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Synopsis
Isolated and alone, Sin Evernight is one of the most powerful supernatural creatures in heaven and on earth. As an angel of vengeance, he hunts down the darkest evil, but when his long-lost friend, Layla Starling, needs him, he vows to become her protector. Even though she will be horrified by the man he has become.
Now a famous singer and the toast of London, Layla believes that Sin is only here to guard her from rabid fans and ardent suitors. However, the truth is far more sinister. Desperate to avoid losing Layla a second time, Sin will face a test of all his powers to defeat an unstoppable foe - and win an eternity with the woman he loves.
Release date: June 28, 2016
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 432
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Forevermore
Kristen Callihan
Soulbound
“A tight plot and fascinating characters make Callihan’s sixth Darkest London historical paranormal her best to date. It’s easy to get delightfully lost in Callihan’s story; her masterly prose immediately pulls the reader into the deeply detailed universe she’s created. Callihan ably lays the groundwork for the next installment, which readers will hungrily await.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Top Pick! 4½ Stars! Another unique, gripping read. Just when you think you know what’s coming next, she throws a curveball, leaving readers enraptured with the story.”
—RT Book Reviews
Evernight
“[A] perfectly paced, tremendously sexy romance set against a beautifully wrought backdrop.”
—Washington Post
“Top Pick! 4½ Stars! Callihan never disappoints or fails to surprise as she spins her tales of Darkest London. With extraordinary storytelling skills, mesmerizing characters, and plots that twist and turn readers around and around, she delivers a remarkable non-stop read that sucks you in and doesn’t let go. Here is a book you will think about, talk about, and dream about for a long time.”
—RT Book Reviews
Shadowdance
“Top pick! From page one, Kristen Callihan had me. She weaved a tale so powerful, so compelling, that I had no choice but to follow it through to the end… It’s a rare talent, being able to do that, but Callihan has it.”
—NightOwlReviews.com
“Grade: A. The Darkest London series is one that everyone should be reading… It is hard to put it into one category, but if I was forced, [that] category would be pure excellence. If you aren’t reading these books you should be!”
—FictionVixen.com
Winterblaze
“Top Pick! 4½ stars! Not only a gripping novel, but also one that elevates the genre with its depth of emotion, passion, and mesmerizing storytelling… Once begun, it’s impossible to put down Winterblaze.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Dark, dangerous, and totally enthralling, this latest edition in Callihan’s Darkest London series treats fans to a heart-tugging, satisfying romance, fills in a few series blanks with well-handled flashbacks, and nicely sets the stage for stories that are sure to come.”
—Library Journal
Moonglow
“Action-packed… This richly textured tale of 19th-century London interweaves intricately imagined and historically accurate scenes with red-hot sensual interludes. Like the first, a deeply compelling and imaginative story.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Simply fantastic… beautifully written… A Perfect 10 is rare for a debut author, probably more rare for the second novel, but Moonglow more than deserves the accolade.”
—RomRevToday.com
Firelight
“Beauty and the Beast meets Phantom of the Opera in this gripping, intoxicating story… An exceptional debut and the first of what promises to be a compelling series.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“4½ stars! Top pick! Seal of Excellence! Like moths to a flame, readers will be drawn to the flickering Firelight and get entangled in the first of the Darkest London series… Callihan crafts a taut tale filled with sexual tension. This is one of the finest debuts of the season.”
—RT Book Reviews
Boston 1868
Boston was not like London. The streets, though properly paved and lined with stately buildings, felt wider. In truth, everything about America felt bigger in some essential way. Even here, on this side street where taverns and quaint shops lined the block, could not compare to the cramped and sinister darkness of London.
No, Boston was too picturesque, with snow falling like lazy feathers to cover the ground in pristine white. Merry lanterns glowed at every doorway and lit a trail that was easy to follow. Pedestrians did not huddle down in their coats, avoiding eye contact, but gave a distinct nod, as if to say, Welcome to our fair city. Indeed, they all smiled. It was ridiculous. Never, in all her years, had Lena seen so many sets of teeth.
She outright scowled at the simpering woman in a bright pink bonnet and felt a flutter of pleasure when the woman gasped and hurried along. But the pleasure was short-lived. A gust of icy wind rushed down the lane, forcing her to hold the little bundle in her arms closer. Which in turn had her icy heart clenching just a bit tighter too.
It was fortunate, then, that she’d reached the Howling Wolf Tavern. With grim determination, she pushed open the door. Warm air, heavy with the scents of roasted meat, pipe smoke, and the ever-present sweetness of human blood, assaulted her lungs. Ignoring her hunger, Lena strode towards the back of the room. She needn’t search for her quarry; she’d felt him before she had even entered the building. His scent was part of her now, a poison in her blood. She would always be able to track him, even if she didn’t want to.
