Hexbound: Book 2 of The Dark Arts Series

by Bec McMaster

  The rest of the room remained very still. Verity looked like she'd spent the afternoon stuffing teacakes in her mouth with the girl his father had introduced as Cleo, Tremayne's daughter. Both of them watched with wide eyes.

  "It was a recent revelation. I...." Drake paused, then glanced toward Cleo uncomfortably.

  "I've spent days traipsing all over this city." Worrying about his father, worrying about Verity and who had threatened her life. "Why would you keep this—" His expression cleared as his thoughts raced ahead. "You thought I'd go after Sebastian, didn't you? You thought I'd carry out the threat I made against him."

  Turning around, Bishop shoved his hands through his hair, tension screaming through him. He didn't know what to think. Morgana and Sebastian still alive after all this time, and living with the demon. Now he knew who had commissioned the theft of the Chalice. Morgana. And Tremayne. Everything was intertwined, and the threat against his father had just tripled. It was no longer merely the Sicarii Bishop had to worry about, but the demon as well, and Horroway, who must have the Chalice.

  "I just wanted a chance to reach him," Drake replied. "I'm nearly there."

  Always this cursed brother of his. Bishop curled up his lip. "So you can do what? Rescue him? What price will Morgana demand from you? You know what she'll want. You. Dead. Is Sebastian worth that to you? Christ, he tore that house apart last month as though he was ripping paper! You can't stop him. I can't stop him! He is dangerous!"

  "Everyone deserves a chance," Drake replied, his face paling. "If Sebastian can be shown another way, taught to control his powers—"

  "Maybe he cannot be saved?" Bishop yelled.

  "You don't know what Morgana's done to him!" This was the first time he'd ever seen his father lose his temper. "Cleo tells me there's been torture, abuse, possibly worse. How can I leave him to that?"

  "How can you save someone who's so badly wounded?" The breath exploded out of Bishop. "He knows nothing but Expression, and if he's been tortured, if...." His stomach curdled. He couldn't truly understand what Sebastian had been through, but he knew that coming back from that would be virtually impossible. "How does a man so wounded set aside his emotions and learn control? I know you've seen what happened to others we've tried to rehabilitate."

  "You're asking me to leave him there? To abandon him?" Drake snapped. "The same way I abandoned you when you came home from Burma in such a mess?"

  "It wasn't the same." He turned on his heel, remembering all that his father had done to see Bishop's trial set aside and to help him find a mentor in Agatha. Those had been dark days. But not this dark.

  "If someone like you can learn control," Drake said coldly, "then so can he. I've never—" He broke off as if biting his tongue, then turned back to Bishop as if he simply couldn't stop the words. "I've never been so disappointed in you in my entire life as I am in this moment. Yes, I kept the truth from you. For precisely this reason!"

  The words blinded him. Bishop turned away, the world washing out around him. Christ. It hurt. He had to get out of there. "I'm done," he said blankly. "I cannot watch you sacrifice yourself for a lost cause."

  Then he was out of the room and staggering down the stairs, the numbness sweeping up to lock him in a cold, dark place.

  Chapter 19

  "WELL," VERITY WHISPERED, finally locating him on the terrace on his rooftop. The afternoon sun peeped through the clouds, highlighting the man on the daybed, his knees drawn up to his chest and his eyes on the sky. "Here you are."

  It felt like it should be raining, after such a brutal confrontation.

  Bishop glanced her way, then sank his head onto his palm. "How is he?" he asked quietly.

  Verity sat on the daybed beside him, seeing the hurt in his eyes. She gently touched his back. "About as glum as you," she murmured, her heart aching for him. "But trying to hold it together. Cleo said she would watch over him tonight, and Ianthe came home from that meeting in time. He'll be fine."

  "I'm so sorry," Bishop rasped, his eyes blank and staring into the distance. "I shouldn't have said what I said. I know how much it hurt Drake to think that Sebastian was dead. But... it would have been easier."

  Verity pressed her cheek against his arm, biting her lip. "Why does Sebastian scare you so much?"

