Despite the state of her aggravated mind, Lily’s pulse quickened. This was Kelan at his most charming, his most lethal, and she was helpless to prevent the impact.
His thumb brushed over her cheek to the corner of her mouth. “Perhaps it is the way the green in your eyes burns when your body is flushed with desire.” The pad of his thumb pressed against her lower lip and his eyes went there. “Or the taste of your kisses. You are beautiful, courageous, kind and elegant… You are my opium.”
Heat coiled low in her stomach. Her blood flowed slow and heavy, as if she were the one who’d been drugged. She’d once compared Kelan—unfavourably—with a box of soft-centred Parisian chocolates. When you bite into the centre, she’d told Evelyn, there’s an iron pit instead of creamy butterscotch. Iron smelts when it gets hot enough, Evelyn had replied. She hadn’t agreed with Evelyn at the time, but she was beginning to understand.
His gaze lifted again and his thumb fell away from her mouth. “But I could spend a thousand nights in your bed and nothing would change. I am who I am, Lily, and I do what must be done.”
She staggered back a pace with a deep breath, her hands fisted at her sides. Of course he wouldn’t change, and he’d unravelled the truth of her frustration before she could. She didn’t know Kelan any less with the increasingly intimate nature of their relationship, it was simply that she expected more, she expected different from him. Preposterous. Their ultimate goal was the same, but their paths would never align.
“I don’t want any of this,” Kelan said, “but you are right. If sacrifices are to be made, I’d do so without hesitation. Anything else is a luxury that would smite the human race from this planet.”
She clamped her lips on the instantaneous argument. They’d done this often enough for her to know it was a futile cause. Kelan likened her sentimental nature to a luxury. Lily considered each life as precious as the whole, each person worth saving as much as the entire world.
“Seal the tear,” she said hoarsely. “I haven’t seen any demons for more than a month.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re not out there.” Kelan shook his head, dismissing her idea as he turned from her. “We still have Agares on the loose. And we know a pack came through on the 22nd of June, two of which you didn’t see in your demon glass until only last month.” He perched on the edge of the bed to drag his boots on. “Until you have a better grasp on your ability and we’re sure there are no blind spots for demons to hide, the tear remains open.”
“That’s a guarantee we may never have.”
Kelan glanced up from lacing his boot. “I have absolute faith in you.”
“That doesn’t help me.”
“Neither will short cuts.”
Lily threw her hands up but kept her mouth shut because Kelan had, as always, judged her desperation accurately. Sealing the tear was a short cut to prevent full out war, to prevent any more demons from coming through from whatever dimension they called home. But what if… what if…?
She bit down on her lip, thinking quickly, sorting what Kelan had told her from what she and Greyston had interrogated from Duncan McAllister’s memory box. The device had recorded interactions between the demons Gorgon and Raimlas while they were prisoners at Cragloden. Temporarily draining Ana’s memory sap and replacing it with the recorded memory sap via Armand’s circulatory bypass machine was risky. Ana could lose a large percentage of her true memories during the process, but Greyston rewound the half hour, cutting out that risk.
Kelan knew she was doing this, but he did not know the truth about what the recordings held. He thought the memory box was merely his uncle’s journal and research notes. If Kelan suspected she had months, years, worth of private conversation between two King Demons who were unaware they were being observed, he would be relentless in his ruthlessness. He would chain Ana to that box and when he was done, she’d be a shell of a celludrone with none of the memories she’d made over her and Lily’s lifetime.
Kelan knew his uncle had kept demons prisoners in his laboratory. Raimlas. The demon whose blood she and Greyston shared. Her brow pinched as she recalled the day Kelan had told them. Had it only been May? It felt like years ago. And he’d mentioned a second demon… Gamgos. Kelan had the name wrong. The second demon’s name was Gorgon, not Gamgos. Did it matter? It couldn’t, because she didn’t dare mention this fact to Kelan. Perhaps she recalled the name incorrectly.
“Your mind is working so loudly,” Kelan said, “I can hear it from here.”
Lily’s eyes startled wide on him. She wasn’t entirely sure he couldn’t. Kelan didn’t have demon blood, but he did possess unnatural reflexes and an uncanny knack for reading her mind.
