by Bec McMaster
"You look beautiful," he said, looking down at her upturned face. His voice softened. "You look like everything I've ever dreamed about."
"And you—" She paused for a moment, as if sorting through her words. "—seem a rather intriguing gentleman."
"You came for the ball," he said.
"It's my first. My father never allowed me to attend the balls. But... I always dreamed about them." A soft smile graced her lips, her eyes staring into the distance as if she saw something he didn't. "I used to imagine I was some sort of princess, and a handsome prince would sweep me off my feet and insist on taking all of my dances."
"And is the night living up to your expectations?"
"No princes. No dancing. But it's been quite lovely, and I guess I must grow up someday and shed such dreams."
Silence fell between them.
The night was still, the gardens awash in lantern-light and mage globes.
He didn't quite know what came over him, but Sebastian cleared his throat, as strains of a waltz began to creep from the ballroom. "May I have this dance?"
Those beautiful brown eyes widened, but it was her hesitation that made the muscles in his gut clench. Cleo was brave and bold, but he'd been pushing her away for too long. Done too well at keeping the distance between them, and now he could see the wariness written all over her face.
"No expectations, Cleo," he whispered, holding out his hand. "No promises. I just want to dance with you. Just once. Why not celebrate the Ascension together? Fulfill at least one of your dreams?"
He could do this, at least.
"All right," she whispered, and shrugged out of his coat. The silk of her gloves slid over his hands, and she stepped toward him. "Just once."
Some distant part of him knew this was a mistake. Especially if he intended to grant her an annulment. Sebastian drew her into his grasp, his thighs pressed against her skirts. Cleo didn't quite fit against him—she was half a foot shorter than he—but somehow it worked.
It felt so right.
And he knew in that moment a part of him longed for something more between them.
More than sex. More than longing. Forever, perhaps, if he could dare believe it.
Music whispered against their skin. Sebastian swept her in a slow circle, taking the lead firmly. Cleo's steps were hesitant, as if she wasn't entirely certain what she was doing, but she gave herself into his hands, and somehow it was as if they'd been dancing together for years. Her trust in him echoed his in her. He'd never felt this way before.
How long since he'd looked at someone and known they would never betray him? How many years had passed since that first crippling betrayal from his mother turned his world to a landscape of enemies?
Being free of the sclavus collar had felt like he could breathe for the first time in years, but it wasn't until this moment he realized he hadn't truly been living. He'd merely been putting one wary step in front of the other, trying to work out this new world he'd been thrust into, and keeping the one anchor point he had at arm's length.
Until now.
The heat of her body drew him like a moth to flame as he swirled her in a graceful pirouette. Cleo shot him a delighted smile, her entire face lighting up as they came back together, a breathless laugh escaping her lips.
Not for her a lifetime of wariness. She embraced each moment as if it might be her last, or as if she'd never been burned, when he knew she had. Her bravery made his throat feel dry. In so many ways, she was stronger than he, for she too bore the brunt of years of neglect, and yet she was the one flourishing, when he was barely holding his head above the floodwaters.
And somehow, simply having her in his arms felt like the world opened up before him. An endless proposition of hope, if he only dared take it.
Each step felt effortless, as if he'd been born to do this. Or perhaps, been born for her arms.
What was he doing?
Creating dreams....
But were they her dreams? Or his?
"You dance very well," Cleo whispered, as if she didn't want to break the spell between them.
Her words were like a dash of icy water to his face. His grip on her tightened. "Morgana insisted I learn. My body was always a weapon for her to use, to entice her allies with."
Sympathy flooded through him along the bond they shared. He closed his eyes, feeling the press of her in his arms.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Perhaps it was time to let go of the past?
"I'm not," he admitted, slowly opening his eyes. Cleo's heart-shaped face sprang into being; the center of his world. "For then I wouldn't be here. With you. I wouldn't be able to do this—"
He sent her whirling beneath his arm. Once. Twice. A breathless dervish that swam back into his arms, her skirts wrapping around her legs. A gasp of shocked delight escaped her, lantern light gleaming on the gilded curls that tumbled down her back.