And though she’d been expecting to find him, the moment Lena set eyes on Augustus, his stern profile limned golden in the lantern light, a punch of feeling tore through her. She simply could not look upon him and not want him.
He did not acknowledge her presence until she slid into the worn wooden bench opposite him, though she knew perfectly well he’d felt her approach too. They’d always known when the other was near.
With careful precision, Augustus pushed his tankard of peaty ale aside and rested his forearms upon the table.
“Lena.” His pleasant, calm voice was a roll of sensation down her back. “Lovely as ever.”
She did not miss his fleeting glance at the basket and the subsequent tightening of the skin around his mouth and eyes. Curiosity there, but not fear or anger.
“As I recall, when last we met, you compared me to a black widow spider.” Lena unwound the red silk scarf covering her hair and tossed it down on the seat next to the little basket she’d been carrying.
Augustus’s smile was thin, but his dark eyes shone with affection she did not deserve. “Well, as they say here, if the shoe fits, wear it.”
“Touché,” she said with a nod. For, really, she did possess the ability to turn into spiders—not one, but dozens—so he was correct.
“What brings you here?” he asked.
So solid, was Augustus. The calm in the eye of the storm. Not even her reappearance after thirty years of separation had him rattled. Was it wrong of her that she wanted to unnerve him? Likely so.
“Would you believe I missed you?” she offered lightly.
“Yes.” His gaze stayed steady on her. “I missed you too.”
Well. She was not expecting that. It deflated her, damn him. “Let us not play games. You could find me anytime you wanted, Augustus.”
“It is not the finding that proves troublesome, my dear. It is the welcome I shall receive once found.”
“Fair enough.” Lena settled back onto the bench, trying to convey ease. “I have to go away for a time. Perhaps to Nowhere.” Nowhere being another plane of existence where demons such as her could escape. Augustus, along with all manner of supernatural beings, could travel there as well. Though there were realms, such as what supernaturals commonly called There, that pure of heart Augustus could enter, and she, with her tainted soul, could not. A fact that never failed to irk her.
As expected, his dark eyes flashed silver upon mention of Nowhere. “Why?”
“I have a few things to take care of.” She had some hunting to do, and her prey was currently skulking in the darkest corner of Nowhere. But Augustus needn’t know that.
He frowned at her caginess. “No one simply chooses to go to Nowhere.”
“I’d prefer it to here. Tell me, are you happy living amongst these simple colonials?”
He didn’t bother to answer, merely gave her another one of his eloquent looks. Which only made her want to needle him.
“What pet are you following now, Augustus?”
He always had a few souls he guarded over, guiding them this way and that way, like some overzealous hand of God. They were little pawns in his ultimate chess game. And yet, she knew he loved every one of his “children.”
Augustus did not bother to deny it. “A girl named Eliza May. She’s an Evernight—the Boston branch.”
Odd coincidence, though, as she was intimately tied with the Evernights, an old and powerful family of Elementals who lived in Ireland. She’d recently placed St. John, a young babe who was in need of hiding, in their care. The irony almost made her laugh.
“And who is Miss May destined for?”
“Never you mind,” Augustus said with sad predictability. “Now, answer my question. Why are you really going to Nowhere? Do not tell me you have a sudden urge to holiday there.”
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Believe what you will. I shall confide in you this: it is safer for me to go.” This was true.
“Explain, Lena, and use long sentences for once.”
A brief smile touched her lips. “If I stay, I shall be hunted down by the father of this.” With a flourish, she lifted the basket and pulled back the woolen blanket draped over it. Deep in a nest of red silk lay a tiny babe. The few wisps of hair she had were a rich brown, and her plump, little cheeks flushed pink with life as she slept, oblivious to the chatter around her.
All color drained from Augustus’s skin, leaving little streaks of silver at the edges of his hairline. He managed to get himself under control quickly, but his mouth remained agape. “Please do not tell me you’ve stolen a baby. Anything but that.”
“Stolen? Ridiculous. What would I do with a baby?”
His stern look spoke volumes.
Though Lena had been waiting for this moment, relishing it with a sort of sick glee, she suddenly faltered, her cold heart thumping hard against her ribs. “It is mine,” she got out.
Absolute silence. Around them, the tavern’s patrons laughed and talked, drank and ate foul-smelling ale and food. But here, at their little corner table, the air stirred with rage. Against her palms the pitted wood table began to vibrate as if it soon might shatter.
“Temper, my love,” she murmured.
And his eyes went full-on silver. “Whose is it?”
The question was a whip against her skin.
“I’ll not tell you.”
“Lena. Please.”
It hurt her, she realized, to see the pain in his eyes. They’d known each other for nearly a hundred years, neither of them aging. And though she’d had many lovers, none of them meant a thing to her. He was the only man she loved. The only man she hated. Had he done similar and conceived a child with another, her rage would have known no bounds.
