A sharp hiss shot through his teeth as he spotted the widening bloodstain upon her sid.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Holly winced at the sharp ton.

She was not feeling her best and wanted to lie down. “What good would it have done? You couldn’t have helped me in the coach—” “Stubborn, insensible woman.” Thorne bent down and swung her into his arms. Holly bit back a whimper. His scowl was ferocious as he marched them up the stairs and through the door held open by Felix. “She’s hurt.” Thorne did not pause as he headed for the main stair. “Raptor claw wounds.” Thorne’s tone stated emphatically that he expected Felix to know what he needed and to provide it immediately. Which, of course, Felix did and would. Holly, however, held up a hand. “Wait.” “What?” Nostrils flaring, brows drawn together, Thorne appeared capable of mayhem. She let her head rest upon his shoulder. “Go to the glasshouse laboratory. I have supplies and ointments there.” And it would be warm there, so much warmer than she currently felt. Thorne all but ran them to the glasshous.

Humid heat surrounded her like a soothing fog as they entered. He set her down on the large wrought iron chaise she liked to use for contemplation. Giant palms swayed overhead, and the air smelled of soil and greenery. Thorne’s pinched expression came into view as he hunched over her and began slicing her bodice with his claws. Though quick, his care was evident; he wouldn’t cut her. Even so, when he sliced away her corset with a flick of his wrist, Holly swatted out to stop him. “Get your blasted hand out of the way, Evernight.” His brows snapped together, and he grabbed her hand and gently held it down. “Do you want me to accidentally cut you?” Holly struggled, ignoring the pain shooting up her sid.

“You are not leaving me unclothed and lying here!” As if smacked, his head reared back, and he blinked down at her as though she’d gone daft. “I need to see your wound to clean and dress it, you barmy bird.” Holly scowled. “Then cut away the material at my side, you oaf. And keep your hands off my chemise.” Bad enough that was all that covered her torso now. She needn’t look to know the fine linen was nearly transparent. Thorne, however, kept his gaze upon her fac.

Storm clouds gathered on his. “My dear, I can well understand how you might have the impression that I care for nothing more than f**king and feeding, but you must have cracked your nut if you think that I’d take advantage of you now!” Holly winced and looked away. All right, so she was a bit sensitiv.

Perhaps she wasn’t thinking very clearly at all. She started to tremble, her eyes smarting, when the soft folds of a blanket settled over her shoulders and right sid.

It felt lovely, and her eyes closed as she heard her chemise rip, and felt small tugs as he pulled the ruined garment fre.

“Satan’s balls,” he ground out, as his fingers lightly touched her battered flesh. “At least she raked you over the ribs.” Which was a blessing. Had the demon hit her softer flesh, she might have been eviscerated. And they both knew as much. Felix bustled in with hot water and clothes. He frowned down at Holly. “Been playing with demons, Miss?” Holly’s snort turned into a groan as Thorne pressed a hot cloth to her sid.

“I don’t believe she appreciated my definition of play, Felix,” she said. At her side, Thorne was bent over, his face close to her skin as he cleaned the wounds. “Sod it all, you are shredded.” He pressed a hand on her belly, holding her in place, and such was her awareness that each of his fingertips seemed to burn into her skin. “It will need stitching, which I am abysmal at doing with any neatness.” Holly almost smiled at his put-out tone, save she was feeling rather foul. Felix went to the long counter running down the center of the room. Several workstations were set up along it, each with a different purpose and experiment. Felix extracted a black, glass bottle with white wings etched upon it. “This will help.” Felix tried to hand him the bottle, but Thorne eyed it as if it were poison. “What is it?” Before receiving an answer, Thorne snatched it up and pulled out the stopper. His nostrils flared as he sniffed. “This is Jack’s blood.” She huffed out a small laugh, and immediately regretted it as pain lanced her sid.