  "Because I know who's going to have to deal with him if he explodes out of control." Bishop swallowed. "Drake will never forgive me for it, but it's a duty nobody else can do."

  And he would lose his father.

  That was what was really plaguing him.

  Seeing the wet shine in his eyes, Verity dragged him into her arms, desperately wishing that she could take that hurt away. Having lost her mother—and her father—she knew exactly how he felt. Bishop sucked in a sharp breath, then let her hold him. His arms slowly came up and curled around her back, his face burying itself against her shoulder.

  No time for pretense now. She was falling far too fast for this man. It physically hurt her to see him in pain. She would do anything to stop that pain.

  Anything.

  If she could.

  "None of us know what the future holds," she whispered. "But you'll never be alone, Bishop. Even if the worst comes to pass, then... you'll always have me."

  He lifted his head, stroking her hips. "Ver?" There was a faint frown on his face.

  Her heart started beating a little faster. "I think I'm falling in love with you," she whispered, and that stab of terror came sharply again, threatening to overwhelm her. "A little. And... I don't care if you don't feel the same way." A blatant lie. "I don't expect that. I don't. But I want you to know that I care for you. I wanted you to know that you're not alone. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever. If you wish it." Her courage was starting to waver now. He hadn't said a thing, merely gaped at her. "I would like to kiss you," Verity whispered. "But I think if I try, you'll push me away again and I don't know why."

  "Verity—"

  "So I won't," she said softly, pushing herself upright. "If you want me, I wouldn't say no. But I think it's time I stopped chasing after you. I'm tired of being pushed away. So if you do want me, Adrian, then you must make the next move. Not I." Taking a step back, she swallowed hard. "I-I'll... I'll give you a moment alone, and go see to dinner, shall I? That will make you feel a little better, and then we can talk about what is to be done."

  * * *

  Bishop lasted all of a minute, his heart beginning to thump harder and harder in his chest as her words kept playing around his mind. I think I'm falling in love with you. He'd never expected such a thing. Never dared dream of it. And yet, as the words filled his chest and made something inside him swell, he realized a tiny part of him had dreamed that dream. A little part he'd never dared examine. And it filled him with both fear and a desperate, desperate longing to go to her and tell her she was not alone. He felt it too.

  He was on his feet before he knew it, the blood pounding through his veins as he slipped down the stairs and went after her. He couldn't afford to think, to rationalize all of the ways this could go wrong. The confrontation with his father had scoured him dry, and yet, in a way it had stripped away all of the worry that plagued him. Stripped him back to bare, back to pure primal need and hunger.

  And what he needed was ghosting along in front of him through the halls, the whisper of her pale pink skirts floating behind her.

  He could move silently when he wanted to, and the first she knew of his presence was when he caught her hand in his.

  "Adrian—"

  He caught her gasp with his mouth, strong hands catching her by the hips and pressing her back against the Chinese wallpaper. Lust slammed through him. Need. The urge to claim her as his. Verity's fists curled in his collar, as she was wont to do, and their mouths met in a desperate surge. This was what he'd dreamed of. It filled him all the way up inside, as if his body had been hollow somehow and she was a vital piece that had always been missing.

  To free himself of all his self-imposed constraints left
him breathless and trembling. He'd been so careful for so long that unleashing himself left his head spinning. "Ver," he breathed, tasting her hot little mouth. "Ver, oh God. I want you."

  He might as well have set her alight. Greedy little hands tugged at his coat, slipping inside. They darted up his chest, touching him as if he were something precious, when he knew he was not. The kiss deepened, as she devoured him. It was a moment of such pure, utter perfection that he wished it could last forever.

  Drawing back, he barely managed to catch his breath. Trembling fingers stroked a lock of hair behind her ear. Soft. So soft. Like silk. And her mouth was swollen and quivering, her green eyes asking a dozen questions.

  Bishop cupped her face with his hand and pressed his forehead to hers. Anything to still the raging thunder of his heart and the fierce desire that flushed through his veins. Power tempted him, beyond that of any he'd known, but he wasn't certain if it had anything to do with the Grave Arts or whether she was simply flush with sexual energy.