Sebastian smiled. "Nor this."
And he bent her back over his arm, her body wilting like a lily, and his lips devastatingly close to the smooth skin rising from her bodice.
Cleo laughed, trying to return to her upright position, but something in him couldn't step back. Her hands slid up his collar, and then their faces were but an inch apart, and he tugged her tightly against his chest as he slowly drew her upright.
The thrill of her heartbeat seemed to pound in time with his. The music in the distance softened. Or perhaps he was no longer focusing on it, lost in the allure of her rosy lips.
He hadn't dared kiss her since that night at Malachi Gray's.
And the urge to do so was suddenly ferocious.
Cleo's laughter died, her breath catching as if she felt it too.
And Sebastian eddied to a gentle halt, both arms around her waist. The waltz played on in the distance, but he was breathless with wanting her, and intoxicated by the scent of the roses she'd found for him.
"Was your first dance to your liking?" He needed to know.
"It was better than I ever expected."
He lowered his face toward hers, his hands sliding up her sides to cup her face between them. Cleo sucked in a sharp breath, staying still. His thumbs stroked the sides of her face.
The music ground to a halt. Sebastian could barely breathe. "Cleo...."
Perhaps his problem wasn't trying to stay away from her, or resisting the feelings she incited within him.
He no longer felt dirty. Cleo had cleansed the taint from his skin, and maybe, just maybe, he could do this. He captured her cheek, lifting her chin even as he lowered his mouth to hers. Their lips brushed, her hand coming to rest, hesitantly, on his chest.
The first time he'd kissed her, he'd almost been overwhelmed by the sensation of it. He'd not had a chance to savor it. But now.... His tongue pressed against her lips, parting them. One hand slid to her waist. Cleo's breath caught, and he could taste the sweet, champagne taste of her tongue as she lightly caressed his own.
It wasn't the same as the night at Malachi Gray's. Neither of them were affected by magic. And this wasn't a first kiss, hesitant and unsure.
This was raw hunger. Sheer need. A gentle exploration of Cleo and the art of kissing. He wanted to make it good for her, but the second their tongues touched it no longer mattered.
He forgot where he was. He forgot everything but the feel of his wife beneath his hands, her arms sliding around his neck as her body wilted against him. Suddenly it wasn't enough. Heat stirred in his cock. He captured a handful of her bustle, dragging her against him, and plunged his tongue inside her mouth. It felt as though the two of them became one, and everything around them receded until he was lost in the touch and taste of her. Cleo. Cleo, the girl who'd saved his life. The girl who'd shown him what trust was, and invited him into another world. One that both terrified him and enticed him. He could almost see himself pressing her down onto the sheets in his cold bed, dragging the silk of her night-robe open....
The crush of her breasts against his chest dragged
his mind to darker, hungrier places, imagining his lips on her bare flesh.... To tongue her nipples like this, teasing her, igniting her....
Mercy.
Sebastian's hand fisted in her skirts, though he didn't drag them up. He wanted to. Sweet mother of night, how he wanted to. His fist clenched.
But he needed to break this spell, and he needed to break it now. Before he crossed the point of no return. He broke from her mouth, breathing hard. "You make me forget myself."
You make me forget everything.
Cleo looked up with passion-drugged eyes. Her soft smile sent an arrow of need straight through him, but he was captured by the poignant thought that he never wanted to forget what this particular smile looked like. "Not entirely a terrible thing."
It brought a laugh to his lips. "Someone's pleased with themselves."
"Considering how often you've held me at bay, it's nice to know you find me difficult to resist at times too." She bit her lip, those dark lashes shuttering over her eyes.
Sebastian slid a finger under her chin, insisting on looking at her. "Impossible to resist," he told her hoarsely.