“I was speaking metaphorically.” He bent his head on a sigh and finished lacing his boots. “Let’s not forget the last time you plotted. You nearly died and you banished a vital source of information.”
Goodness gracious, would he ever let that business with Timothkin go? What did he hope for? That she’d repent one day and beg forgiveness? Well, he would have to wait forever. She certainly did not regret banishing Timothkin and she never would.
Lily suddenly remembered what Kelan had told her when they’d banished the demons in London.
Don’t ever be tempted to interrogate it, do not ask questions, do not engage in conversation. A demon won’t tell you the colour of the sky without eliciting a price you won’t be willing to pay.
“Timothkin wasn’t a source of information,” she accused. “If you recall, we cannot engage with demons or ask questions.”
Kelan stood, scrubbed his jaw, his gaze slowly lifting to her. “There are other, less direct methods, of determining what a demon is up to, Lily.”
Methods Lily struggled to tolerate. Spying, following, skulking in the shadows while a demon walked the streets of London!
She walked closer, searching Kelan’s eyes. Always so impenetrable to her, but she was sure she saw a trace of worry now, a vulnerability in those dark depths.
“You’ve bartered with a demon before,” she said softly, nerves fluttering inside her chest. She didn’t bother asking what price he’d paid. Where others had a heart, Kelan had a vault to guard his secrets. She suspected many of those were best left locked away than unleashed upon this world.
Ice slated over the vulnerability. The look he pierced her with was cold and shuttered. “Don’t change the subject. What new scheme is filling your head, Lily?”
She bristled at the warning in his tone, but this was not a time to thwart Kelan for the sheer hell of it. “Your uncle imprisoned demons.”
Kelan shrugged. “Raimlas and Gamgos.”
Gamgos! So, her memory hadn’t failed. Was it possible Duncan McAllister had captured three demons at some point? She filed the possibility for further examination later.
“We still have the dungeon laboratory beneath the lake, Kelan. We cannot banish any remaining demons once the tear is sealed, but we can trap them in the dungeon, imprison them in the rune to bind and keep. The McAllisters will become the keepers of the last demons, ensuring they remain forever bound.”
“No.” Kelan shook his head.
Lily put her hands up. “It’s not perfect, but it would give us some measure of control and—”
“Lily,” he cut through her protest, not unkindly and yet decisive. “I’m sorry, but that is never going to happen. Put it from your mind.”
“Why not?” She took a step back, folding her arms. “Is it beneath your dignity, Kelan, to be a jailor instead of a hunter?”
He remained impassive, looking at her for a long moment, and then he turned and strode from the room without another word.
Blast and damnation! Lily swung around, her chest heaving with frustration and impotent anger as she marched to her wardrobe. Why could he never see the merit in any plan that wasn’t his?
She pulled the door open, her eyes skimming over the sleeveless creations in satin, the shimmering silks and muslins that flowed in and around her leg
s as she moved across a ballroom floor. There was a time when she’d imagined she could return to that life, sipping champagne and dancing the night away. She snorted, reaching for a pair of leather breeches and a plain cotton shirt, attire far more practical and suited to Cragloden’s ballroom. The moment she’d consummated her marriage, she’d resigned herself to a future as Kelan’s wife. Even if the last demon were ever to be banished, the Cairngorm Tear sealed, she couldn’t see life with Kelan as ever being quite that normal.
Once she’d completed her ablutions and dressed, donning the knee-high boots she’d grown rather fond of, she pinned her hair up in a haphazard fashion and made her way downstairs. In a previous life, Ana would have been on hand to assist in Lily’s preparation for the day. These days Lily required somewhat less preparation and Ana was far too busy.
A smile lit Lily’s mood as she crossed the marble hallway at the bottom of the stairs. At Cragloden, Ana was free to lead a full life without the need to hide that she was no average celludrone. The enhanced technology of Ana’s memory sap allowed the celludrone to store and process memories in very much the same way any child learned to navigate their environment growing up. Without the enforced isolation, and with the plethora of interactions and new responsibilities, Ana’s simulated humanity blossomed day by day. Especially this last week since Neco had taken up semi-permanent residence to help with Kelan’s war effort.