  And it was that uncertainty that made him draw back. He wasn't going to live the same hell as he had with Mya.

  "Take me to bed," Verity whispered, her hands pressing flat against his chest beneath his coat. Exploring. Tempting him.

  He shook his head.

  "You want to. I want to."

  Bishop caught her wrists and drew back just enough to meet her eyes. Forcing the words to his lips almost hurt, for somewhere in the deep dark heart of him, kissing her had become part of his own forbidden dreams of the future. "If I hurt you, then I would never forgive myself."

  She was breathing hard, but she wouldn't let him look away from her, capturing his face in her hands and turning hers to place it in front of him as he tried to pull free of her. "What do you mean?"

  He swallowed, his heart in his throat. "I want you, Verity. I want to do things to you that I've never dreamed of doing to any other woman." He bared his teeth. Hell. "And I can hear your heart racing, hear the blood slipping through your veins in anticipation. You want it too. You want this." Taking her hand, he cupped it against the full, straining length of his erection, earning a groan from himself and a gasp from her before her fingers closed around his cock, rasping against the material of his trousers.

  It was the first time someone else's hand had ever touched him there. He almost came on the spot.

  Somehow he forced himself to continue. "But I'm dangerous, Verity. I don't want to hurt you."

  There were those questions in her eyes again, but he thought somehow, she'd begun to realize what haunted him. "You don't want to lose control," she whispered.

  "I can't lose control." Bishop swallowed as her hand shifted on his cock. "I want to. I do. I want it so badly it hurts."

  "We don't have to do everything," she replied thoughtfully. "We could take it slow. The second you feel yourself slipping, you tell me."

  And here was where the danger lay, because he wanted to agree. "Slowly?" It was both an answer and a question.

  A brilliant smile lit her face. "So slowly that you'll beg me for more."

  Velvety lips caressed his throat, sharp little teeth nipping at him. Somehow he found himself pressing her back against the wall, thrusting into the heat of her hand.

  A hand that began to stealthily unbutton his trousers, to part the buckskin there and sneak inside. He couldn't have stopped her if he wanted to. "Verity, Jesus." Skin found skin, and then she was exploring the silk-slick length of him. It was all he could do not to lift her, shove her skirts out of the way, and bury himself inside her in some age-old instinct he'd never felt before.

  "Tell me what you want to do to me," she whispered in his ear, her soft lips nuzzling his earlobe as her hand worked his cock. A thumb rasped over the molten head of his erection, rubbing the slickness there across the head.

  "Fuck. Fuck." He ground closer, drowning in her perfume, in the spicy heat of her skin. The rasp of his stubble against her throat earned a gasp from her lips, and he licked her there, tasted her. Bit her. "I want to... fuck you. But I can't. I don't... Oh, shit." She was squeezing him hard. He couldn't stop himself from thrusting. Fucking his way into her hand.

  It felt amazing.

  "This is not going to end slowly," he gasped.

  Verity laughed, and squeezed again.

  Somehow they were sliding to the floor. She pressed him flat onto his back, straddling his thighs. All he could see when he looked down was his straining cock quivering in her pale hand. Their eyes met.

  "You'll like this," Verity whispered, giving him a secret smile that clenched inside his chest, as though she'd wrapped that hand around his heart instead. Then she lowered her head and licked the crown of his cock.

  Bishop jerked, his back arching. Fucking Jesus. Somehow his hands were in her hair, and that hot little mouth swallowed him down. Took nearly all of him. And he was pushing her down more, thrusting his hips up, trying to get more. Trying to push himself over the edge that was building.

  She glided up with a wet little pop and worked him with her hand. "Look at you." Those green eyes were alight. "You're right. This is not going to be slow at all."

  Then she devoured his cock as though she'd never wanted anything more in her life.

  "Ver," he gasped. "Ver, I'm going to...." His hands started shaking.

  She lifted up just enough to blow across the top of his cock, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head.

