The room wasn't lit, but the moonlight shining through the window was bright enough that I could see. We were in a sitting room of some kind, a room I'd only vaguely registered during my time here. Chairs, a sofa, some books. Nothing that looked like it would be of any use to me.
Then I saw the fireplace.
And the metal poker leaning against it.
Jackpot.
“My husband doesn't have any money here,” I said as I inched sideways. I'd likely only have one shot at this. “I'm not sure what sort of ransom you think you'll get for me.”
Faver laughed, a genuinely amused sound that scared me worse than his silence would have. “I already have my payment guaranteed. And with Monsieur Pasternak deceased, I shall be able to keep it all for myself.”
A cold knot settled in my stomach. Pasternak. That was the last name of the man who'd kidnapped me. The man Gracen had killed.
“You paid him to torture me?”
Faver shrugged. “My employer had hoped that such an attack could be attributed to political goals and would achieve the desired result.”
I took another sidestep. “What desired result? Me dead?”
“Dead or ruined, my employer was not...picky. Only that it would result in Monsieur Lightwood returning to the colonies on the right side of the conflict.”
The suspicion hit me hard enough to make me gasp. I didn't want to believe it, and I definitely didn't want to ask it, but I knew that unless I did, it would always be a possibility in my mind.
“Who is your employer?” Another sidestep, and I was close enough to lunge for the poker.
“Monsieur Lightwood.” Faver smiled as he cut the distance between us in half. “The elder, of course.”
A punch to the gut couldn't have affected me more at that moment. “He hates me that much?” The question came out in a whisper.
“I was to be the middle man,” Faver said, ignoring me. He almost sounded like he was talking to himself, psyching himself up to do what needed to be done. “But when your husband killed Harry, I knew I needed to get my hands dirty. At first, the idea was distasteful, but I am beginning to see the appeal.”
I yanked my thoughts back to the present. I'd deal with the ramifications of what I just learned once I was safe. As Faver came toward me, I knew I was out of time. I dove for the fireplace, my fingers closing around the handle of the poker just as Faver grabbed for me. He caught my sleeve, the fabric digging into my arm as he pulled.
Every summer growing up, my family had gone to picnics held at whatever base we happened to be, and inevitably, my father and brother would get a baseball game going. While I'd never been good enough to play on an organized team, I'd always enjoyed it. It had been nearly ten years since the last time I'd played, but I called up everything I ever learned as I swung the poker straight at Faver's head.
Metal met bone with a sickening crunch, and I watched Faver's eyes widen in surprise for two long seconds. Then he dropped to the ground, dead or unconscious, I didn't know. That didn't matter. I didn’t plan to stick around to check. I needed to get out of here, needed to find Gracen and tell him what happened.
I just didn't know how to tell him that his father had tried to have me killed.
Chapter 30
I opened my eyes, and the room swam into focus. The thought that it was Christmas Day came up almost immediately, but it didn't bring with it any of the usual joy I'd felt in the past.
Actually, I realized, it had been a while since I'd been happy on Christmas morning. The last two years, I'd been on tour. The year before that, Bruce had thrown a fit that I'd wanted to spend all day with my family rather than in bed with him, so that had cast a damper on the whole thing.
“Merry Christmas, my love.”
His voice reminded me that I did have something to look forward to today, and I rolled over to face him.
“Merry Christmas.”
He reached over and brushed the back of his hand down my cheek. “Are you all right?”
I nodded. After I'd gotten away from Faver, I'd found Gracen and Alexandre. Things became a bit of a blur after that. Faver had been arrested, and Alexandre apologetic. I'd never seen St. James so furious. He'd dressed down his guards so thoroughly that I hadn't needed to know French to know he'd been pissed. He'd apologized over and over until Alize had finally managed to get him to stop.
The party had ended, but my night hadn't been over yet. I'd had to tell Gracen what Faver had said about Roston. It wasn’t a pleasant conversation, though it had been pretty much one-sided. Gracen had just listened, his face growing paler by the second. When I finished, he'd taken me in his arms, brought me upstairs. We hadn't spoken as we'd gotten ready for bed, but now that we were awake, I wondered if we were going to talk about it.
Pain was evident in Gracen's eyes. “I keep wondering what I could have done. To prevent it...”
“You could have left me,” I whispered. “We both know that the only thing your father would accept is you marrying Clara and supporting the British.”
“Never.” His voice was earnest. He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “I hate what he did, but I will not let him take you from me.”
I slid my hand over Gracen’s chest, moving in closer as he pulled me to him. His heart thudded against my palm, a steady rhythm that grounded me. His hands slid down my back to cup my ass, and I let out a laugh as he rolled us over.
“I love you, Honor Lightwood,” he said, his smile settling into something a bit more serious. He sat up, his hands sliding down to ease my legs around his waist.
“I love you too.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, making a small noise in the back of my throat as my breasts pressed against his chest, the friction making my nipples harden.
