“Can you grant me an audience with Adam?”
“I’ve tried to call him forth. He will not come.” Mary’s lips pursed. “I suspect he knows what I wish to ask and has no desire to answer.”
“Bloody, bothersome demons.” Holly had a word or two she’d like to convey to this Adam.
Mary fought a smile. “As you say.”
“Well,” Holly sighed, “thank you. And if you hear anything further—”
“You shall be the first to know,” Mary finished for her.
When Mary had gone, Holly sat in the silence of the library, listening to the sounds of the house settling around her. Quiet as a tomb. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought as much. But it was the first she’d considered it her tomb. She’d done this to herself. Yet she could not find the strength to dig herself out.
Chapter Five
Rain pattered on the brim of his hat as St. John Evernight stared up at the house that did not belong to him but was the only home he’d known in London. Evernight House shone bright against the leaden sky, the white limestone along the Greek revival edifice somehow defying the coal-laden fug that coated all other buildings in London. In his younger years, Sin fancied that the house had been enchanted to remain so impervious to grime. Now he knew it had. And perhaps he was the only one who did know this.
No, there was at least one soul dwelling in the grand, old town house who knew the truth. He’d be having a hell of a discussion with that one soon. But for now, Sin leaned against a lamppost and clamped a thin cheroot between his teeth.
Tempted by the acrid taste and the faint smell of the fine Turkish tobacco, the urge to light the thing and draw in a lungful of burning smoke was strong, but he fought it. Disgusting habit, as far as he was concerned. And just one of the things he’d apparently inherited from his father—or the man who’d spawned him, as Sin thought of him. Considering that his father had been an evil Primus demon who had tried to claim the souls of Sin’s brother-in-law and nephew, Sin cringed at the idea of being anything like the bastard.
Inside the library, figures moved about, walking past the lit up windows. Holly had a visitor. He thought of his cousin Holly, tucked up within the house where she’d been hiding out there for going on a year, thinking she fooled her family with her claims that she was merely working on new inventions. A rather stunning display of willful ignorance for someone so bloody clever. Though Holly was only his blood kin by a distant thread, he’d been raised alongside her, and she was more a sister to him than his actual sisters. He worried over her. The worry grew when he thought of what he would ask of her soon.
From his vantage point across the street, Sin watched as the house door opened and a slight female figure emerged. Her step was light as she descended the front stair. Gliding through swirling billows of fog, she made her way down the walk of the house, boldly moving past several traps designed to kill unwanted visitors. She was a pretty thing, this courageous miss, and he recognized her as Mary Talent. A Ghost in the Machine, the very type of being who could lead him directly to where he needed to go. But a GIM would never betray her maker. And while Sin knew he could eventually force the GIM to tell him what he needed to know, he did not harm innocents or women.
Besides, Mrs. Talent was a friend to Holly and his sisters, which meant she had his loyalty. So he remained where he was, hidden by fog and shadows. Turning to go, Sin gave one last glance at the house he’d called home. He should be inside as well, living in comfort. But he couldn’t. Not anymore. He would not hurt Holly, nor taint her with his darkness.
When Mary left, Holly decided to do some research. She sent Felix to the SOS library for books containing facts on sanguis, and shadow crawlers, and their earliest lore. He returned soon enough, leaden with heavy tomes, which told her precisely nothing about why Thorne still lived with metal invading his system, or how to reverse the process. Short of pulling out his mechanical heart, she could think of no other solution. As that would also kill him, it was hardly a viable plan. But one thing was certain: he was far better off than early crawlers, who slowly rotted away and needed mechanical limbs to replace the ones they’d lost. Those poor creatures were merely walking dead.
What made Thorne different? Was it that he’d been alive when the procedure had been done, as opposed to early crawlers, who purportedly were already dead when the demon Adam tried to create his first GIM? Could the difference save Thorne?
