“You are overlooking the sanguis crawler.” The blood-sucking crawler who was currently camped inside Holly’s hous.

Sin inwardly snarled. Nanny had told him not to worry—that the crawler, Will Thorne, was bound to protect Holly. And wasn’t it a cold shock to realize that his cousin had a contract out on her life? He ought to be protecting her, not some metallic beast. Disgust marred the smooth perfection of Magnus’s brow. “Unnatural thing, this crawler. Its very existence is an affront to Adam and his creations.” He grinned wide and pleased. “He is the next step in their evolution, able to shift his body into spirit form. And stronger for it, if he’d only learn.” Sin hadn’t a clue how that would help his cause, nor did he want to ask, not without earning Magnus’s painful wrath. He wanted out of this club, and away from Magnus. But it wasn’t going to happen until the bastard was good and ready to let Sin go. Magnus smoothed a hand over the green silk of his waistcoat. “Trust me, laddie, the crawler can be played. I shall insure that.” Sin’s gaze drifted over the room and settled upon a group of young men playing whist in the far corner. Laughter and easy insults fell from their lips. They were only a few years older than he was, and yet he felt ancient in comparison. To be like that. Human and carefre.

Not bound to serv.

Not being taught to deceive and manipulat.

The air around him rose several degrees as rage bubbled within his gut. One of the blokes glanced about in confusion as the drop-crystal chandelier above his head rattled. Sin drew himself under control with a deep breath. And none of it was lost on Magnus. “Ah, now, don’t fret, my wee pet.” Magnus withdrew an ornate silver box set with agate stones from his jacket pocket and selected two fine cheroots. He handed one to Sin and then proceeded to light both of them. To an outsider, it appeared as though he’d used matches. Only Sin saw the flame leap from the tip of his thumb. When they’d both exhaled and thick, luscious clouds of blue smoke wreathed their heads, Magnus leaned back, settling a languid, pale hand on his flat stomach. “When the time is right, you’ll bring the crawler and Holly to heed.” The mask dropped, and Sin stared into a feminine face of such terrifying beauty that his heart froze within his chest and his cods shriveled within his trousers. Rosy red lips curved in a smile that showed just a hint of fang. “I have every faith in your abilities.”

Chapter Twelve

Located on Regent Street, Verrey’s was an old and proper French restaurant that had long served royalty and ambassadors. “Are we truly going to—” “Have a lovely French meal,” Thorne finished for Holly, while taking her hand once again. “Yes.” “But you don’t eat,” she murmured, as a doorman opened the door for them and the rich scents of roasting meats and butter sauces wafted over her. “Details.” Thorne nodded to the maitre d’ as he glided over to them. “Monsieur Thorne, it is always a pleasure to see you. Welcome.” “A pleasure to be here, Henri.” Thorne was smooth and pleasant, as if the upset he’d displayed in the coach was entirely forgotten. She was almost envious of the façade he was able to project to the world. Very useful, that. “Shall your usual table suffice?” Henri asked, as attendants took their hats and coats. “If it is available.” Henri’s large nose lifted a touch. “For you? Always, Monsieur Thorne.” Thorne a regular? What the bleeding… Thorne put his hand on the small of her back and guided her forward. “Close your mouth, love,” he said at her ear. “You resemble a witless fish just now.” Her mouth snapped shut, and she trod upon his foot with enough force to make him grunt as she followed Henri across the restaurant, with Thorne hobbling at her sid.

The room was a light-filled space with a wall of windows fronting Regent Street and a lofty ceiling held up by Doric boxed columns. All quite French in design, with its mirrored panels, marble-topped tables, and bentwood cafe chairs. Henri sat them at a table in the far corner, with a mirror at their back and the view of the entire restaurant at their front. For all of that, they were secluded, set far enough away that their closest neighbor would have to visibly strain to hear them convers.

An excellent spot that put her somewhat at eas.

It was a spot an SOS regulator would pick. “Do you remember what sort of work you did for the Nex?” A stirring of guilt awakened in Holly’s gut. Nex equaled enemy. Did that make her a traitor? Keeping his eye on the room, Thorne nodded. “Seeing Aldous Nex brought memories of the Nex flooding in, of how it is structured, who I was friendly with and who I wasn’t. But…” The corners of Thorne’s eyes tightened, and he touched his templ.