He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, pulling until our mouths met. Heat spread down through my body, tightening things low inside me. I could feel him hardening against me, our bodies separated by the thin fabric of our nightshirts.
“I want you inside me,” I murmured against his mouth. “Need to feel you stretching me so wide around you. Filling me up. Please, baby.”
Gracen made a growling sound as he reached between us, his fingers jerking our clothes out of the way. His eyes locked with mine, deep and full of all the things that we weren't saying. I let out a cry as he pulled me down, burying himself inside me with one thrust. I dug my nails into his arms, a soft whimper escaping. It didn't matter how many times or ways we did this, that first moment he slid inside me was always overwhelming.
“My beautiful wife.” His voice was rough, but his touch was gentle as he cupped my chin and guided my mouth back to his.
As we moved, heat built between us, chasing away the chill in the room. Chasing away everything but the feel of him. His scent. The sound of our breathing. Every sense was filled with him and us. I clung to him, kissing my way down his neck, the salt from his skin bitter on my tongue. His teeth and lips worked over my own throat, and I was dimly aware that we were both leaving marks, but I didn't care. A part of me even liked the idea of making sure everyone could see that he was mine and I was his.
“I cannot...” A shudder ran through him. “I...Honor, my love.”
“I know.” I tightened around him. “Let go.”
My name came out of his mouth like a combination curse and prayer as he came. A rush of heat filled me, and I ground down on him, rotating my hips to get that extra friction I needed to send me over the edge.
“Ahh...” The sound was half-moan, half-shout, but all I felt was pleasure. Everything went white, and a small part of my mind recognized the humor in a whole different sort of white Christmas.
We'd have today, I decided. One day where it could just be about us. It was, after all, our first Christmas together.
“I think that should be a Christmas tradition,” I said as I ran my fingers through his soft hair. “Best way to wake up ever.”
He chuckled, the rumble a gentle vibration against my chest, his
breath hot against my neck. “I agree.”
We stayed joined a while longer before we finally stretched out next to each other. He ran his fingers up my arm, tracing patterns on my bare skin, each touch sending little sparkles of electricity through me.
“You know,” he said. “I was thinking. We may need for you to step into a more masculine role when we return to Boston. You can wear men's clothes the way you did when we first met, an open disguise.”
“You want me to dress as a man?”
“It might be a good idea.”
I sighed. “It might have been, but I'm afraid that’ll be quite impossible now.”
Gracen pulled back, looking at me in confusion. “I do not understand. You suggested it to Washington yourself.”
“I did,” I said, knowing it was time to tell him what I'd guessed only a couple days ago. “It’s just that I won’t be able to look the part soon...not once I start to show anyway.” I gave him a weak smile. “Merry Christmas?”
Our relationship finally seemed to be on the right track again, but adding another person to the equation, not to mention a helpless, innocent one, would change everything. Though I didn't yet know if it would be a good change or a bad one. Being pregnant would keep anyone from being suspicious, no doubt, but I was certain no one was going to let me help in that condition, and that wasn't just an opinion from this time period. I just didn't want anyone to see me as helpless, or my child as a burden.
Gracen stared at me, his eyes wide. Expression unreadable.
Finally, he released a soft chuckle, resting his forehead on my breast. “Damn,” he murmured.
“Are you upset?” I asked, squeezing his shoulder with my fingers, my heart in my throat.
He looked up at me, cupping my cheek in his hand. “Upset? Of course not. You are going to have my baby.”
The wonder in his tone brought tears to my eyes, and my vision blurred for a few moments before I brushed the drops away. When I could see clearly again, I found a shadow in Gracen's eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“I cannot help but think...” The words trailed off. He took my hand and kissed my palm.
“Think what?”
“That you would rather be in your time, with your family, at a time like this.”
My heart twisted painfully, and it was my turn to rest my hand on his cheek. I leaned over and give him a soft kiss.
“You are my family, Gracen Lightwood.” My words were firm, certain. “You and this baby are my family. Do I wish my parents and brother could meet our child? Yes. But if I had to choose, I would choose you and this baby over everything that other time has to offer.”
He laced his fingers between mine. “Are you certain?”
I squeezed his hand. “I did choose you, remember?”
A wide smile broke out across his face as he grabbed me, rolling us over so that I was on my back. He propped himself up over me, kissed the tip of my nose, and then moved down my body, tugging at my nightshirt as he went. I yanked it over my head, but before I could process round two, I realized that he wasn't initiating sex.
He was...communing with the baby. It was the only word I could think of that even came close to describing the look of awe and love on his face. He touched my stomach lightly, almost reverently. When he lightly kissed just below my bellybutton, everything inside me shifted, and I found that I could love him even more than I already did.
“Hello, my little one.”
His voice grew softer until I couldn't hear what else he was saying. That was okay though. He wasn't talking to me. I smiled, reaching down to comb my fingers through his hair as his lips moved against my skin. I didn't know everything about what the future held, but this moment, right here, right now, I was content.
Continues in the final book, Love and Honor. Click here to get an email notification as soon as it’s released.
