Part 24 (1/2)
Not being satisfied with the immortality granted to all lycan, Ian's father, Alasdair, had wanted more. More power, the impenetrable strength of a G.o.d. When he realized what Victoria truly was, he had wanted to leave. Victoria tried to burn Alasdair alive and succeeded in scarring him for life. And while Ian couldn't truly blame Archer for Alasdair's faults, he could blame the man for preying on them. ”The worst of it is, that when I tried to warn you off, you told me to take a p.i.s.s.”
”And what of you?” Archer snapped. ”When I turned to you for help after I'd changed, who told me to take a p.i.s.s then? Christ, you tried to steal my wife out from under me!”
Ian's outrage deflated under that inescapable truth. He suddenly felt all of his one hundred and thirty years. His mouth quirked as he looked at his oldest friend. ”Fine. We're both jacka.s.ses. You want to have a go and beat the s.h.i.+te out of each other, or call pax?”
Archer's hard expression eased. ”You're only saying that because you can finally beat me.”
” *Finally.' ” Ian snorted. ”I could have beaten you before if you hadn't ambushed me when I was p.i.s.s drunk.”
Archer grinned. ”That's your excuse, is it?”
”Prat.”
They were silent for a moment before Archer glanced at him. ”Does she make the risk worth it?”
Despite the years they'd been at odds, they still understood each other perfectly. Ian didn't hesitate to answer.
”It isn't a matter of choice, Benjamin.”
The other man sighed. ”It never is.”
Chapter Thirty-one.
He won't look at me.” Poppy's words held the strength of smoke. Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together so tightly they went white.
Daisy cast a glance at Miranda, whose eyes creased with the same concern that Daisy felt. They had never seen their sister weak. She was their mountain: solid, unmovable. Now she sat listless in a chair by the hearth in Miranda's sitting room.
Winston slept in a room down the hall, watched over, for the moment, by Tuttle, who'd come from Northrup's house to serve as nurse. The woman fussed about, checking for fever and administering various concoctions, along with a liberal application of her ointment in an attempt to stave off infection.
Poppy picked at the loose folds of the dressing gown Miranda had lent her. ”He turns away when I draw near.”
Daisy's head throbbed. She wanted to lie down and sleep for a week, or find Ian and... She bit her lip. Between her legs, her flesh was still slick and sensitive with longing. Her cheeks burned with the memory of what Ian had done to her, and the base part of her craved more. But her sister needed her. Daisy's skirts rustled as she stood and went to Poppy's side. Resting a hand on Poppy's bright hair, she smoothed the glossy crown of her head. ”Why, Pop?”
Both sisters knew Poppy well enough to know Poppy already had the answer.
Poppy turned her head to face the fire. Orange light danced over Poppy's high cheekbones, turning the red tips of her lashes bronze. ”He knows.”
Daisy's hand stilled. ”About us? How?”
Slowly, Poppy's clenched fist opened and a little silver charm shone in the firelight. Daisy heard Miranda rise, but she kept her eyes upon the charm and leaned down to see.
Miranda's voice, soft with worry, drifted over the silence. ”What does it mean, Poppy?”
Poppy's slender throat worked as she swallowed. ”The SOS.”
Daisy sighed and touched her sister's cheek, surprised to find it cold despite the heat of the fire. ”Dearest, you aren't making sense.” Which was unthinkable.
Pain and resignation clouded the depths of Poppy's eyes. ”The Society for the Suppression of Supernaturals, the S.O.S. They exist so that the world never learns of beings like us.
”This,” Poppy lifted the charm, ”is their emblem. Winston had it in his hand when they brought him in.”
Miranda's eyes narrowed. ”They did this to him?”
Heaven help these people if they did. Need and strength s.h.i.+fted within Daisy's belly, writhing as if to break free. She saw the answering promise in the glint of Miranda's eyes. For the first time in memory, Daisy felt useful, capable of serving justice to those who wronged the innocent. And it felt like freedom.
Poppy's tone was resolute as she answered. ”No. They saved him.”
”How can you be sure?” Daisy asked.
”Because I am one of them.”
”Oh, Poppy.” Daisy's overskirts billowed around her knees as she sank to the footstool at Poppy's side.
Poppy's fist tightened around the charm. ”I lied to him. Like all the others. I pretended to be something I am not. And now I am paying the price.” A single tear trickled down her white cheek. ”I made a lie of love.”
Out of respect, Daisy turned from her sister's pain, yet her words made a fist around Daisy's heart and clanged like warning bells within her ears. She too was a liar. And it made her inexpressibly tired. She was tired of pretending that she didn't want everything with Ian, tired of resisting her baser nature. Suddenly, waiting felt like a cloak smothering her breath. Gathering her skirts, she rose.
”I'm sorry, dearest. I must go.”
”What?” Miranda sat up straighter in her seat. ”Why? Where?”
Suspicion darkened Miranda's eyes, and she obviously thought of the scene she'd come upon, of Daisy's dishevelment and Ian unrepentantly b.u.t.toning his trousers. Daisy refused to blush now or turn away. Her sister had no right to judge. But she saw no such judgment from Poppy, who looked at Daisy with understanding and yet such sorrow that Daisy's chest ached.
”She is going to live in truth,” Poppy answered for her.
Old doubts made her insides roll, but when Daisy spoke her voice was clear. ”Yes.”
Ian prowled his room, walking the length of it in an endless loop, just as he had done since returning home alone. His pulse jumped, his fingers twitching with the temptation to reach out and grab her. Only she wasn't here. He yanked at his cravat, desperate to get the blasted thing off before it choked him. He ought to go out and run, get the need out of his system. But he didn't want to run. He wanted her. He wanted to finish what they had started.
The cravat ripped free, and he sucked in a breath. d.a.m.n, but he couldn't do those things. Not tonight. Her sister needed her. It was as it should be. She wouldn't come to him tonight. Perhaps she wouldn't come to him at all. Fine, he liked the chase. Always had. Only, for some d.a.m.ned reason, he wanted to be chased in return, just once.
His gait turned stiff and disjointed as he stalked to the sideboard in search of a drink. He needed something to ease this burning.
His c.o.c.k was an iron staff in his trousers, his b.a.l.l.s drawn up so tight they ached. He'd been inside of her. For one perfect, heart-stopping moment, he'd been clasped by her slick, warm... The crystal decanter in his hand clattered against his gla.s.s with too much force, cracking its side.
A hollow laugh burst from his mouth. ”b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l,” he muttered before rubbing a tired hand over his face. Utterly undone by a woman, he was.
Ian blinked down at his unshod feet, not able to do anything else. A small hole was growing in his stocking, and his big toe worked to break through. He stared at the undignified sight. The sound of his own heart beating filled his ears, and then something else, the clatter of hooves and the creaking of a coach pulling to a stop. His heart clenched painfully. The dainty patter of feet alighted the front stair, followed by a rap of the knocker.
He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply and deeply. Vanilla, jasmine, suns.h.i.+ne, and her. His breath released in a burst of shock and hope. b.l.o.o.d.y anxious hope that had his insides quivering and his fists clenching.
In the front hall, a feminine voice murmured before a light tread sounded on the center staircase, heading toward his room. Ian couldn't move. His muscles locked, his breath coming hard like a steamer. Each step she took sent a quiver along his hot, tight skin.