It was a fleeting press of his fingertips but enough to expose the sudden tremor in his hand. “Hell, when I try to pull up details of what I did, or of my blasted tattoo, a great black wall looms up in my mind.” He scowled down at his gloved hand. Knowing how quickly the platinum would spread when he grew overwrought, Holly caught his free hand under the tabl.

She’d removed her gloves, thus she could press the tips of her fingers against his wrist and concentrate on stabilizing him. “It will come to you. Just give it time.” He turned to her, his eyes dark and surrounded by the thick fringe of his long lashes. “Ta, love,” he whispered, his accent going deep and Northern with emotion. Flustered, Holly sat straighter. “It is nothing.” “You know that it is everything.” The words punched into her, making her breath hitch. No one had ever talked to her in this manner—as if she, not her inventions, were needed, were as necessary as air or water. She had to remind herself just why he needed her. Not noticing her discomfort, Thorne’s gaze moved over the room, taking everything in at a glance, and so Holly did the sam.

They had garnered a fair bit of attention when they’d arrived. Rather, Thorne had. How could one not look at him? His attractiveness was that of a gilded lily. And he played the part up to the nines. Normally, Holly did not make much note of fashion, but where Thorne was concerned, it was almost theatr.

His black, superfine suit was exquisitely tailored, the coat cut in a rather old-fashioned frock style that, paired with his long, outrageous hair, created a picture of continental elegance that Londoners vocally disdained but secretly coveted. Diamonds winked at her from the fold of his cravat and from the edges of his French cuffs when he moved to take a sip of water. By his careful expression, Holly could guess that he did not find the taste of water appealing. When the waiter had ambled off with a promise to bring them the specialties of the house, Holly tilted her head towards Thorn.

“How shall this go?” Thorne turned and gave her a small, wicked smil.

“You shall eat a delicious meal, and I shall pretend that you are the most fascinating, irresistible companion I’ve ever had the pleasure of dining with.” Without warning, he leaned in, draping one arm along the back of her chair, and nuzzled her templ.

She jerked, wanting to get away, but his sudden hand upon her nape held her fast. “We are here to be seen, love.” Holly kept her attention on the room and off of Thorn.

“Why?” Long fingers found the back of her neck and began to play with loose strands of her hair. “One,” he said, as she broke out in goose bumps, “we are waving a red flag in front of a bull. If you are being watched by an assassin, seeing you finally out and about will prove irresistible.” “So you have put me on display as bait?” Holly could see the logic in it. Even if the thought sent a cold wash of fear and dread through her middl.

“Just so.” He turned and pretended to nibble her ear. Close enough that she had to quell the impulse to smack him away. “Two,” he went on, “we are waiting.” He paused as waiters marched up, one proudly carrying a silver tureen with long, curving legs that resembled a spider, the other bringing forth dinnerwar.

Bowls were placed with flourish before them, and a brown broth soup, flecked with colorful bits of vegetables and small cuts of beef, was ladled with car.

“Petite marmite,” the waiter explained in an accent that Holly suspected was forced. She waited until they were gon.

Staring at her food, a horrid thought occurred to her. “What if someone poisons me?” Thorne glanced down at the soup, which suddenly looked to Holly like a vat of devil’s brew. He gave her what she assumed was a reassuring smil.

“I might not have the sense of smell equal to a lycan, but I can suss out poison in food.” He frowned then, his expression drawing inward. “I was trained to notic.

However, if you don’t believe me…” He took a heaping spoonful into his mouth and waited, his expression twisted in exaggerated concentration that made her want to pinch him. A long moment passed. Then, with a shake of his head, he brightened and nudged her elbow. “It’s safe, lov.

Go ahead and eat.” She’d have to trust him. That both irked and comforted. With a hand that wasn’t quite steady, she picked up her spoon. The soup was rather wonderful. Warm and comforting. Strangely, she was famished. As she hadn’t been in some tim.

“Waiting for whom?” she asked. He watched her eat, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m not certain. But someone will com.

That I know.” “I do not like surprises.” “Now that,” he said with a chuckle, “does not surprise me in the least.” Bothersome man. One that kept her entertained, however, with little observations about the restaurant’s patrons as the waiters cleared their bowls—his untouched save for a spoon or two of broth—before setting down a silver-topped tray. “Oeufs à la Russe!” With that grand proclamation, the waiter lifted the lid to reveal deviled eggs, dotted with amber pearls of Osetra caviar. Holly’s lips twitched. “It sounds so much more impressive when they say it in French, does it not?” “I suspect the hauteur in their delivery has a bit to do with it as well.” Thorne’s voice lowered. “I’m going to feed you one now. Appear as if you enjoy the activity.” She had objections. Vehement and persuasive ones. Ones that she would gladly voic.

