by Bec McMaster
"You’re not seriously considering it?" Sebastian demanded of his brother. Bishop would gut anyone who even looked at Verity sideways, and as for Bishop himself….
"We need the Wand," Bishop replied quietly.
Malachi turned on Remington with a predatory delight. "Safe passage and immediate transferal of the Relic, upon my word."
"And when the sun rises, whoever graces your bed is guaranteed the freedom to leave?" Remington continued.
Malachi flicked languid fingers. "If they wish to."
"So be it," Remington announced, stepping forward. "Give my friends the Wand, and I'll pay the price you demand."
For the second time that night, Malachi looked like he'd bitten into rotten fruit.
"I assume the lovely Odette will be joining us?" Remington said.
Odette stalked to his side, sliding a hand down his waistcoat. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"You bastard," Malachi said, without heat.
"Your rules," Remington challenged. "Fetch the Wand."
Malachi moved to a small cabinet, drawing a thin, dangerous knife from within his waistcoat and slicing his thumb with it. He pressed the welling blood to the cabinet, and a dozen layers of wards suddenly shimmered to life, before vanishing to their gaze.
Remington hadn't been wrong. There was no way any of them could have gotten through such warding. Not even Bishop.
Malachi withdrew an intricately carved box, and held it out. "Here it is."
Bishop took a step toward it, but Malachi shook his head. "No. The lady won the right to it." He held it out to Cleo. "Perhaps we shall see if your advice bears fruit."
She took the box solemnly. "Thank you."
"But before you leave.... a gift for the newlyweds." Malachi's mocking gaze captured Sebastian's, before he turned and took Cleo's face in his hands.
Swooping toward her, he kissed her swiftly. Cleo stiffened, before her body melted into his embrace, and then it was done, and Malachi released her.
Sebastian caught her by the arm as she almost fell to her knees, her eyes glazed, and her lips swollen and pink.
"Enjoy my gift," Malachi said, mocking him. "An unplucked bloom, just for you."
Chapter 8
'Once one is touched by the Shadow Dimensions, they're never quite the same. The shadow lingers in the soul, until it slowly eats away at a person.'
* * *
—Lady Eberhardt
* * *
AT FIRST SHE hadn't quite understood what Malachi meant by "gift."
Cleo shivered in the cool night air as they waited by the gatehouse for Bishop and Verity to return with the carriage. Her body raged with unsuppressed desire she couldn't quite leash. Everything ached. From her nipples to the heat between her thighs, to the knot in her chest where the bond tied her to Sebastian... she was drowning in it. Drowning in Malachi's kiss. Her lips burned. "Do you think Remy is—"
"I would really rather not think about it," Sebastian murmured, his hands in his pockets, and his face cold and distant.
The woman, Odette, had been sliding her hands under Remy's waistcoat when they left, with Malachi watching them over the rim of his brandy with hungry eyes.
And she was not thinking of hungry eyes, or hands sliding under waistcoats, or... or Mother of night help her, any of those incendiary thoughts that only made the ache worsen.
"Gray's an incubus," she whispered, touching her branded lips.
As she drew her hand away, Sebastian shot her furious glare as if the kiss were her fault.
"I didn't ask him to do it," she protested. And the magic lancing through her was the sole cause of her restless desire. Wasn't it? "What on earth are Verity and Bishop doing? They went for the carriages almost twenty minutes ago." She rubbed her arms, trying to ease the ache beneath her skin. Sweet goddess, but she needed to be touched. "Do you think Bishop and Verity—"
"Yes," he practically snarled, and it was only then she realized how on edge he was, wound up tighter than a child’s top.
Cleo stared at him. "It’s just… it’s been an awfully long time since they left to find the carriage, and Verity had that look in her eye…."
And the heavy magic in the air affected them all.
Perhaps even Sebastian.
"What did you say to him to make him change his mind?" he asked, staring into the darkness.
