It is a sacrifice of the life we chose,” he said. “That doesn’t mean we must live it in fear.” Dully she nodded. Will suspected she lived far too much in fear now. It kept her here in this house, an odd little sitting duck. He gave her thin hand a squeez.

“Come, love, we are in this together, are we not?” True, he’d tried to kill her, and she’d tried to kill him. But that meant they were even now. Her wan, reluctant smile was like moonbeams breaking through a cloudy night. “We are.” A strange sense of elation and purpose filled him, and he stood, holding his hand out to her. “Right then. Tomorrow we go out.” And they’d be official partners. Then she had to go and ruin it all. “No.” Her prim face had returned, the starch back in her knickers. “I shall stay her.

It is up to you to go.”

Chapter Ten

Holly’s refusal to go out was not well received by Mr. Thorn.

It incensed the man, as if she had personally insulted him by wanting to stay at hom.

Which was the furthest thing from the truth. Not that she would confide her fears to him. Lord above, but the demon was like a dog with a bon.

He would not let the thing go and hounded her to the point of madness. Why, he asked her, wouldn’t she go out? Did she truly think he was trying to trick her? That he wanted to give her up to the Nex? No, she did not. Then what? What was more important than ending the contract out on her life, that she couldn’t spare the time to leave her house? What indeed. That she’d be a crippled wreck the moment she hit the streets, perhaps? Holly calmly maintained that he did not need her to accompany him on his outings. When his badgering had no effect, Thorne hung about the laboratory like a specter. He settled in a chair across from her desk, his ankle propped on one knee and a leather-bound book in his hands. He made a pretense of studying whatever it was in the book and had even brought a pencil, presumably to make notes. Holly didn’t believe it for one moment. Perhaps he thought that if he kept in sight it would wear down her defenses. Well, he was sorely mistaken. Keeping that in mind, she went to work on the schematics for a submersible ship. The concept was hardly new. Submersibles had been around, in some form or other, since the 1600s. But the Americans had made significant strides with submarines, using them to some success during the Civil War in the 1860s. She’d been corresponding with Mr. John Philip Holland, an Irish engineer who had quite interesting theories on propulsion methods. But she knew they could be improved. Scribbling away, she soon lost herself in her work, and a measure of warm calm stole over her. That is, until Thorne’s voice snapped like a whip. “Just look at yourself.” Thorne tossed his hand up in her general direction. And here we go. “I’m rather busy at the moment.” She made a correction in her calculations and moved on. “Nor do I have a mirror on hand.” Thorne snorted in that scoffing way of his that never failed to annoy. “You’re closeted up like Christmas linen, only to be let out into the fresh air once yearly.” “I receive fresh air more than once a year, thank you.” Holly tapped her pencil upon the draft board. Would the thrust be sufficient for the weight needed to maintain structural stability? Leather squeaked as he sat forward, setting aside his book and bracing his hands upon his knees. “Responding with obstinate literal-mindedness will not work with me, Miss Evernight.” “No?” She did not take her attention away from her plans. “And here I thought it might silence you.” “Not your first miscalculation of the day.” He sounded far too smug. Holly glanced up to glare at him properly, and he eyed the little flecks of rubber eraser covering her papers like black snow. Bothersome man. His grin grew, stretching past gleaming fangs. “You do not allow yourself to live,” he said, serious once more, his brow furrowing. “Instead you hide away in your laboratory.” “I do not hide, Mr. Thorn.

One can locate me quite readily.” She teased now, not that he ever caught on. As she expected, his jaw bunched as if he worked not to curs.

Striations of silver flashed in his black eyes. “So help me,” he muttered, before going on in measured tones. “Life is out there.” He pointed to the windows with his thumb in a sharp, stabbing motion. “Not in here.” A broad sigh left Holly. Carefully, she set down her pencil. “What do you believe the purpose of life is, Mr. Thorne?” Thorne flinched, his knife-blade features tightening. “What do you mean? Are you asking if I’ve discovered the secret of life or some other nonsense?” “It isn’t nonsens.