A blaring sound pulled her from her reverie. Holly headed for the outer hall. An alarm beeped from the brass panel by the front door, and as it did, one of the little light bulbs within the panel blinked. An intruder. In the basement.
A series of loud booms reverberated through the house, the iron doors that led to the basement slamming shut. Felix and Nan entered the hall a moment later. Felix already had one of Holly’s multi-fire guns in hand, and Nan’s eyes had begun to glow with witchy light.
“I do not think the main floor has been breached,” Holly began when the entire alarm panel lit up like The Strand at night. “Hell. Felix, man the West hall, and Nan, you take the East.” They hurried off. Though they were hardly weak, her heart began to pound and her insides tightened with worry for them.
Punching a hidden wall panel with the side of her fist so it would open, Holly reached inside the weapons closet, intent upon arming herself, when the entire house went dark.
Complete and utter blackness. Unnatural darkness. She could hear the gas lamp sconces hissing away yet could not see her hand in front of her face. Bloody, bloody hell.
Breath sharp with fear, she pressed her back against the wall and fumbled inside the closet to grab the nearest weapon. Her hand closed over the smooth handle of a whip the second an icy cold wind rushed at her with the power and sound of a freighter.
She heard her own scream of rage and fear from a distance, as she lashed out with the bullwhip. Lashing against air. Cruel masculine laughter echoed in the dark. Something tugged her hair. Holly wielded the whip again, not knowing where to aim. It connected, hitting something large. Not enough. Another pull of her hair, then laughter.
The bastard was toying with her. Gods, and he was shadow. Was it Thorne? The very idea sent a surge of bitterness into her dry mouth.
Another hit to her temple had her reeling. She set aside her fear and gathered her wits. Using a push of power, the knives, swords, and throwing stars lined within the weapons closet flew outward, whirling in a tempest around her. She could not see them, but heard the clicks of metal when they struck objects. The laughter increased, but was a bit farther away. Holly pushed her weapons outward, driving the intruder back.
The air grew colder, burning Holly’s lungs and thickening the blood within her veins. She shivered, fighting for strength. Her attacker was trying to freeze her.
Then she heard a howl of sheer outrage and the shattering of glass. Grunts rang out, snarls, and thuds of flesh connecting to flesh. The blackness fled as if someone had wrenched open closed drapes. Holly squinted at the sudden return of light. A movement to her right had her focusing on two looming figures. A flash of white, the gleam of platinum. Thorne. He fought a man, tall and fair. The man swung out, his hand pure gold, and razor sharp claws gleamed bright. The claws scraped against Thorne’s metal face, sending up sparks.
Holly sucked in a breath. He was entirely metal, just like Thorne. Which meant she could end him. She must have made a sound, for the man’s eyes met hers. His burned deep gold. She raised her hand, seconds away from paralyzing him, when he grinned and, with a swirl of black shadows, disappeared just as Thorne made a vicious swipe where his head would be.
Thwarted, Thorne roared, his fangs so long they looked like blades. He stalked forward, his body twitching, his gaze wildly darting about as though searching for his prey.
“He’s gone, Thorne.”
At the sound of her voice, he spun in her direction, crouched down as if to attack. Dear God, but he was covered in blood. It stained his lips, chin, and jaw. Covered
his crisp white shirt and torn waistcoat. His gaze, molten platinum, clashed with hers. He advanced on a growl, stalking her.
“Thorne.” Holly tensed against the wall, ready to stop him but not wanting to hurt him. Nor did she have the strength to hold him long; she was more drained than she realized. But he kept advancing, the ends of his frock coat snapping about his thighs with every step he took.
Though part of her was inordinately relieved that he’d returned, the look in his eyes alarmed her for its intensity, as if she’d become the entirety of his awareness. And he was coming for her.
She was prepared to counterattack when he stopped before her and clasped her shoulders with a gentle but firm hold. His lips curled in another snarl. “Mine.” He gripped her harder, pulling her towards him. “My Evernight.”
As if she were a toy he’d fought over and won.