If she only knew....
But there was no time to tell her, for that was when the screaming began.
Chapter 13
'There are many types of hell spawn one can drag from the Shadow Dimensions, but imps are the worst. A vile plague, and difficult to kill... though not impossible.'
* * *
—Lady Eberhardt
* * *
SEBASTIAN BROKE AWAY from her.
Cleo drew a ragged breath, her head turning unerringly toward the manor, her body a mixture of cooling desire and sudden conflicting fear. Every muscle in Sebastian's body was hard, a look of predatory intensity upon his face.
"What was that?" she whispered.
Light flared; red light. Glass exploded out through the french doors that lined the terrace, and then the screaming started again.
Attack. They were under attack.
"Stay here," Sebastian said, but Cleo caught his wrist as he turned toward the manor.
"Are you daft?" she demanded. "You don't know what's happening!" Neither of them did. "We're both barely trained."
Indecision flickered over his face. "This is my mother's work. I'll stake my life upon it."
Only Morgana would dare attack the majority of the Order at Ianthe's Ascension Ball. Perhaps as payback for their theft of the wand.
And that was enough to break any restraining hold she might have held upon him. Sebastian despised his mother more than anything.
Cleo grabbed fistfuls of her skirts and scurried after him. "Then I'm coming with you."
"You're safer out here—"
"Oh yes, so much safer," she drawled, "considering we don't know what is happening, where the attack is coming from, and just who precisely is crawling through these gardens. Or what."
Sebastian paused and glared down at her.
"We're safer together," she pointed out. "We're a bonded pair. My powers run to divination, but you could use my strength...." Cleo winced. It wasn't as though he needed more power. "I just.... I'm not leaving you. I'm not letting you walk in there alone. And that's final."
She hadn't liked it the other night at all, being sent off with Verity.
The clench of his jaw dared to refute her, but he gave a sudden brief nod. "Keep beside me at all times. I'll protect you."
"I do know how to ward," she retorted, scurrying after him once again.
"Aye." Sebastian pressed his back to the stone of the terrace, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But do you know how to kill?"
It made her flinch.
"I do," he said, in that same, deadly soft voice. "And if my mother is behind this, then neither of us can afford to hesitate."
Cleo swallowed. "Understood."
An errant streak of pure power blew out all the windows above them. Sebastian flung his arm over her head, pressing her into the stonework, even as Cleo crafted a ward around them.
"To me!" someone cried. "To me!"
"Over here!" yelled another voice, and this time she recognized Lucien.
"We have to help them," Cleo gasped.
Grabbing her by the hand, Sebastian hauled her through the greenery, her skirts snagging on the pruned rosebushes. The ballroom was a mess of shadow and flickering red light. Mage globes, clearly, and the red color meant that someone wasn't mucking about. Red was the color of war; of death.
"Stand firm!" Ianthe called, and Cleo caught a glimpse of the Prime gathering dozens of sorcerers to her side.
They stood back to back, but there were pockets of them scattered all through the ballroom, which was overrun with imps. The hell spawn must have been dragged straight out of the Shadow Dimensions, and the sheer number of them....
"My gods," Cleo whispered. "Who could conjure so many imps?"
"The demon," Sebastian replied grimly, flinging his hands wide.
A lash of power sent half a dozen imps tumbling across the polished timber floors.
One leered at them and leapt from the balcony above them, its claws flared wide. Cleo formed a ward about them and it hit with a splat, sliding down the amorphous bubble.
"Drop the ward," Sebastian bellowed, and she did, just as he sent another sheer wave of force slamming through a pack of imps.
Black blood stained their bronze skins. One hissed at them, its long tail lashing back and forth like a cat's. Together she and Sebastian moved through the room, alternating between attacking and shielding. Cleo was breathless by the time she reached a small pocket of frightened apprentices, but Sebastian only seemed buoyed by the fight.
