Vowed in Shadows (47 page)

Alyce stood back, showing no sign of bolting. Instead, her gaze flicked over him, touching on the gauze at his shoulder, the bruise on his forehead, and various contusions in between. She never dipped below the belt line. “Were you badly hurt?”

He shrugged the shoulder that wasn't wounded. “They patched me up here, so it can't have been too bad. I've never had to go to the hospital for feralis injuries before.”

“Don't. They won't believe you.”

His fingers itched to find a recorder, or at least a pencil and paper. “You've tried? When?”

“I don't quite remember.” Her wintery gaze darkened. “It did not end well.”

Which reminded him about the talya at the gate. “We need to go pick up the pieces of the welcoming party you left in the dust.”

“He was rude.”

“That happens with talyan. But it's not nice to break them just for that.”

She nodded. “I did not understand they were yours.”

He halted in the middle of grabbing his jeans. The Chicago talyan? His? Hardly. London had loaned him out because Liam didn't have his own Bookkeeper, but they didn't want him. Hell,
he
didn't want
them
either. He wanted London. Someday. Hopefully a long time in the future, when his father retired to putter around his garden.

Alyce was watching his face, her expression mirroring the furrow of his brow. “I've made you sad. I didn't want to hurt him. But I wanted to come to you.”

He smoothed a hand down his face, erasing the quick, helpless calculations of his father's chances of surviving to spring, much less retirement. “You don't make me sad. In fact, I can't possibly explain how happy I am to have you here.” He stepped into his jeans, wishing she wasn't watching quite so closely, but intrigued by her empathetic responses. How did a talya—eternally driven by the demon to the furthest reaches of violence and destruction—keep any semblance of softer emotions?

No wonder she was odd.

What a spectacular find. Or, he supposed, how spectacular that she'd found him.

He had a half second to wonder how exactly she'd found him when she reached out and flattened her palm over his belly, just above the unbuttoned fly of his jeans.

 

Alyce held her hand against Sid's warm skin even when he sucked in a harsh breath to pull away.

She had never of her own will touched a man. She knew she should not touch him now. But the textures of him made her fingers reach out for the smooth planes of his flanks, where hard sheets of muscle wrapped around into his rippled abdomen . . . and the tidy line of hair connected the shadowed indent of his navel to the darker mysteries below the button of his pants.

“You are real,” she murmured. He was clean, cared for, wounded but alive. And oh so warm. “Not one of my delusions.” She canted her head to gaze up into his brown eyes. “I wasn't sure.”

To answer, he had to let out the breath he'd been holding. “I am real. As real as you.”

“I haven't been sure of that either.”

Slowly, as if she might run—or attack—he lifted her palm from his belly. He tangled his fingers through hers and raised her hand to his chest. Against her knuckles, his heart pounded.

“Real as you,” he said.

She nodded.

“Can we go find the other talyan? Don't be afraid. They won't hurt you.”

She tensed but released him at once when she saw him wince at the tightening of her grasp. “They'll want to.”

“They're just nervous.”

“Because of me?”

His lips quirked, and suddenly she wished she'd touched him there instead, to feel that soft curve. “You are very scary.”

She lowered her head, letting the curtain of her hair fall over her eyes.

He closed the distance between them in one step. “Alyce, I was teasing.” He hesitated. “Well, exaggerating. Or maybe . . . Never mind.”

Thorne had warned her. He'd known she wasn't suited for proper company, even with an unstained frock. She took a sidling step away.

But Sidney followed. “Alyce. Look at me.”

She did. Or, she looked at his mouth again. Words came so fast and furious from that mouth, faster and more furious than the devils. And yet she very much liked his mouth even when it confused or teased her.

What did Thorne know—him and his devil's whispers? Well, he had mentioned that one thing, that thing older than evil. That always bought silence.

She jolted up onto her toes and pressed her lips to Sidney's.

So soft . . . His lips were every bit as soft as she'd guessed. And wonderfully warm. And they curved around hers, like a secret smile she couldn't see but could feel. Only for her. She supposed she could get used to being teased.

“My Sidney,” she whispered against his mouth. Or she meant to. What came out of her was a moan even softer than his lips.

She reached up to sink her fingers into his hair. The russet locks were just long enough to tickle the backs of her hands and send delightful shivers through her. Then she remembered the rest of his hair, the light patch of curls on his chest, and lower down, and she wondered where else that might tickle her, so she let her fingers trip over his breastbone and down his belly. Ah, this hair was rougher but every bit as pleasing to her touch.

His fingers wrapped around her upper arms. Good, or she might have fallen as her knees weakened. Mouth to mouth, their breath swirled and merged, a close, sultry mingling that promised deeper intimacy if she could just—

He pulled away, and their lips parted. “Wait.” He locked his elbows, and his grip on her arms kept her from stepping back into his embrace. “Alyce, wait.”

His grasp wasn't really strong enough to stop her—and his hands were shaking slightly, besides—but she waited because he'd asked.

“What are we doing?”

“I know the answer to this one,” she said quickly.

He laughed, the sound as unsteady as his grasp. “How did you stay so innocent with a demon inside you?”

She froze. “I am not innocent.”

Despite the eerie shiver in her voice, he kissed her again, on the forehead this time. Which was sweet, but not as sweet as on the mouth.

That must be the demon he'd mentioned.

For once, she was rather glad of the devil inside.