Softening her tone, she leaned in. “Augustus, I did not plan this. Indeed it is a shock. Sanguis do not procreate without intent. Believe me, having a child was not part of my plans.”
“And yet you have one,” he whispered with a harsh breath.
“Yes. And the father, he cannot know. It would be dangerous for her.”
At this, Augustus’s gaze went back to the babe. His expression shifted to one of longing and regret. Lena could not stop from reaching out to him, touching his warm skin with the tips of her gloved fingers. “Please believe this of me.”
“I do,” he said, still looking at the babe, ignoring her touch. But then, as if waking from a dream, he stirred, and a frightful expression tightened his familiar features. Again the air began to hum. “You cannot take the child with you to Nowhere.”
“No.” It hurt to utter the word.
His fine lips curled back on a snarl. “Why are you here?”
He knew. She could see it in his eyes. In his rage.
“She will be safe with you.”
“No.”
“She needs a good influence. A protector.”
“No.” It was nearly a shout. Flushed and breathing hard, he glared at Lena. “Do not dare ask this of me. To bring me your child by another and…” He broke off, grinding his teeth.
“Look at her,” Lena pressed. “Really look. Use your gift and tell me that she isn’t destined for you to protect. If she is not, then I shall leave and never bother you again.”
It was cruel, using his gift against him. Only she knew what he could do, how he saw the future paths of all but his one, true love. That it was her fate he could not see was a stab in the heart and the only thing that kept her going.
He did as bided. And promptly cursed. “I will never forgive you for doing this to me.”
“I may never forgive myself. But it must be done.”
She could not, would not, look at the babe. Already her chest was too tight, her eyes burning. “You are the best thing that could happen to this child.”
He snorted and looked away.
“You must promise me this,” she said over the lump in her throat. “She cannot know who she is. Never let her return to England.”
His dark eyes pinned her. “You beg of me to watch over this child, then you must trust me to raise her as I see fit.”
“And what do you see?” Lena could not help but ask it.
“England. Judgment. St. John.” A shudder went through him. “She is the key to St. John’s future.”
“Margaret’s boy?” Lena thought it over, and it made sense in a way. He was just a baby now, but the child had the blood of greatness in his veins, the son of a powerful Elemental and a demi-god of chaos. One day his power would be fearsome. What then would her child be? Lena longed to see her babe come into her own.
“Well then,” she said slowly. “Keep her away from England until you sense that it is safe for her to return.”
He gave a grunt of agreement, his gaze returning to the babe.
A strangled breath left Lena as she prepared to leave. Do not look at the child.
Quick as a flash, Augustus caught her cold hand, squeezing it tight. “Stay. Stay with me. I will protect you. On my life.”
A watery smile pulled at her lips. “You and I both know that is impossible.” She was the one person Augustus could never save. It was their curse. Doomed to love and never be together.
“Lena.” It was an agonized plea.
Gently, she broke free of his grip. “I came to you. Only you.”
His chin jerked in a nod. “Only you would I do this for.”
She needed to go. Moving was akin to tearing off strips of her flesh. But she did, standing slowly and feeling every bit of her two hundred and twenty-seven years. The babe had not stirred but her soft, steady little breaths seemed to fill the silence. As if prompted, Augustus lifted the basket and brought it close to him, careful not to wake the child.
His expression was one of reverence and wonder. Lena knew he was already in love. That hurt too, selfish creature that she was.
“She is a half-breed,” he said.
“Yes.” She fought the horrid tears that wanted so badly to bloom in her eyes.
Thankfully, Augustus was too busy peering at the child to notice her disquiet. “You refuse to reveal the father, fine. It saves me the trouble of having to hunt him down and kill him. But I demand to know her origins.”
“Nothing you can’t handle.”
When he shot her a glare, she snorted. “Come now, Augustus. You are a Watcher, the creator of Judgment angels. You mean to tell me you fear this child might harm you?”
His lips pursed. “I fear what she might do to others without the proper training.”
Fair enough. Theirs was a world of strange and powerful beings. Some capable of complete mayhem. But to reveal the child’s origins would be to reveal the father. So Lena merely gave him a bland look. “It will be clear when she fully matures.”
“How helpful.”
Yes, wasn’t it? Being annoyed at Augustus helped, however. Another deep breath and she could back away.
He glanced up at her, and instead of anger, she saw endless sorrow and reluctant understanding. “Tell me her name.”
Lena hadn’t dared to name the girl. Why? When she’d never have a chance to know her? Lena almost confessed as much when her mouth opened, and she blurted out a name.
“Layla. Layla Starling.” Her little night bird.