  "Let yourself go," she whispered. "I want this to be the best moment of your life."

  More heat. More sweet caresses with her tongue.

  He came, a blinding wave of heat that started in the back of his balls and exploded into her mouth. And she was right.

  It was perfect.

  * * *

  Somehow he'd made his way into the sitting room carrying Verity in his arms. Then he collapsed there, completely undone, while she curled in his arms and rested her head on his chest.

  "I can hear your heart beating," Verity murmured, caressing his chest.

  Bishop lifted his head off the cushions. "It's beating there for you."

  Verity smiled. "My virgin assassin with his gentle heart. Who knew?"

  Bishop glanced down. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "I am never going to live this down, am I?"

  "Never," she replied cheerfully. "But I must admit the idea intrigues me. Exploring uncharted terrain and all. I could quite happily plant a flag in your pants. 'Property of Verity Hawkins.'"

  Bishop rolled until she was trapped between his body and the back of the sofa. He traced his fingers down her side, feeling the graze of the embroidery on her dress. Their eyes met. The idea intrigued him too.

  "I thought we were going to take this slowly?" Verity arched a brow. Sometimes he forgot how pretty she was, and then when he saw her anew, she took his breath away.

  "We are," he breathed, slipping her sleeve off her shoulder. "But it seems remiss of me to keep all of the pleasure for myself. That would not be very gentlemanly of me."

  "Well, we cannot have that," she whispered back, cupping her breast through the silk of her dress. "Though this lady can take care of her own pleasure when she needs to."

  The thought of that made him hard again. "Show me," he breathed, kissing her lips.

  Verity glanced up at him, as if gauging whether to be shy or not. Gathering a fistful of skirts, she drew them up, revealing her pale stockings and the lean length of her legs. There were so many petticoats and layers in the way that frustration danced through her eyes, and then she finally bunched them out of the way.

  Bishop's lips followed her hand as she cupped her breast, her fingers rasping over the faint outline of her nipple. He kissed her there through the dress, then teased her bodice lower until her stays were revealed. Pale pink lace. Smooth skin the color of cream. And then her nipple revealed itself, as brown as a pale nut.

  Bishop's lips swallowed it whole. Verity sucked in a small breath. Flicking her nipple with his tongue, he shifted
until she lay flat in the space where he'd been. Verity spread her thighs wide, her other hand sliding down between them.

  "Like this," she whispered, stroking herself there.

  He couldn't see a thing with her skirts all crushed between them, but the thought made him burn hotter. "Do you do it often?"

  "Sometimes." She bit her lip, her eyes glazing a little, as though she were focusing on the feeling. "Here." She took his hand and guided it up her thigh. "Have you ever...?"

  "Let's not talk of the past," he replied, and rolled her nipple between his teeth. "Let's just focus on the here and now."

  There was a dark knowing in her pretty green eyes, but she let him divert the topic. Her thighs parted as he stroked the soft skin there, feeling her tremble beneath him. Every moment was wondrous. Verity took his hand and pressed his fingers through the slit in her drawers.

  Wet. Slick. Flushed with heat. He caught her gaze again as she bit her lip. "Inside me," she whispered.

  He stroked the smooth bud between her legs that she'd been playing with, then started to slip a finger inside her silken sheath. Everything in him wanted that to be his cock. The sheer thought of it nearly made him come again. But this was Verity's turn. Not his. Verity bit her lip, her hips arching, and he had the flushed remembrance of what it had felt like when she put her mouth on him.

  He wasn't entirely innocent. There had been those books, after all. He had ideas, and now, with a very willing woman beneath him, he wanted to test some of those ideas.

  Sliding a second finger within her, he stroked up, feeling her muscles clench around him as the thickness doubled.

  "Yes," she gasped. "Curl them a little."

  He complied, and a shiver ran through her. It wasn't enough. He wanted to please her as much as she'd pleased him.

  And he wanted to taste her.

  Pushing lower, he buried his face in between her thighs, nuzzling through the slit in her drawers. Verity stiffened. "Bishop!"