Instead of heading for the dining room, Lily rounded the corner and continued on to the morning room, a conservatory extended onto the east wing to take advantage of the morning sun. This morning, however, the sun hid behind a bank of roiling clouds and any notion of a peaceful breakfast evaporated when she found Kelan standing there, his hands linked behind his back, his attention fixed beyond the wall of glass.
The sound of her booted footfalls shifted his gaze to her. “Mrs. Locke informed me you prefer to take breakfast here.”
“How thoughtful of her.” Lily offered him a terse smile as she moved to the breakfast board. “Have you eaten?”
“Hmm.”
She felt the heat of his eyes raking her outfit. Or perhaps she was simply remembering the hunger in his gaze the last time he’d seen her wearing breeches. He’d had her naked in his bed all night, after all, his hands roaming every inch of her body. What curves could her outfit possibly reveal that he hadn’t already touched with his roaming kisses?
The direction of her thoughts stirred an irritating flush to her cheeks. She selected a pastry dribbled in honey and chocolate from the tray and took a healthy bite. The flavours exploded in her mouth, eliciting a groan of pure ecstasy. There and then, she forgave Mrs. Locke for the invasion of her morning solitude.
Taking the rest of the pastry with her, she settled into her favourite wicker chair before sparing Kelan a glance.
“I can’t decide if you know exactly what you’re doing,” he drawled, a definite glint of desire heating his gaze as he watched her, an oddly amused grin tugging at his mouth, “or if you were just born to drive a man insane.”
She sent him a scowl. “Whatever do you mean?”
He shook his head on a low chuckle. “I take it you’re dressed for training?”
Lily nodded. “Ana will be around to collect me any moment. I prefer to train outside,” she added.
“So Armand informs me.”
Lily refrained from rolling her eyes. “I would have thought you two had more important matters to discuss than my daily habits.”
Kelan’s grin kicked wider. “What is more important than a man’s wife?”
“When it comes to a McAllister wife,” she said smoothly, “the list is endless.”
“You’ve been spending far too much time in Greyston’s company,” he observed casually, closing the distance between them at a leisurely pace.
“Hardly any time at all,” she retorted, both of them well aware that he had Greyston scouring the length and breadth of Scotland for the Gossamer.
She nibbled on her pastry, her eyes tracking Kelan as he came to stand a foot from her, his hands still clasped behind his back, the intensity of his gaze unnerving. “What are you doing?”
He held a hand out. “A small demonstration.”
“Of?” she asked, wary of the sensuality stamped in his eyes. Kelan was only this transparent when he deliberately intended it.
“How very short your endless list is, Lily.”
But there is a list, she thought. She wasn’t his top priority and he’d never pretended otherwise. He hadn’t seduced her with sweet lies. She’d fallen into his bed with her eyes wide open.
With a sigh, Lily put her hand in his and allowed him to tug her to her feet. She could oppose Kelan at every corner, but she couldn’t blame or judge him for traits he’d never disguised. She had to separate her heart from her body, separate their personal relationship from the McAllister demon cause. She wondered how many pieces of her would be left when all was said and done.
He flattened a palm over her hip, bringing her in closer as his other hand cupped the back of her head, tilting her chin to him. He angled his jaw, his silky hair falling across the granite ridges and hollows of his face. So harsh, so arrogant, so darkly beautiful, desire swelled and thickened her veins.
Her arms went around him as she stepped forward, pressing a thigh between his, looking into his eyes as her limbs turned molten. “I’m still furious at you.”
“I know.” Tenderness softened the raw desire in his gaze as he slowly lowered his mouth to hers.
Their lips touched, a teasing kiss as light and magical as the flutter of a butterfly. Flames licked her blood, setting her entire body alight with a desperate need for more. She ran her hands over his back, her fingers scraping urgently as she parted her lips.
Kelan deepened the kiss on a groan, his hand sliding over her buttocks, pressing her flush with his hardness, and she was melting, lost to the longing and want that wrapped them.
