Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Another fruitless day of searching.
Ianthe was so frustrated she wanted to scream. No luck, no matter where she turned. Now she knew whom she faced, if she could find Morgana...
Then what?
Kill her, whispered a deep, dark instinct. Get my daughter back.
But finding her wasn't as easy as it seemed.
Nobody on the dark side of sorcerous society knew anything about Morgana's whereabouts, and Ianthe had spent countless hours casting small location spells.
It wasn't her forte, but at least she had Louisa's hair to use as a focus, much good it had done her.
Cursing under her breath, she turned to pace, and that was when she saw the letter propped on her pillow.
Her breath felt like it had been punched out of her. No.
It was the same piece of parchment as those that had previously been delivered, and she knew what this one would say. It was finally time to deliver the Blade. Finally time to get her daughter back.
If she could trust the kidnappers.
Night was falling and Lucien had vowed to be along in a minute, after he'd refreshed himself. She'd barely have a moment to herself to read it. She had to act quickly.
Snatching it up, Ianthe tore the seam with her fingernail, then hesitated. She felt ill. "Please," she whispered to herself. "Please let my daughter be safe." And then she steeled her nerves and opened it.
Tonight at 12pm. Highgate Cemetery. Look for Roslyn Hayes's grave. Come alone and bring the Blade. I need not emphasize the importance of the alone directive. If you betray us, the girl dies.
By the time she lowered the letter, a hot tear was sliding down her cheek. Emotion welled, threatening to consume her, but Ianthe crumpled the letter in her fist and threw it in the fire. She needed to act, to keep moving, or else she feared she'd fall apart.
Damn it. How was she going to get rid of Lucien? How was she going to get Louisa back without giving over the Blade? What would happen if Morgana did get her hands on it?
For she knew, deep in her heart that there were some risks she would not take. Louisa was the most precious thing in the world to her. There was not even a question about what she'd do if her choice came down to her daughter or the relic.
Think, damn it.
If only she had more time. If only she had an ally, one she could trust. Three days wasn't enough to know Lucien's intent.
Sometimes when he looked at her, she saw something soften in his eyes, but could she trust that?
Or did she simply want to trust it? He was the one who'd professed his intended revenge upon her only yesterday.
It might have been a jest to him, but could she be certain?
I don't know. I'm so tired, and I can't think...
He would be here at any moment. That spurred her into action.
Ianthe uncapped the brandy decanter in the corner, knowing Lucien's fondness for the spirit.
It was only a matter of a moment to pour them both a glass and then take a small vial from the case under her bed.
A few drops added to Lucien's drink would bring sweet oblivion to its drinker.
The second she did it, she hesitated, staring at the amber liquid. Good God, what was she doing?
As if she'd summoned the devil by thinking of him, a sharp rap sounded at her door.
Her heart a lead weight in her chest, Ianthe shoved the brandy back in its place. "Come in."
The door opened, and there he was.
Tall, handsome, devastatingly dangerous.
.. Hard edges rode Lucien's expression as though he was distracted, but when he saw her, heat flared in his eyes.
He turned his body toward hers, as though drawn to her.
Ianthe's heart started to race. Everything within her wanted to stride into his arms and drown herself in the nearness of him, to throw herself upon his mercy.
Please, please, can you help me?
Lucien frowned, almost as if he'd heard her. "No luck today?"
"N-none." Could she trust him? He'd told her of his scars that morning, opening himself up to her and revealing something that haunted him. But they both admitted there were secrets between them.
Lucien studied her. "We need to talk."
A hard lump formed in her throat. "I agree."
Tugging his collar open with a sigh, he made short work of his cravat.
For the first time, Ianthe had the sensation he was hesitating, which was a rather unsettling feeling.
Rathbourne had always been emphatically confident in his manner.
It was only recently that she'd seen any hints of vulnerability.
Even when facing down a barrage of imps with nothing more than his own physicality, he'd not flinched.
Her. He was nervous about her. Or more particularly, the forthcoming conversation.
That made two of them.