Turn the page to read the two bonus stories.
Chapter 1
Okay, so maybe driving from Washington, DC to New York City during the first week of January wasn't the smartest thing I'd ever done, but since I had a history of always doing the right thing, the responsible thing, I figured I was allowed an occasional misstep.
I, however, seemed to be the only one who believed that to be true.
Right on cue, my mother's voice shouted in my head. “You'll regret this, Bryne Dawkins. You have no clue how good you have it.”
Despite what my mother thought, I was acutely aware of how fortunate I was. I remembered what it was like before my dad died, before Mom and I moved in with Nana and Papa, her grandparents, my great grands. I remembered lying in bed and hearing my parents arguing about rent and grocery money. And I could remember walking into Nana and Papa's house, staring up at the ceiling so high above me with its glittering chandelier, unable to believe that we were going to live there now.
I wondered what Nana and Papa would've thought about what I was doing. They died shortly before I graduated high school, one of those couples who hadn't been able to live without each other. Nana had gone first – her heart – and then Papa had followed two months later in his sleep. That's when things started getting weird between Mom and me.
I sighed as I flicked my windshield wipers to high speed. It didn't do much good. The visibility still sucked, and even though it was the middle of the afternoon, it was pretty dark. I probably should have waited to move since I wasn't on any sort of timetable, but ever since I told Mom what I’d planned to do, she'd been impossible to live with. If I'd put off my plans, she would've used it as an opportunity to tell me how much I was messing up my life. Well, more than she already insisted I was.
“I can do this,” I whispered to myself. I wished my voice sounded a little more solid, more like I knew what I was doing.
I risked a glance down at the GPS that was supposed to take me to the hotel where I'd made a reservation. Except nothing had changed on it since the last time I looked.
Shit.
Something was wrong with the signal. I wasn't a techie enough person to know what was wrong or how to fix it, but I did know that I was somewhere in the middle of New York City, completely lost, in a car that had been making a weird noise for the past twenty minutes.
Lost in New York.
In the snow.
In January.
At least the traffic wasn't bad. I'd been dreading that part of driving in the city. Then again, the fact that I'd only seen two cars since I'd last turned was probably a good indication that the roads weren't exactly safe at the moment.
I caught a glimpse of a bright light to my right just as my car sputtered to a stop, completing the end of a less than stellar day. I barely managed to pull it up to the curb before all forward momentum disappeared.
“No, no, no.” As if the denial would actually change the fact that every light in my dash was shining like a Christmas tree.
Dammit! I slammed my hand on the steering wheel. Because, of course, that would help things.
“Come on!” I tried turning my key off, then on, but all I could hear was the clicking sound that I knew meant something had gone more sideways than usual.
Mom had tried to tell me to get a new car, but this relic was the last of my father's things. After he died and we moved, Mom had thrown out almost everything, but I'd put my foot down about the car. Nana and Papa had understood and offered to store it until I decided what I wanted to do. When I got my license, I declined their offer to buy me something new and insisted on insuring this thing. Mom told me I was being a sentimental fool, but I'd insisted.
You’re so hard headed. Your stubbornness will get you in a world of trouble one day.
Today is that day, it seems. Maybe I should've listened to her after all.
I put my forehead against the steering wheel and closed my eyes, telling myself that I wouldn’t cry. I was an adult dammit, and that meant I couldn't sit here on the side of the road and indulge in the tears that were burning my eyes. I had a problem, and I
needed to find a solution because no one else would do it for me.
I loved my mother, but her voice had haunted me from the moment I started loading my things into my car. Now, it wasn't only her voice, but I could see her in my mind, her head shaking in disappointment.
We looked enough alike for people to comment on it. We were both short and curvy and had the same “cute” features that made us look younger than our actual ages. My eyes were from my dad though, the only feature of his that I got. Green. The same color as the leaves of a juniper tree, he always said.
Dad wouldn't have wanted me to sit here and feel sorry for myself. He'd been a boxer, and he always told me that it wasn't about how many times the other guy got in a punch, or even how often he got knocked down. What made a champion was that he kept getting back up. Not that getting back up had made my dad into one. I hadn't minded though. Things hadn't been perfect, but I'd loved my life even before I could afford anything I wanted.
It was that hard-headed nature that had given me the courage to move here by myself. Now, it would help me with my problem.
I opened my eyes and took a slow, deep breath. I needed to find out where I was before I could call a tow truck, which meant I needed to get out of the car since I couldn't see anything from where I was sitting. I zipped up my coat, grabbed my purse, and stepped out into the snow.
I quickly walked around the front so I wasn't standing in the middle of the street, and before I'd gone more than a few steps, I was cursing the fact that I hadn't worn boots. The bottoms of my jeans were already soaked, and by the time I made it to the sidewalk, my socks were equally wet.
I really hoped this wasn't an indication as to how my new life here was going to be.
Once I was safely out of the way, I looked up, squinting against the snow as I searched for the street signs. It was no good. Between the angle and the snow, I still couldn't see much of anything.