TWO
Kelan took reluctant leave of his wife to go in search of Armand. The temptation to carry Lily upstairs, to spend the day in bed, drugged his blood and frayed the edges of his focus.
He clenched his jaw, shaking off the weakness.
The sound of his name, bellowed across the cavernous foyer of the east wing, turned him around to find Archibald bearing down on him. Born a direct descendent of Kenleith McAllister and bred into the family secrets, Archibald was one of the few men who served him in the role of guardian rather than clan chief.
The frown burrowing the man’s heavy brow put Kelan on alert. He’d charged Archibald with the construction of a small furnace house and the production of Cairngorm ore bullets. “Trouble with the ovens?”
“On the contrary.” Archibald opened a fist under Kelan’s nose to reveal a blunt-nosed bullet. “’Tis our first batch, based on the express design.” He rolled the bullet to his fingertips as he spoke. “The hollow point slows the bullet as it enters and if we’ve done the job right, this beauty will explode fragments o’ Cairngorm ore deep inside the body.”
“Welcome news, indeed.” Kelan took the bullet for closer examination. “But…?”
Archibald grunted. “Bullets will be no more than an irritant ta demons, Kelan, they willna maim or stun. Ye have the men training in the ballroom. Is it no better ta arm them with swords than ta melt down all our Cairngorm weapons?”
“The training will heed them well with fitness and flexibility.” Kelan handed the bullet back, looking his man in the eye. “You and I both know that no man out there will be capable of getting close enough to any demon to use a sword. They will be more effective from a distance. A demon riddled with these bullets will be an easier target for the few of us who are equipped to deal properly with the banishing.”
“Aye,” Archibald said glumly. “’Tis a shame, that much I willna deny, ta lose our Cairngorm armoury.”
Ah, so that was what truly troubled the man. The Cairngorm armoury was their history, their legacy, each generation of McAlli
ster guardians adding to the treasure cove. “Rather the armoury than our heads.”
Archibald scratched his beard. “How many demons are ya expectin’ in this war o’ yers?”
“We prepare for the worst and hope for the best,” Kelan murmured, raising an amused brow as he stepped around Archibald. “And it’s not my war, unless you’re speaking with my wife. She appears convinced I’m orchestrating events purely for my own amusement.”
He crossed the hall in long strides, Archibald’s rumbling chuckle echoing at his back. His steps slowed fractionally when he passed the ornate ballroom doors, listening for the hum of Armand’s Strobe machine. Muffled sounds indicated some activity beyond. As he walked, he ran his palm over the doors which had been barred and sealed when he’d turned the ballroom over for training purposes. No vibrations. The machine was not in use. Which likely meant Armand was elsewhere occupied.
Regardless, Kelan rounded the corner and made his way along the narrow passage to the service door tucked down at the far end. He’d arrived home late last night and hadn’t yet had the opportunity to observe his men’s training first-hand.
The ballroom was cavernous, the crystal chandeliers swinging from the double-volume ceiling the only visible hint of its original function. Black cloth draped the floor-to-ceiling mirrors and the wall of glass doors that led out to a terrace. The parquet floor was dull, smudged with streaks of dirt from booted feet that thumped and skidded instead of gliding dancing slippers.
The hulking Strobe machine stood silent and lifeless while close to three dozen men grunted, dipped, lunged and cursed as they advanced on Neco and Ana, sparring strobes of light that flashed directly from the celludrones’ fingers.
Kelan’s blood ran cold. The sight was so starkly reminiscent of demon fire bolts, it took his brain a moment to disassociate one from the other.
Closing the door behind him, Kelan put his back to the wall and folded his arms, his brow creased in concentration as he took in the scene. A lone man crept around the side of Ana while four others engaged head-on. Ana spun about at the last second, cutting the creeping man off at the knees with a sweeping ray as she pirouetted a full circle to finish off the frontal charge. They dropped one by one as she flicked light from her fingers—as soon as a beam crossed any part of a man in the darkened room, he fell to the ground as if struck and stayed down. The simulated battle was practically the real thing.
The Dark Matters Quartet Page 69