One ought to consider how one fits into the grand scheme of things, what his or her role shall be in this play called life.” She allowed a small smile as his scowl grew. “Especially an immortal such as yourself, Mr. Thorn.

For you’ll be a player in it long after most of us are dust.” Oh, but he truly did not like that. His lip curled in a sneer. “State your point, Miss Evernight.” “What is this ‘life’ you are so keen on me seeing outside of these walls? Is it the sky? The sun? The river? People going about their daily business? What?” “All if it,” he snapped, his fist curling tight against his thigh. “You still have not answered my original question. What do you think we are here to do?” “Bloody hell, woman.” “Come now, Mr. Thorn.

We are here to create.” He laughed shortly. “You really are a literal creature, aren’t you?” His brow was quirked, his expression cool and still vaguely annoyed. She resisted a smile once mor.

“To create, in whatever form or manner we choos.

To use our minds, bodies, whatever talents we’ve been given to create something, be it of beauty or practicality. That is the point of lif.

Anything else is simply a waste of time and opportunity.” She pointed to her drafting tabl.

“Here is where I creat.

Here is where I am truly alive, using my mind and my body to build things. You have no notion of what life means. You, who find it preferable to sit in idleness, playing cards, drinking, and tupping.” Thorne shot to his feet, his eyes blazing, but he didn’t say a word; she didn’t let him get that far. “And what do you create?” she pressed on. “How do you express yourself, your soul, to the world? By killing?” She wasn’t being fair; she knew it. But he’d poked and prodded at her feelings, and she’d borne it. Perhaps he’d like to see how it felt. Needle sharp fangs grew long in his mouth. “Have you no answer?” she persisted, both hating herself and wanting to know. “You assume your life has more meaning because you have a talent for creation that I do not?” he ground out. “Not more meaning, but more satisfaction.” He laughed—a cold, brittle sound. “You are either a pretty little liar or completely deluded. Fear has kept you in this house, going on a year!” In an instant, he was in front of her, his hands on either side of the desk, trapping her against it. His glossy white hair swung forward around his shoulders as he leaned in, going almost nose to nose with her. “That isn’t living, darling. That is dying. By degrees.” “Nonsens.

I—” “I was not finished,” he bit out, his gaze holding hers, gleaming platinum taking over his irises. “Life is not merely about creating through work. There is joy. Call it the creation of joy, if it pleases you. But joy, love, laughter—they mean something too.” Holly stifled a yelp when he lashed out, grabbing a fistful of her hair. He held on firmly at the base of her neck as his eyes roved over her fac.

“And you, my perfect Miss Evernight, do not know shit about any of those things.” He released her so abruptly that Holly wobbled on her stool, her sudden freedom dizzying her. Already he was halfway across the room, striding for the door. “We are going out in one hour.” He did not bother to turn around. “I expect you to comply or I will come and collect you. Bodily.” The door slammed behind him. It was then, in the ringing silence, that she collected her wits enough to see that he’d left his book lying open upon her drafting tabl.

Only it wasn’t a novel, or a manual, but a sketchbook. There, rendered in pencil and done with unquestionable skill and uncanny accuracy, was her fac.

Will fully expected to have to haul Evernight out of the hous.

Part of him anticipated it. He’d throw her over his shoulder, hold onto her plump arse when she struggled. Then there would be the lash of her sharp tongue he’d pretend to ignore, when inwardly he relished her quick wit. All in all, it would be an enjoyable diversion. Besides, she bloody well needed to get out and about. It well… worried him that she hadn’t left the house in these many months. It was unnatural. Especially for a human. However, the sight that greeted him in the front hall had him coming to a full stop, and his plans dissipated like fog against the harsh burn of sunlight. Evernight stood in perfectly calm repose, her face a neutral mask as she looked at him. She wore not one of her usual plain house gowns, but a walking dress of dusky purple taffeta. The basque mimicked a man’s jacket with black velvet lapels and little black buttons marching down the center. Far from being mannish, it hugged her torso with loving care and made one think of undoing those buttons with one’s fangs. The matching skirt was unadorned but swept back into a proper and rather enticing bustl.