“You can recognize the scent of Jack’s blood, but not the fact that I was bleeding all over the coach?” “I drank from you. The scent of your blood has been haunting me ever since.” The set of his mouth turned mulish. “I thought I was imagining things.” “Oh.” She would not flush. “Never mind the fact that you’re covered in rotten-smelling raptor blood.” He studied the bottle one moment more, then black eyes glared down at her in accusation. “How did you get this?” “Oh, that’s rich, accusations coming from the likes of you.” Despite this truth, Thorne did not flinch. And her ire grew. “You needn’t look at me as though I’m a thief.” One of Thorne’s brows rose eloquently, and she rolled her eyes. “He gave it to me.” The brow did not lower. “Gave it to you.” Jack Talent was notoriously reticent about letting anyone near his blood. For good reason. Demons had captured and tortured him for it, as it had incredible powers. The one that interested her was its ability to heal. “He felt he owed it to me.” For Amaros had been after Jack when he’d taken Holly. “I refused, but Jack wanted me to use some for research as well.” “Why the bloody hell would he desire that?” Thorne appeared incredulous, but he’d reached for a rag and poured a bit of the bottle’s contents upon it. The liquid was reddish black and viscous. “It may not occur to you, Mr. Thorne, but Jack would gladly sacrifice a bit of his blood if the result helps his fellow regulators who have been wounded in the field. He wanted me to see if there isn’t a way to replicate the healing properties for use in a healing balm.” Thorne frowned as he dabbed at her wounds. Instantly, her flesh began to heat and tingl.

He made a noise of wonder and poured a bit more blood directly onto her skin. “You won’t even need bindings in a few moments.” Then he glanced at her. “You believe that Nex agents do not look out for each other?” “Do they?” The Nex had abandoned him to Amaros. And yet Thorne had come after her. As if she were somehow accountable where they were not. Wiping her as clean as he could, Thorne then dropped the rag and sat back on his haunches. His expression was inscrutable, his eyes dark and striking against the white of his flowing hair. “I betrayed them,” he said, answering her unspoken accusation. “You helped an old friend in need.” Thorne blinked. “Aye,” he said slowly. “I did.” “Do you regret helping Jack?” Thorne’s head bent as if he’d lost the strength to hold it up. “No.” Holly rested her hand on top of his. “Tell me more about the Alamut.” “We don’t speak of us. Most never hear our name, and if they see us, it is their last sight.” “You never let anyone live,” Holly said dully. How could they, when they were the ghosts of the underworld. The SOS hadn’t even heard of them. Thorne nodded, then pinched the thin bridge of his nos.

“We certainly don’t vow to protect our target, nor take up residence in their houses, unless the ultimate goal is disposal.” He laughed darkly. “Though what is one more broken rule?” Holly blanched, and he caught the sight. His mouth canted on a smil.

“Still doubt your safety with me, love?” “No,” she said with feeling. “Only… what shall happen to you? Once this,” she waved a hand between them, “is over and done with?” Thorne’s expression went cold and tight. “Worried? Over me? I can’t quite believe it.” “Stop it.” Holly frowned. “Answer the question.” He sighed. “The pertinent point of discussion is that the Alamut has no set number or leader. They rule by consensus vot.

To fight them is like slashing at the heads of a hydra. Cut one down, dozens more take its plac.

Once hired out, the Alamut stop at nothing.” “How heartening.” Holly traced the pattern on the throw before meeting his eyes again. “What shall we do?” “Just as we’ve always planned. Convince them that you are no longer a desirable target.” When she scowled, he gave her a half-hearted smil.

It did not help. The base of Holly’s spine went cold. “It does not sound as though they’ll agree to your way of thinking.” “Ah, petal, both of us are fighting an uphill battle, are we not?” The hopelessness that deepened his voice was new, frightening, but then he glanced over his shoulder, preventing her from saying anything further. In a fluid move, he rose to his feet just as Nan bustled in tutting and cooing under her breath and holding out a thick flannel nightgown. “There now, lass,” she said, coming clos.

“You’re home, safe and sound.” Holly could have sworn she heard Thorne snort, but did not meet his gaz.

Nan sat on the edge of the settee and touched Holly’s rapidly healing skin with careful fingertips. “A bit pink and puffy but you’ll do. Here then, let’s get you into this and settled down for the night.” Thorne pivoted on his heel and gave them his back, making it equally clear that he would not simply leav.