“Er… yes.” Holly put a hand to his chest, holding him at bay and sending what relief she could into him. “I’m here to help you. Now kindly let me go.”
He did not relent, but bent closer, his gaze fixed upon her throat with unnerving focus. A sound rumbled in his throat. It was far too hungry, that sound. He smelled of blood. Up close, she could see flecks of it in the snow-white of his hair. Had he wounded her attacker before the man fled? Or was it his own blood?
Whatever the case, she did not intend to provide him with any more of it. “Mr. Thorne,” Holly warned.
He seemed past hearing, his voice going rough, faint. “Mine.” And then, before she could take another breath, his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed in a graceless heap at her feet.
Chapter Six
For nearly seven hundred years, the demon the underworld thought of simply as Adam had lived a lie. That did not bother him greatly. The world was full of lies. What was one more in the scheme of things? But his time was running out, for there was a vast difference between “nearly” seven hundred years and the actual seven hundred years. At least for him.
It ought to be over, the endless lying, waiting, and anxiety. He had what he wanted. What he needed. Hell, the object of his desire was currently attached to him by means of a soundless golden chain, drawn from his wrist to hers. Yet it wasn’t enough. He had not yet won. And it was her fault. Dour, stubborn, all around pain in his arse, Miss Eliza May.
She made not a sound as he walked along the thin spine of a London rooftop, dragging her with him. She never did. She sought to drive him to madness with her endless silence. And she was succeeding.
He suppressed a growl low in his throat. The urge to yank the chain and bring her hurtling into his body was high, but he ignored it. He could be silent as well. He could.
The whole of London spread before his feet—the glimmering lights, the broken teeth of chimneys and roof lattices, the domes and spires of churches. Eerie drifts of smoke rose up to join the heavy pall of thick, black fog that blocked the light of the moon to those below. Never before had the city been so vast, so capable of both miracles and violence. The world was on the cusp of a great change, and London was at the heart of it.
In the blink of an immortal’s eye, everything would be different. He could feel it in his bones. Innocence lost. He’d lived through such times before. But this change would be greater, and irrevocable.
Technology, that grand science which sought to ease man’s burdens, would be the catalyst that brought forth horrors they would scarcely understand now. Adam had seen it—the visions, the world torn apart by weapons. Weapons made by intelligent beings such as Miss Holly Evernight.
Oh, but he had a bone to pick with her. She’d created her own brand of mayhem when she’d copied his lovely clockwork hearts. Hearts that had no business going into the bodies of already powerful immortals. It set the balance off. It angered beings far more frightening than he. She didn’t even know the half of it. And now one of her abominations, Will Thorne, was with her.
Logic said to destroy the both of them. Thorne for being what he was, and Evernight for her impressive, creative brain. She and her future offspring would be capable of destroying the world as she knew it.
The Nex knew this. They wanted her. Quite badly. The SOS, in their focus to contain rather than innovate, didn’t see her true potential. Not yet.
Adam surveyed the London sprawl, the sounds of coach clatter and men, shouts drifting up to him. Soon it would be worse—louder, more sprawl, more of everything. But wasn’t that the point? Because the truth was, he could not wait to see it all. Technology was just as much his passion as it was Evernight’s. And then there was the inconvenient but unavoidable fact that she was related to Eliza. So he’d watch over Holly Evernight in his own way and protect her from what wanted to destroy her.
But he’d have to be careful about interfering. Oh, the bitter irony, that he should be highly feared throughout the supernatural world. When, in truth, he was as harmless as a babe. It was a closely guarded secret, known only to another ancient, that Adam was not a primus at all, but a man, twisted by fate and magic into a false god. One governed by rules.
How very much he hated them; they’d bound him hand and foot for hundreds of years. He could not kill, much less harm, supernaturals or humans. Not without forfeiting his very soul. And though he had the power to create an entirely new species of supernaturals and held their very lives in the palm of his hand, he could not command his children to kill in his name. Were it not for the fact that he was impossible to destroy, or to catch, he’d be a sitting duck to any ornery supernatural out there.