"It wasn't a complete vision." They still hadn't returned, and a part of her believed they never would. "I saw flashes of his past." When Malachi Gray had loved a woman enough to sacrifice everything for her, though he knew his feelings were unreturned. Cleo understood what it felt like to be the only one with her heart on her sleeve. "He loved a woman once. I tried to appeal to his better nature."
"The man has none."
"Considering the Wand is now safely tucked in Bishop's pocket, I'd beg to differ," she replied coolly. Fever raged beneath her skin. It was getting worse. "Malachi was...." She trailed off, still feeling that invisible velvet glove stroking down her spine, Malachi's lips spilling pure heat through her body as he kissed her.
"Quite a kisser, by the look of it," Sebastian said.
Cleo tipped her chin up. "Quite."
He was angry. Even though she couldn't feel it with the bond locked down, she could still see it in the tension of his jaw. Cleo wrapped her arms around herself and turned away. It all hurt. She felt knotted up inside and twisted.
Alone.
The lights of London spread out before them in the distance, and cool wind stirred through her skirts. This was almost rural here, exacerbating her sudden sense of isolation.
"I kissed you the first day we met but it wasn't... wasn't like this," she whispered. "You never responded that time. I've never been kissed. Not properly. Well, not until now."
And it ached that her first passionate kiss had been with someone else, and not Sebastian.
Sebastian froze, glancing down at her from beneath those dark lashes. For a long second she thought he wasn't going to reply, and humiliation branded her.
Quiet words: "I remember a second kiss."
So did she—the faintest brush of his lips against hers.... "When you thought you were dying. Just once. And you've never touched me again."
No matter how much skill Malachi Gray had, it didn't compare to that single moment. But how long could a simple kiss like that sustain her hopes and dreams? It had been months. She knew Sebastian had needed to focus on his training, but surely he could have written her back.
Surely he could have visited her, just once.
The ache intensified, as if the incubus's kiss sensed her unfulfilled desire. The spell wasn't just aimed at seeking pleasure, it seemed to hunt down every little scrap of need she'd ever felt, and to thrive on the edge of pain those memories wrought. Every twisted, bittersweet emotion she felt fed the flames.
Sebastian shifted. "It's not that I don't want to kiss you—"
"No? It certainly feels like it."
"It's not—"
"Then why will you not touch me?" she cried, nerves rubbed raw. It was starting to physically ache, just a little. "Two kisses we've shared, and neither of them lasted longer than five seconds."
Sebastian cursed under his breath, moving away from the hedge that lined Malachi's gardens. "Cleo," he warned, turning to glare at her. "Don't pursue this."
A horrible thought struck her. "Are you not attracted to me?"
His face tightened, and oh, my goodness, that was it.
Cleo's heart felt like lead. She turned away from him, her mind racing. He didn't want her. She'd thought once.... He'd touched her hair the night of their wedding with such longing. But what if she'd been wrong? What if—
A hand latched around her arm, and Sebastian spun her back to face him, even as a soft gasp of pain sounded in her throat. She could survive this. She could survive anything. If she could thrive beneath Lord Tremayne's roof—just wishing her father could love her when he very clearly did not—then she could live through t
his.
Even if her heart turned to ice in her chest.
"Don't think like that," Sebastian said sharply, both hands locking around her upper arms, and she realized her thoughts had somehow reached him through the bond. "I've never kissed you, not truly...," his voice fell, "because I don't know how."
"How...? What do you mean?" He'd serviced the women his mother pushed him toward. He was no innocent, no virgin, no— "Have you never kissed another woman?"
"Only you."
"That's impossible," she blurted.
"Perhaps we have more in common than we thought," Sebastian said, with a mocking, bitter little laugh. "Because the first time you kissed me, was the first time I'd ever been kissed."
* * *
Cleo stared at him with her mouth open. "You've never been kissed?"
Bloody hell, where were Bishop and Verity? Sebastian stared off through the fog that was beginning to settle in the lane, cursing inquisitive virgins under his breath.
