growled. He jumped by releasing bunched-up muscles. He struck the man mid-chest with his front paws and thrust him back. The man's head hit the wall with a loud smack and he slumped down the wallpaper. The wolf didn't even glance at the black-clad man as he dashed up the stairs.

  A sharp cry from above made his paw miss one step and he tripped, his muzzle hitting the carpet covering the stair. He growl ripped through him anew as he pushed off and sprang the rest of the way and reached the landing. His ears rotated and picked up the heart-breaking sound of Ianthe sobbing from behind a closed door. He commanded his paws to move faster as he raced down the hallway.

  Feet pounded the stairs behind him and by instinct he recognised the tread and scent of Perkins and Sarah. The two loyal retainers panted to keep up with him as he paused at the closed door—the room he had occupied while staying under this roof. From behind this last barrier came the soft sobs of his mate.

  He drew a breath through his mouth and took a gulp of Ianthe's despair, which tainted the air. Then he braced his body and charged. The large wolf's shoulder slammed into the door. The wood shook, but held. He backed up a few steps and ran again, refusing to give way to the obstacle as he threw his shoulder against it. This time the wood splintered as the flimsy lock cracked and separated from the frame, and the door flew open.

  The tableau within would forever be etched in his mind and haunt his nightmares. On dark nights in the future, when he relived this moment, his arms would ache to hold Ianthe to ensure she was safe with him.

  Hoth stood behind Ianthe, forcing something with a cloying sweet scent down her throat. His other hand curled around a chain. Her alabaster neck was exposed, with a heavy leather collar cutting into her skin. Ianthe's hands clawed weakly at the choker cutting off her air. Blood covered one side of her face and dribbled down her chin. The metallic tang added to the heady odour hanging in the air. The candelabra threw a flickering light that made shadows move, as though monstrous creatures waited in the dark corners to grab the delicate courtesan. The Reaper prepared to dine on another soul, but his reign would end tonight.

  As Quinn lunged across the space in wolf form, Ianthe elbowed the man in the groin and wrenched sideways. Then she tumbled to the ground. The viscount doubled over, but Quinn bowled into him and sent him tumbling backwards to the ground. His jaws closed over the man's scrawny throat and he shook him like a rag doll. The viscount made a high-pitched squeal as Quinn drubbed him over the rug. Long fingers scrabbled for the wolf's eyes as he held the soul eater's worthless life in his teeth.

  Only the shallow gasps from Ianthe made him let go of the demon. He tossed Hoth to the floor and retreated to his mate's side. He licked her face, tasting blood and tears, then he forced the beast back inside. Fur and claws were pulled to the inside as the naked man emerged.

  "Are you all right?" He unbuckled the collar around her neck and threw it into a corner, as far away as he could toss it. Then he gathered her into his arms, where she drew deep gulps of air. Her eyes wouldn't focus on him. Blood marred one side of her face and it looked as though a split ran from her ear across her cheekbone.

  "Ianthe," he called her name again and stroked hair out of her face. He dared not shake her, but he needed her to look at him, needed the life to return to her gaze. He kept his caresses feather-light and away from the stain spreading out from her hairline. Eventually, her lashes fluttered as Sarah and Perkins rushed to their mistress.

  "Quinn." It was the barest rasp of a whisper, but it made his heart jump. "You were a wolf."

  "Get out!" Hoth had finally righted himself and found his voice, although it was slightly higher than normal. Blood ran from one nostril as he pointed a bony finger at the open door.

  Quinn growled and waged a brief internal battle: to shift again and finish him off, or keep his mate in his arms? He needed to tend to Ianthe, but to do that he first had to rid the house of the Reaper. As much as he wanted to simply toss the man out of the window and watch him fly through the night, and hear the satisfying crunch as he landed on the pavement below, there was a plan to follow. He gently passed the semi-conscious woman into Sarah’s embrace. Then he rose and stood between Ianthe and the viscount.

  "You are the only one leaving. And don't bother calling for your man—he's taking a nap."