Only, when she turned to do just that, he was there, holding a halved-egg up like an offering. To refuse him would undo the charade he’d concocted. A playful glint lit Thorne’s dark eyes. “Open, love, and let me in.” Heat flushed over her skin, under her too-tight bodic.

As if he knew precisely how she was affected, his lids lowered, and his attention fixated on her mouth. Awareness consumed her, of her actions, of the way her lips parted, of the cool slide of the egg against her tongu.

He’d taken off his gloves, and when he slid the tip of the egg into her mouth, his fingers brushed her bottom lip. “Take a bite,” he whispered. She couldn’t look away from him. She ought not to be stirred in the slightest. It was merely an egg. Pedestrian fare, to say the least. Yet when her teeth sank into it, she nearly moaned, her lids fluttering with the need to close, to experience the sensation in a dark and quiet world. A low sound, as if he’d swallowed down a grunt, filled her ears as she chewed. She had to look. His gaze was rapt and hot. It was indecent, feeding her like this in public. And he knew it. His nostrils flared as he fed her the last bit.

A bit of smoothly whipped yolk, rich and luscious, clung to the corner of her mouth. Holly’s tongue swiped out to lick it away, just as Thorne ran his thumb across her lip. She tasted his skin, felt the heat of the rounded tip, and he made a strangled sound. Holly stared. For the life of her, she wanted nothing more than to draw his thumb into her mouth and suck. “Hell.” His chest lifted on an unsteady breath. His hand, so very warm and strong, cupped her cheek, bringing her closer. Her corset creaked, the cinch of it stealing her air. Slowly, with languorous intent, he dipped his head. The flick of his tongue at the corner of her mouth sent a tight jolt down her center. His strong, hot fingers caged her cheeks, holding her there as his lips barely brushed hers. “Tell me,” he whispered thickly. “Tell me you feel this pull between us.” He was sanguis, ex-Nex, her opposite in every regard. It wasn’t real, what she felt, what he felt. It couldn’t b.

It made no sens.

The push-pull of him had her body frozen in place, vibrating like a struck tuning fork. The tip of his forefinger stoked the crest of her cheek, and she felt it down deep within her as if he’d touched her center. “Holly.” Slowly she drew back, raising her gaze to his pained and pleading on.

William. “William Thorne, as I live and breathe.” Flinching apart at the sound of the woman’s voice, they turned as on.

It took a moment for Holly to arrange the muddled shapes and colors that had become the rest of the world into an understandable pictur.

A woman stood before them. Tall, thin, with glossy brown hair and a ready smil.

Smartly dressed in a wool day gown of cream and emerald green stripes, she made quite the pictur.

But there was a hardness in her brown eyes and a certain tension along her frame that belied her outward appearanc.

Thorne, having recovered as well, rose from his seat and inclined his head in greeting. But he’d yet to answer. Instead, his gaze slid lazily over the woman. Holly was of half a mind to be annoyed, had she not suspected that he was trying to place a name to the fac.

As for the woman, her eyes narrowed just a touch. “Have you no kind words for me, Will?” Will, was it? Holly kept her expression neutral when what she wanted to do was roll her eyes. Thorne, however, smiled then, a dark and sensual tilt of his lips. “Merely taking in your loveliness, dear Matilda.” He swept an open palm towards the unoccupied seat. “Please, join us.” Matilda did so, happily. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” She glanced at Holly, disassembling her in one blink. “Mrs. Matilda Markham.” Thorne sat then inclined his head towards Holly. “Miss Holly Evernight.” Rather blunt as introductions went. A pretty smile lit up the older woman’s face, but Holly had doubts as to its veracity. “I would be careful with how many of those eggs you ingest, Miss Evernight. Such treats run straight to a woman’s waistline.” The look in her eye said that eventuality was a very real danger for Holly. “Thank you for the warning,” Holly answered in perfect pleasantness, keeping her expression bland as water. “How kind of you to convey your wisdom of experience.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Thorne’s quickly repressed grin. Holly ignored it and helped herself to another egg. Mrs. Markham nearly growled but she regained her composur.