"But how?" Cleo blurted. "I know... you're not...."
A virgin. He looked away again coldly. "What was required of me was never a kiss, though they begged me for it."
It was the one thing he'd been able to keep for himself.
He'd never been able to stop his body from reacting, especially at first when his mother plied him with certain drugs before sending him off to entertain her prospective allies. And once the numbness of it all washed over him and he'd stopped fighting, he'd swiftly learned to take control of the encounter.
It was easy to fuck.
To lock himself away, and let his body take over, and get the task over and done with. Sometimes he'd even come, though it made him feel dirtier than he already felt.
But he didn't know the gentler arts. Seduction, kisses, and gentle caresses were as unknown to him as another's love. A hollow fluttering compressed his ribs. Cleo was a complete innocent, one who dreamed of romantic aspirations. She wanted dances, and kisses, and a charming seduction. She wanted fairy tales, and when she looked into the future, she saw marriage, children, goddess-knew-what....
What do I see?
Nothing. It set off the panic inside him. All he'd ever wanted was freedom from the sclavus collar and from his mother. Freedom to make his own choices. And now he had it. There were dozens of choices each and every day in this new life, but the hardest to deal with was this.
Her.
If he kissed her here and now, then there would be expectations, and he didn't want to break her heart.
He'd vowed to help Bishop rescue their father, but he wasn't staying here forever. He craved escape from this entire world, and from the people who filled it.
And then what? said a dark, cynical part of him. Do you think it would be easier to be alone in a new city, with no one who gives a damn about you?
Baring his soul like this was torture. He never exposed himself. Never. But the look in Cleo's eyes when she'd thought he didn't want her.... Cleo stared up at him, her shoulders squared.
The wife he'd never wanted.
His wife in name only.
And it was all he could do not to shove her up against the wall of the nearest house and have his way with her. Sweet goddess, but a part of him wanted her so badly he ached.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, resting a hand lightly on his arm. "And thank you. For helping me to understand. I kept thinking...." She shook her head, but he read it in her eyes.
"That I didn't want you."
Cleo gave him a wavering smile. "It wouldn't be unexpected."
He closed his eyes. Her father had a great deal to answer for—but then, who was he to judge? "I think you underestimate your charms. You're a beautiful woman, with a pure heart—"
"Sometimes it's not so pure," she whispered, rubbing her hands along her arms as though she still ached.
And perhaps she did.
Sebastian's gaze dropped to her mouth. He'd hated seeing another man stake a claim there when he himself hadn't. Hated it.
If you take this step, then you cannot simply walk away from her.
"No?" he asked.
Those coffee-dark eyes lifted to his, and he knew a flush darkened her cheeks, for she was new at this too.
A whisper of need swept through him, his cock pressing fervently against the placket of his breeches. It felt surreal to want her, for his experience with sex had soured him of the need for it. But there was a sweet wholesomeness to his desire. Cleo's intentions were writ large upon her face, and her heart was open to him. There was nothing she could hide from him, and her need for him was simply that: she cared for him, and hence she craved him. Yes? Or no? Sebastian faltered in indecision, but it was her mouth that finally decided him. Those soft, luscious lips that another man had tasted....
And he couldn't bear it any longer. Gray had stolen something that was his, and the jealousy ate at him, stirred by the incubus's magic.
Sebastian captured her hand in his, locking their palms together, his fingers splayed through hers. "Cleo." A whisper, and a curse, for he didn't know how to deal with her. He never had.
She was a dream he'd never dared believe in.
"I've never had a man dance with me.... Never been kissed." He'd felt the ache inside her then, and it matched his own emptiness in some ways.
But it also scared him.
"I don't know what to do with you," he admitted roughly. "You want more than I think I can ever give you."
Her fingers clenched against his, a warming touch. "All I want is to know you care for me. Just a little bit. The rest we can figure out as we go."
It seemed too simple.