  Hoth staggered on his feet and narrowed his gaze. A thin chuckle escaped from between equally thin lips. "You show yourself as the dirty dog you are."

  "Wolf. You really should learn the difference. And you are finished here. Get out." Soft fabric dropped over Quinn's bare shoulders.

  He glanced to his side, where Perkins had draped a woollen robe over his exposed hide. Being naked didn't bother Quinn, and he wanted to add to Hoth's injuries by letting him stew in a little additional jealousy at the sight of his magnificence. Although given the way Perkins tried to close the robe, perhaps there was some point of etiquette about not calling out another man while nude.

  Hoth narrowed his eyes and Quinn watched him recalculate his plan, now that his hulking servant wouldn't answer his command. Then he huffed and a sneer spread over his face as he drew himself upright. His confidence grew with every second the clock on the mantle ticked off, but he obviously didn't think his man would be indisposed for long. "I have paid handsomely for her, and I intend to savour her for many months to come."

  Quinn placed one hand at the small of his back. Handy Perkins pressed a pistol grip into his waiting fingers. Then Quinn extended his arm to point the weapon at the other man. "You have a choice to make. Get out now before I put another hole in your head, or if you prefer I can shift again and snap your neck like a twig."

  Hoth barked in laughter, then wiped his hands on his shirt. "You are a fool. I own her and can do whatever I wish with her delectable form. She will come to beg for it. I will make her crawl on her hands and knees to my feet, asking her master to please nibble on her soul. The pain of being consumed is quite transcendent and their suffering adds a sweet tang to the flavour. She is privileged that I have chosen her to sustain me."

  Rage flowed through Quinn's body, yet left him standing in a pool of calm. This man perverted the pleasure that should be shared between man and woman, forcing them against their wills to submit even as he consumed the very essence that made them who they were. He would have vengeance for Ianthe, for Alice, and for all the unknown women who had suffered and died before them.

  "You are the fool, deluding yourself while you torture women to sweeten the souls you devour. You aren't an Unnatural, you're a pervert, and no better than a cutthroat who drags a woman down a dark alley in Whitechapel." Quinn took another step closer, his outstretched arm steady. He would not miss at this range. If the soul-eating banker moved toward Ianthe, he would sport a third eye in the middle of his forehead.

  "Except I am protected here. The Unnaturals Act has passed and ensures all our rights as Englishmen. Neither law nor man can touch me when I exercise dominion over a whore who has taken my money." The sneer returned to his face and he walked to the corner to retrieve the collar. Hoth ran the chain through his hands as his gaze lingered over Ianthe's still form. Sarah turned her body, to shield her mistress in her a
rms.

  Quinn moved, blocking Hoth's view, the pistol still aimed between his eyes, the barrel aimed at the nose his wolf paws had broken. "Perhaps, but for the small fact that Ianthe happens to be my fiancée. Even though I am a wolf, I too have certain rights, thanks to the Unnaturals Act."

  Hoth paused and his gaze widened. "What?"

  Quinn wanted to smile. He had the older man on the back foot now, but he kept a tight rein on his too-expressive features. "Ianthe Wynn and I are engaged to be married. As such, I am entitled to defend her honour against any blackguard I happen to find in her bedroom."

  The smile dropped from Hoth's face. He looked from the fallen courtesan back to the pistol and his hands tightened on the chain. Perhaps he now felt the leash around his own neck. They might both be unnatural creatures but thanks to a particular piece of legislation, English laws bound them all. "You jest."

  "The banns have been read. Perhaps you should attend service more often. I could shoot you right here and now and no one would mutter a word. Or, to put it in simple terms you will understand, you have just been out-manoeuvred by the whelp." Quinn gestured with the pistol.

  With one slow step after another, Hoth moved away. It was such a simple, elegant solution. Shoot Hoth now and society would twitter for a little while, but there would soon be another scandal to occupy their collective tongues. However, it didn't have the rough edge of justice that Alice and the other women deserved. A clean shot was more than he merited, and Quinn wanted to see the older man twisted and contorted in pain. Aster and the mage had concocted an excruciating sentence for Hoth, now it was up to Quinn to ensure justice was delivered.