His eyes gleamed a merciless silver, and sparks spat from his rings as he wielded his sorcery like a brute scalpel. Imps were nearly impossible to kill, but he was succeeding. Ripping them apart like rag dolls with sheer force, his head turning to and fro as if he sought something.
Morgana. A shiver ran through Cleo. Seeing him like this was a brutal punch of truth. He'd told her a thousand times he was dangerous; she'd never truly believed it. Not her Sebastian. Her quiet, genteel husband, who took such care of his precious roses, and hid his raw pain behind a cool, emotionless mask.
She might not be able to see new Visions, but her old ones haunted her. Especially the one she called London's doom: an enormous shadow of rippling darkness that took over London, sweeping away every light that lit the city, and leaving nothing but ruins.
She'd thought it was the demon, once upon a time.
Now, watching her husband, she wasn't entirely certain.
But: The key to defeating the darkness lies with Sebastian.
She had to maintain hope.
"This way," Cleo whispered, gathering a pair of young girls who hadn't even earned their first apprentice ring. She didn't take her eyes off him, however. "Sebastian, we need to join the others."
Those silver eyes glittered. "Go," he said. "I'll join you in a moment—"
"No." Cleo stood her ground. "There are other sorcerers here who need help. Your help. Morgana can wait."
Grabbing the first young woman's hand, she pushed them ahead of her, warding the three of them. "Through the door! Into the gardens!"
The young girls screamed as every window along the sidewall smashed into little shards, one by one.
"Run!"
A static buzzing echoed in Cleo's ears. Her face went numb, then hot with sudden heat. She didn't understand what was happening until a wave of force smashed through her half-tended ward and sent both her and Sebastian sprawling.
"Cleo!" Something grabbed hold of her, and then she was slammed against a warm body, the pair of them tumbling head over heels.
It finally ended, and Cleo sucked in a sharp breath, looking up from where she was shielded by Sebastian's arms. Everything hurt. She was lying atop him, and half his coat was melted, stinking of burned wool.
Ears ringing, Cleo looked up.
"Hello, my sweet, sweet son," said a hooded f
igure who stepped out of her crowd of imps, reaching up to draw her hood back.
Morgana's black hair was heavily streaked with white, and the last Cleo had seen of her, the woman had been crippled, but now her stride was firm. The demon must have healed her.
Sebastian staggered to his feet, dragging Cleo with him. He'd been a vicious whirlwind of sorcery, obliterating large swathes of imps with a wave of his hand. But the second he saw his mother, his powers seemed to wane, turning into chaotic golden threads around him.
Emotion was his weakness.
It always would be. And when it came to his mother, the storm within him was too volatile to control.
Shoving Cleo behind him, he held both hands splayed, plunging the room into a frigid environment as he sucked in enormous amounts of energy. No! Cleo breathed through a raw throat, her heated breath steaming in the suddenly icy air. Sebastian. She tried to say it, to warn him, but her voice wasn't working. Catching hold of an enormous Chinese vase, she tried to stay upright against the sudden draining whirlpool.
"You," he spat, and lashed out, lightning sparking from his fingertips.
Morgana merely smiled, and waved it away. "Your father sends his regards."
"You mean the demon in his body," Sebastian snarled, and enveloped his mother with a wave of pure darkness.
A storm of force lashed back in return, and Sebastian went down on one knee, his wards blown behind him as Morgana stepped forward, her red skirts whisking around her legs.
"Get up," Cleo whispered, crouched behind her vase.
"Tsk, tsk," Morgana said, circling him slowly. Light flickered off the seven rings she wore on her fingers; a sign of just how far she'd progressed through the Order ranks in the past. "Someone's forgetting all the lessons he's clearly been taught. Did you think you could defeat me?"
Sebastian flung another wave of pure force at her, which Morgana parted with ease. The wind rippled past her, sending her skirts and hair flying, but she responded with something that made him cry out and fall backwards, scratching at his arms, his face, his eyes—