And far too complex.
And if he didn't act now, then perhaps he never would.
Sebastian cupped her cheek in one hand, his lungs arresting, and his heart beginning to quicken. Best to get this over with before he lost his nerve. "One kiss then."
And then he brushed his lips against hers, feeling her mouth soften to his touch. Silk, soft as silk....
His heart started beating a little faster. Sebastian brought his other hand up and captured her face in both hands. The drugging taste of her swept through him, stirred by an incubus's magic, but tempered by the pure flame of his own desire.
Cleo's lips parted, and he could feel the wetness of her mouth glide over his. His tongue whispered over her top lip, and she stilled, then the tip of her tongue danced against his.
Yes. There was no space between them as he swept her into his arms, pressing the heated steel of his cock against her belly. His mouth grew bold, and he sank his fingers through her silken hair, cupping the base of her skull so he could plunder her.
She stopped breathing. Started again. He had the feeling he ought to stop, before it went any further, because if he kept going, then it wouldn't end at this. Sebastian drew back, staring down into those black eyes from barely an inch away, their breaths mingling.
It was wrong. Terribly wrong, to start thinking of other illicit delights he could take, but his hand seemed to have a mind of its own. It wandered across the scallop of gold lace that decorated her décolletage, his thumb stroking the silk of her sleeve.
Cleo sucked in a breath.
And there were no words needed. Not right now.
For the "yes" was in her eyes. Eyes that made a man forget himself.
This time she kissed him, stretching up on her toes to blatantly capture his mouth. His hand moved, thumb tracing the curve of the exposed part of her breast. The sensation seared his brain. Soft. Softer than any silk could ever be. He had a sudden flash of what the rest of her skin would feel like beneath his hands, his mouth, the press of his body....
Cleo's fist curled in his cravat, as if she sensed his sudden urgency. He muscled her back against the wall of the gatehouse, their mouths parting for a brief moment as she gasped. Then his hand closed over her breast, and she pushed into it, her hips meeting his own, even as he sank his other hand through acres of silk skirts to grip the heat of her bottom.
"Cleo." He kissed her chin, her jaw, raking his teeth down her throat. The sharp edge of her clavicle met his hungry mouth, and he palmed the soft weight of her breast, focused on only one goal.
"Don't stop," she begged, and it was as though someone had lit a match and set it to oil. Need, fierce and furious, roared through her. A need to be fulfilled. He could feel it even through the muted shields he'd set on their bond.
Someone had lit that match, he thought, even as his mouth found the slope of her breast. Suddenly all he could see was the amused look in Gray’s eyes when he noticed Sebastian glaring at him.
An incubus's kiss.
He drew back, capturing her face as he breathed hard, pressing their foreheads together. His lips tingled. His cock raged. He wanted nothing more than to lift those infuriating skirts and find the heat at the heart of her.
But he couldn't stop remembering Gray's smirk.
"Don't stop," Cleo whispered, her hands sliding under his coat and traversing the silk of his waistcoat.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. It would be easy to oblige. He wanted to. And that was amazing in itself, for he'd never, ever, wanted sex. "Verity and Bishop will be here with the carriage anytime soon."
Was that his voice? So low and raspy?
Cleo turned her face away, her fists clenching in his waistcoat.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. He shouldn't have started this. Not that he'd been able to deny either of them.
Fireworks exploded in the night, making him jump. "Merde."
A dozen dogs set up howling on nearby farmsteads, and then his arms were full of soft heat as Cleo practically wrapped herself around him. He'd quite forgotten where they were.
"Sorry," she whispered, looking up at the sky.
The red and gold flowers blooming in the sky above Malachi's manor painted their reflection across her skin, like one of Monet's watercolors. Something stirred in his chest at the sight of her face like this, all passion-flushed and softening into pleasure at the sight of the fireworks. Another racket of them went up with a boom, crackling into life in the velvet sky, but Sebastian couldn't tear his gaze from her face.