  Hoth picked up his jacket and slipped it over his shoulders. "You are both mongrels who deserve each other. I would have made you the most celebrated woman in London." His black gaze roamed over Ianthe's slumped form. "As it is, you will both end up in the gutter, a dog and his bitch. I shall look forward to passing water over your emaciated bodies as you starve to death."

  He strode to the mantle and reached up for the papers tucked behind the brass nude statue.

  “No," Ianthe's voice was hoarse and distant. Her arm lifted as if she would pluck the papers from Hoth's grasp, but it dropped down again, as though the courtesan had no strength to do any more than make the token gesture.

  Quinn frowned. Whatever it was, it was important enough to rouse Ianthe. "I'll take those."

  Hoth held the papers to his chest. "Since I cannot have Ianthe, I will have my payment returned to me. We had a business deal and she has reneged on our terms."

  "You will be paid, rest assured, but not tonight." Quinn stepped forward and pressed the barrel of the pistol to the other man's forehead. He then tugged the papers from the viscount's grasp and handed them off to Perkins without looking. Only then did Quinn slip the pistol under the tie of his robe.

  "One other thing, before you go," he said, and slapped Hoth across the face. "Tomorrow morning at dawn, the southwest corner of Hyde Park. Bring your second."

  Hoth took the blow, although it must have been agony with the broken nose from where wolf Quinn had slammed into him. A fresh dribble of blood pooled at the bottom of his nostril. "You would duel me over a whore?"

  "No, over your manhandling of my fiancée, her friend Alice Sheffield, and for all the nameless women you killed." Quinn waited to see if the crimes registered. His words failed to draw a reaction, as though Hoth had forgotten the women existed once he either disposed of their bones or dumped them in an asylum.

  "Dawn, then, and we shall see this matter permanently settled." Hoth picked up the valise and left. Perkins shadowed him out to the hall.

  "What is wrong with her?" Quinn asked Sarah as he took the woman he loved back into his arms. He cradled her to his chest. Ianthe's breath seemed ragged, her eyes were unfocused and her lids heavy and drooping.

  "Laudanum," the abigail said, her brow furrowed as she picked up the discarded bottle. "And she already took a large dose this evening."

  Too much could kill her. Ianthe would slip into slumber and never awaken, and he wouldn't hear her laughter again. He didn't think, he just reacted. He opened her mouth and jammed his fingers down her throat, praying it would work. Ianthe heaved and gagged in his embrace. Sarah grabbed the empty coal-scuttle and placed it by Quinn. He rolled Ianthe to her side, holding her over his knee as she vomited up brown bile into the metal bucket. Spasms racked her body, before she coughed and rolled toward him.

  "Well, at least that's some of it out." He picked her up in his arms and carried her down the hall to her bedroom. Within, he laid her out on the bed. A sheen of perspiration covered her brow. "Do you think we need to fetch a doctor?"

  Sarah shook her head. "What could a doctor do, except weaken her further with a bleeding? Hopefully she has purged most of what he got into her."

  Perkins brought a bowl of warm water and a cloth. With great care, Sarah wiped the blood away from Ianthe's face. The split ran for just an inch from her ear, but wasn't deep enough to need stitches. Already her body tried to heal the ragged line.

  "Head wounds always bleed like the blazes," Quinn said, relieved that it looked worse than it actually was.

  As Sarah tucked her mistress under the blankets, he stole a moment to look at the papers Hoth had tried to take back. It was a house deed, signing over the property in which he stood, from Sir Phillip Dunne to one Ianthe Wynn.

  "Oh, Ianthe," he whispered. This was why she had been so insistent on meeting Hoth tonight. He held the very roof over her head. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I'll leave you to tend her. Holler if you need anything." Sarah cast one last look at him and headed for the door.