Even so, he had powers that were useful to him now. That in mind, he bent his head and concentrated on letting his power flow.
The being he’d summoned appeared before him. The man the world had known as Jonathan Deermont, tenth Earl of Darby, glared at him with eyes of pure gold. “You rang?” Disdain dripped from his clipped English tones.
Adam smiled, not a pleasant one. “For someone whose pathetic arse has been saved by me, you certainly show little appreciation.”
The shifter had been at death’s door after he’d been given a golden clockwork heart by the mad fallen Amaros. Adam had used his power to heal him. Thanks to him, Darby kept his sanity and still had the ability to turn to shadow or metal without damage.
Darby’s mouth curled. “I find little to appreciate these days. Had I known the true extent of my devil’s bargain, I’d have answered differently.” Though he did not in any way acknowledge Eliza May, the reply seemed directed at her, as though he empathized with her “plight.”
Adam fought for control. Fought not to lash out at Darby and paint himself the irrational beast that she seemed to believe he was. “Don’t be coy. You knew.”
Darby’s resentful gaze slid away. “What is it you require?”
“It has come to my attention that your little group has targeted Holly Evernight for extermination.”
The heated glare Darby shot him did not escape Adam’s notice.
“Yes,” Darby said.
“You attempted to destroy her this night.”
Darby didn’t bother to reply. Nor did Adam need it. He knew she’d survived. Which was good.
“How did you find Miss Evernight’s company, Darby?”
Darby’s patrician features tightened. “She’s hardly the weak and frightened creature I was led to believe.”
Pink lines of newly healing wounds criss-crossed the man’s face. Had Miss Evernight done that to him? No, those were demon claw marks. So Thorne was championing Evernight just as Adam thought he would. Even so, he could not help but needle Darby.
“Excellent,” Adam said. “I was hoping she’d regain her fighting spirit.”
Behind him, though not a sound was made, he knew she rolled her eyes. Adam ground his back teeth and forced a pleasant tone. “And the other one? The unnatural shadow crawler?”
Darby twitched, his expression twisting as though caught between rage and confusion. “Unexpected.”
So Darby and his ilk hadn’t sent Thorne. Wh
ich was troubling. Adam had a good idea who had sent him. It took all his resolve not to glance at Miss Eliza May.
Though he hadn’t been bidden, Darby spoke. “Thorne does not fare as well as I.” Golden eyes studied Adam. “I suppose he was not worthy of the same offer I received?”
How little the young ones understood anything.
“He wasn’t a viable option.”
At the time of their creation, Darby had pleaded to the heavens for life, while William Thorne had begged for death. As Adam could only help those that desired to live, and Darby had powerful ties that could be exploited, their fates were sealed.
“Shall I go now?” Darby asked, goading him.
Adam let the question drift off before answering. “Holly Evernight shall not die. Capture Thorne and hold him.” The newly turned crawler had no idea the threat he was to Adam. If only Adam could destroy Thorne. But he could not. He could only keep Thorne contained. Permanently. “Demand payment for your services for the contract. But do not kill either of them.”
Though he did an admirable job of hiding his reaction, Adam saw the urge to refuse glinting in Darby’s eyes. “Why?”
Why? Adam wanted to laugh, only that old, frustrated rage made it impossible.
“Because I bid it,” he said. “Hells bells, does any slave do things without question these days?”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to understand it a bit more,” Darby said without fear. “I may answer to you, but my men deserve more than to follow the whims of one bored primus.”
Annoyance ran hot through Adam’s gut. While he could not harm humans and other supernaturals, fortunately, he could do whatever he wanted to those who’d given up their souls to his care. Thus he let it out in a pulse of power. Darby flinched, his body going stiff as ice as his clockwork heart stopped. Sweat broke out over Darby’s skin as he struggled.