Nan frowned at him but then quickly eased the soft gown over Holly’s head. As Holly slipped her arms through the sleeves, Nan took off her muddy skirt and boots, and put thick, woolen stockings on her feet. “There, now,” Nan announced, “a good cup of tea and some hot cross buns, and you’ll be right as rain.” At that, Thorne turned back around and, without asking, bent down and scooped Holly up. She hadn’t been carried around in such a manner since she’d been in pinafores. The desire to snuggle against Thorne’s hard chest was alarming. And unwis.

“I can walk, you realize,” she found herself snapping. He didn’t even look at her. “If only you’d lost use of your mouth.” Touché, Mr. Thorn.

Holly stayed his movements with the touch of a hand upon his chest. “Don’t take me up to bed.” An unfortunate choice of words that had her grimacing. “I’m too wound up to sleep.” He frowned. “You need rest.” “Then I will take it here.” With her chin, she pointed towards the shadowed end of the glasshouse, where clusters of potted orange trees bore their summer fruit. “There’s a little salon arrangement over there.” She gave his dubious visage a ghost of a smil.

“My parents love the scent of growing things and spend an admittedly inordinate amount of time out here when in residence.” “All right,” he answered slowly before his jaw firmed up again. “But if you think I’m leaving you alone, you had better have your head examined.” Holly found the idea of Thorne staying by her side far too comforting. The far end of the glasshouse boasted a small area set up with two long davenports made of carved teak and padded with linen-covered pillows. Holly’s parents had imported the set from the Polynesian Islands, and they weathered the humid environment just fin.

After Thorne deposited her on one couch, he settled down in the couch catty-cornered to hers. A maid brought in tea and sweet buns for Holly and a pot of chocolate for Thorn.

And there they stayed, their heads close together due to the placement of the couches, while drinking their tea and chocolate and talking of nothing in particular. At some point, it began to rain, filling the cavernous space with the rhythmic sound of tapping and making the thousands of glass panes fog over. “You had a happy childhood, didn’t you, Evernight?” Holly stirred from her lethargy and stared up at the painted white iron lattice that divided the windows. “Yes,” she said. “Yes I did. Only…” She paused and worried her lip, not wanting to continu.

“Only what?” Thorne prompted quietly. “Well, it sounds rather petulant when I think to give voice to it now.” “If you believe one thing about me, Evernight,” Thorne said with a dry laugh, “it’s that I will not judge you for petulance, either real or perceived.” Her lips twitched with a repressed smil.

“All right. I was raised with love, surrounded by it, supported and nurtured. And yet, despite the fact that I am not the only inventor in my family, nor the only scientist, I’ve always felt rather apart from everyon.

Which is utterly nonsensical—” “Evernight,” Thorne cut in, “you think too much. That is your problem.” “Whereas you think too little, Mr. Thorne.” “Why yes, actually.” Far from sounding put out, it was almost as if he were pleased with her observation. “Not thinking too deeply about anything is precisely what I do. The past, the future—those are dark places full of possible hurts. Stick to the moment is what I say. Concentrate on the here and now, and everything’s safe as houses.” Holly did not miss the slight sarcasm in his tone, as if he knew it was an illusion, but one best kept. Surprisingly, she understood the sentiment. Hadn’t she done much the same this past year, focusing on the present and literally cosseting herself up behind brick and mortar so that a dangerous world could not get in? “Thorne?” Holly cleared her throat. “I want to… That is, I apologiz.

For how I spoke to you. Befor.

After we…” It was hard, getting the words out, but she’d delayed in saying them for far too long. “I don’t find you disgusting. Not remotely. I admire you a great deal.” The silence from Thorne’s corner took on a tangible substanc.

Holly could feel it, feel him listening to her. “Your joy for life, the way you look at the world, those things do have meaning.” She cleared her throat again, her skin growing too tight for comfort. “You are brave and loyal—” He made a low sound, half-pained, half-protesting. Holly spoke over it; if she didn’t say this now, she might lose her courag.