  "I will need clothes. I appear to have left mine in the hackney." He couldn't look up and meet Sarah's gaze.

  The companion laughed, a loud throaty noise of pure enjoyment. "Told Perkins we should have kept your things. We'll send for them and there will be a fresh set of clothes waiting in the morning."

  "Thank you," he murmured, his gaze on the still form under the blankets.

  He placed the pistol on the bedside table, then untied the robe and tossed it over a chair. Quinn slid under the quilt and drew her to him. Holding her to his chest, he curled his larger body around her smaller one, and protected her slumber. Only when she drew a deep sigh, and her breathing became slow and regular, did he relax his guard enough to sleep.

  In the early hours of the morning, Ianthe stirred in his arms. He had left the curtains open, as he needed to see the first flush of dawn, but it was still an hour or two away. By a shaft of moonlight, Quinn saw her gaze was still heavy-lidded. The tonic had yet to recede from her body, but it was draining away. The cut had clotted and would be gone in a week. Thank God.

  She seemed confused and her lids fluttered. There was a frown on her brow as she raised a hand to stroke his face. He kissed her palm. Now that their week was ended, he had a new wager with himself: How many kisses a day could he steal? He was aiming for at least one hundred.

  "Septimus?" she whispered.

  "Gone from your home and he will not return." He dropped another kiss on her forehead. That was two.

  "You were a wolf. Quite a large one." Her lids drooped.

  "Yes. I finally had sufficient motivation to let go and allow the wolf to take control." He ran a hand up her thigh to rest in the dip of her waist.

  For a moment he thought she had returned to sleep, and then her eyes flickered open again. "You called him out. You will be court-martialled."

  He huffed a quiet laugh. "There is one benefit to being an ordinary sergeant. Wellington's order against duelling is for officers only. I have no commission—therefore I may shoot at whomever I please."

  The frown still lingered. "He will kill you."

  "He is merely a banker, whereas I am a soldier and rather a good shot, I will have you know. I am insulted that you think he will best me." He placed a third kiss on the side of her neck. She would have a circle of bruises on he
r delicate skin by morning, where Hoth had collared her like a dog.

  She smiled, her lashes lowered, heavy with sleep. "I meant he will cheat."

  "And I told you once before, I always play to win. Now go back to sleep." He dropped kiss number four on the corner of her mouth, careful of where Hoth had cut her with a blow.

  "I do not want to lose you." Her voice was sleepy as her head dropped back against his chest.

  He pressed a fifth kiss to the top of her head. "You won't. I promise. You are my mate and I will love and protect you forever," he whispered.

  28

  Ianthe

  * * *

  The tiniest sliver of light was enough to waken Ianthe and make her wince. Her head pounded, her cheek ached, and her tongue rasped drily against the roof of her mouth. She would never again take laudanum. Forever in her mind she would remember the feeling of powerlessness as Hoth forced the bottle between her teeth and tipped the vile liquid down her throat. A shudder worked through her body. What would have happened if Quinn hadn't arrived?

  No, what if the enormous wolf hadn't charged through the door and knocked Hoth backwards? Would Perkins and Sarah have been able to fight their way past the footman at the bottom of the stairs and drag Hoth away from her?

  She pushed those thoughts aside to concentrate on the very real issue beside her. Quinn lay on his back with one arm around her, tucking her against him. With her cheek resting on his chest, she listened to his heartbeat, like the steady clop of a regular canter. A smile touched her sore lips. The beat combined the two things she loved the most in the world—man and equine. She might need to expand that to three things, to include the wolf that saved her life.

  Then she ran her hands over his warm skin and wished for hours to trace every line of his body, to savour every part of him. To pleasure him as he had done for her.

  "Good morning," he murmured. He opened his eyes, but a lazy gaze regarded her.

  "Good morning. I think I want to play cards with you again." She traced a finger down the middle of his chest to the firm muscles over his abdomen. Lord, but he was magnificently constructed. As she splayed out her fingers over his stomach, a slow heat took hold of her body.