Tolerating his appraisal with a mere lift of one graceful black brow, Evernight cocked her head to the side, bringing his attention to the jaunty little purple hat pinned upon her neatly coiled hair. “Shall I do, Mr. Thorne?” Her tone implied that she did not give a whit what he thought, and just might have been mentally bashing his head in. “Passably,” he retorted with a bored sigh. Her pink lips curled slightly. “Felix,” she called, “my mantle.” Felix drifted out of the shadows, a black velvet mantle in hand, and settled it over her shoulders. Will found himself frowning as old, deeply ingrained lessons learned from childhood rose to the for.

He ought to be helping her, to be the one carefully doing up the onyx toggles to assure she was protected from the cold. Possessiveness was not a welcome emotion. Damn it all, he’d somehow grown fond of the walled-up little inventor. He was bonding with her. Which made him damned uncomfortabl.

But he wasn’t surprised. Sanguis bonded fairly tightly, and in many forms. Bonds were emotional ties that wrapped about a sanguis’s soul tightly and dug in deep. He’d bonded almost immediately with Jack Talent when they were both young lads. His demon side had simply said, yes, here is one who will be a part of your life, who will be a good friend to you. And that was that. But he didn’t view Holly Evernight as a friend. Will shook his head and, when Felix moved to hand him his overcoat, he ripped the thing from the man’s hands and shoved it on. Evernight’s smile grew amused, yet oddly tighter. In truth, tightness lingered about the corners of her eyes and along the line of her slim shoulders. “Right, then,” Will muttered, putting on his top hat. “Let us proceed.” The crest of her cheeks turned milk white, but she gave him a nod. “By all means.” She sounded a little unsteady. He ignored it and, grabbing her hand, hooked it over his elbow. “There’s a cab waiting for us. Nan tells me you don’t maintain a carriage.” Yet he’d seen the mews. The Evernights certainly could afford to have one, and the staff to care for both it and the horses. “I sent the carriage and stable staff to Ireland.” She shrugged. “I didn’t see the need for them here.” Because she never went out. Will liked this less and less. No matter. They were going out now. And if she felt the need to dig her fingers into his forearm as revenge, then so be it. He liked the bite of them anyway. The hack was waiting, the driver hunched against the cold wind that rattled along the pebbled driv.

Great, grey clouds billowed in the sky, promising rain. A lovely day. Will guided Evernight down the front stair then turned to open the hack door for her. Only to find she’d left his sid.

A snarl of irritation tore from him as he whipped around. Evernight stood, stiff as marble, at the edge of the portico that hung over the front driv.

Her dark eyes were glassy and wide in the pale oval of her fac.

In truth, she looked moments away from being sick. All over the flagstones. Something softened within him, and he approached her carefully. She drew in a sharp breath through her nose, as if she expected him to shout. He kept his voice neutral. “What is it?” She hovered at the portico, her face utterly whit.

“I…” Her words broke like glass at his feet. “I cannot.” Evernight wrapped her arms about her middle and pressed herself against the stone support pillar. “Thorne…” She swallowed hard, and her eyes filled. Will’s blasted unnatural heart nearly ground to a stop. His proud, unmovable Evernight, tearing up? Will could not abide such a thing. She had to fight him. It was the one constant he could count on. He wanted to reach out and draw her into his embrac.

But he rather thought she would not appreciate the gestur.

Not when she struggled so valiantly to hold back her tears. So he merely stepped close to her, buffering her slight form from the wind, and lowered his voic.

“Speak to me, love.” She sucked in a sharp breath that seemed to steel her spin.

“You were correct. I hide out of fear.” Tentatively, he pressed a hand to the middle of her slim back. “But why? I promised nothing shall harm you, nor will I let the Nex have you. I swear it. Do you not believe me?” A breath left her, warming the cold skin on his cheeks. “He might be out there.” “He?” “Don’t make me say his name.” All at once, Will went still. Amaros. She’d been chained. What had she endured? Why hadn’t he asked? Shock and guilt shook him. He was a shite for pushing her. And here he was about to take her out of the frypan and into the fir.