"We have been dancing around each other for days," Lucien said, discarding the cravat. "Yet I have felt as though we were growing closer."
"As have I." It was barely a whisper.
"I had hoped you would open yourself up to me."
"Lucien—"
He held up a hand. "I understand why you haven't.
We did not commence this agreement on very good terms. Hell, I practically threatened to destroy you.
" With a sigh, he stepped closer. Every inch of his expression hardened with intensity.
"I need to know the truth, Ianthe. I need you to trust me. I promise I won't betray that trust."
Heart in her throat, she stared at him. What was he saying?
"And perhaps, the best way to go about that is to give you my trust." Their palms met by his design. Lucien's gaze dropped as his fingers splayed against hers, holding them spread, and then he shifted, those long, elegant fingers slipping between hers.
Ianthe could not look away from him, from the beautiful golden halo of his eyes. So haunted. So hungry. Not for sex, but for intimacy. He opened to her in that moment, the bond itching beneath her skin, daring her to open up to him in response.
"You were right." Every line of his body spoke its reluctance.
"My aura was savaged by either the demon or Lord Rathbourne when I attempted to break free of the bond he'd forced on me.
I don't know if I can access my sorcery properly.
It... hurts. It's like a knife straight to the brain, and my first instinct is to shy away from such pain. "
"Oh, Lucien—" But he was not done, not yet.
"It scares the hell out of me. Will I ever wield my sorcery again?
I don't know. But that's not the only thing that terrifies me.
I have nothing, Ianthe. No friends, no family, not even my own house.
.. I've never belonged to anybody. Except for you.
" His gaze dropped to their clenched hands.
"I kept telling myself that this wasn't happening. "
Us. That we weren't happening. Her heart broke a little as his loneliness scorched her.
Lucien lifted his other hand and paused with it but an inch from her mouth.
Dark lashes framed his beautiful eyes as his gaze dropped to her lips.
"But there's a limit to how much I can lie to myself.
You scare me. Because I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.
" He leaned closer, eyelashes growing heavier.
Ianthe's heart erupted in a flurry.
Is he going to...? Does he want to...?
But it was not his mouth that brushed against her trembling lips, but something even softer. She felt the soft, languid stroke of it all across her skin, drawing a shiver from somewhere deep within her.
Ianthe drew back. "What is—?" A flower. A lilac, somewhat bedraggled, but still soft with scent.
"I need to know," Lucien whispered hoarsely, "whether I am alone in this situation. Do you care for me? Do you want me too?"
A blatant understatement. Ianthe swayed toward him, her heart aching. "Of course I do. More than breath itself." She brushed the flower aside, looking up into his eyes. "I thought myself a fool for daring to, but—"
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes." Her hand curled in the collar of his coat. She wanted the kiss that he was promising, but he wouldn't stop talking.
"I've been patient, Ianthe. Please tell me what the devil is going—"
To hell with it.
Leaning forward, Ianthe reached up and grabbed the back of his nape, dragging his face down to hers, which was something she'd been wanting to do for days.
The second she kissed him, Lucien's breath broke on a harsh exhale, and then he was clutching at her, dragging her against his chest, his arms forceful and his mouth aggressive.
It was everything she'd ever hoped for. Hungry, passionate, and fierce.
It was full of longing, as though they'd each dreamed of his moment, burned for it.
Breathless and aching, she let his demanding mouth sweep her away.
On and on, showing each other what they felt with their bodies, their mouths.
Their tongues clashed, and Lucien muscled Ianthe backward until her back met the wall.
Pinned there, Ianthe looked up. As he forced her wrists against the wallpaper, dark shadows haunted his eyes. He was breathing hard.
"Why?" Lucien searched her expression.
She had broken their rules. Lost their bet.
And she didn't give a damn.
"Because I don't care about our bet," Ianthe whispered. "All I want is you."
And then she kissed him again.
That first kiss hadn't felt like surrender.
No, it had felt like a demand, like a fervent plea. Like two halves of a soul finally coming together with an almost audible clash. His mouth was imprinted with the feel of hers, and Lucien liked it.