Ireland Ten years later
Layla knew that Augustus was not her father. He’d always been very clear on that account. And yet he had always been very clear that he loved her as much as any father could love a child. Therefore she did not truly mourn the loss of parents she’d never known. Indeed, she had a fine life. Fine home. Lovely dresses. And her favorite doll Annabelle.
There were times when Augustus had to go away. But it was never for very long. And when he returned, he’d seek her out first thing, set her on his knee, and ask after her day. Layla loved her guardian very much. And there was Mrs. Gibbons to look after her when Augustus was away. So, no, she never experienced loneliness or fear.
How odd, then, that she knew the boy in the tree was both lonely and afraid.
“Why are you up there?” she asked, peering up at his dangling legs, all covered in soot. “Are you hiding?”
His strange, pale green eyes seemed to glow in his equally soot-covered face. “Hiding? Hardly.”
“In trouble, then?”
“Nosey boots,” he muttered in that thick Irish accent of his. “Don’t you ever climb trees?”
“Yes. But not when I’m crying. Unless I want to hide, that is.”
His scowl was fierce. “I am not crying.”
The silvery tracks through the soot told a different tale.
Layla caught hold of a lower branch and easily climbed up the tree. She smiled as the boy scrambled farther up as if he didn’t want her near. Perching on a nice, sturdy branch, she looked him over. “Were you helping to put out the fire last night?”
The barn on the Evernight property had burnt down, and the flames had been so great that the very night sky seemed to glow orange. That was, until Mrs. Gibbons had shooed Layla away from the window and ordered her to bed.
“Why would I be doing that? I’m just a boy.” He looked off, his nose wrinkled in a scowl.
It was then that Layla saw the book resting on a thick branch. He made a reach for it as she picked it up, but she was faster. “Tom Sawyer. Oh, I liked that one.”
As he huffed, she glanced at the front page. “Says property of Saint John Evernight. Is that you?”
He glared down at her. “First off, it’s not Saint John. It’s pronounced Sin-jin.”
“Why on earth would you pronounce Saint John as Sin-jin? It does not make sense. My name is spelled L-a-y-l-a, and you pronounce it Lay-lah. Just as it ought to be.”
He snorted. “Lass, if you had a look at how the Irish spell most of their names, it would do your little head in.”
Layla had no response for that. Ireland was a strange and wonderful place to her. So fresh and green. At least out here in the country. Augustus had only just moved them here to a large manor house, surrounded by a carpet of emerald that stretched all the way to the sea. Since St. John, or Sinjin, was an Evernight, that meant he lived on the adjoining property.
“I think they ought to call you Saint. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
He appeared rather ill at the prospect. “Who in the bleeding hell would want to be called a saint?”
Bleeding hell were bad words, she knew, but she liked the way they rolled off his tongue and the fierce way he glared made her smile. Perhaps because, at the very least, this boy paid her attention. She hadn’t any friends her own age since she’d arrived from Boston.
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “I just thought… well, if you did something wrong, you’d be the last person anyone would suspect if your name was Saint.” She lowered her voice in her best grown-up impersonation. “‘Who stole the last currant tart?’ ‘Well, I do not know, but surely it could not be Saint. A boy called Saint would never stoop so low.’”
St. John snorted. “They call me Sin, not Saint.”
“Oh,” Layla said in a small voice. “Well, then you are in a bad way. A boy named Sin is bound to get into trouble.”
He rolled his eyes at her jest. But she did not miss the way he seemed to hug himself and turn his face from hers, or the way his chest hitched with a sharp breath.
“Did you get hurt in the fire? Is that why you were crying?”
“For the last time,” he spat out, “I was not crying.”
When she simply waited for an explanation, he gave an expansive sigh, the sort Cook did when Layla asked for her meat to be served rare. Layla never felt badly about that, though. She loved bloody meat. It tasted sweet to her. Why Cook couldn’t understand this, she’d never know.
“I…” Sin bit the corner of his bottom lip and then blurted out, “I started the fire. It was an accident.”
“Oh.” Layla pulled one leg close to her chest, leaving the other to dangle. “Were they very cross with you?”
“They don’t know.”
They were silent for a moment, listening to the birds chirp.
“Once, when I was six,” Layla said, “I took it to mind to have a bath. I turned on the taps myself. Only I had to get my doll Annabelle ready, and then I’d forgotten I’d promised her a tea party, and well… Mrs. Gibbons came charging in, shouting about a leaking ceiling.”
Oh, the memory still burned.
Sin snorted. “You flooded the bath?”
“Yes.”
He laughed and laughed. A very nice sound. And she told him so.
Unfortunately, it made him stop. But he didn’t ask her to leave. Instead they sat for a long while, until her legs grew cramped. “I have to get down. Will you come and play with me at the pond instead, Saint John?”
“Call me Sin. It’s what my friends do.” And then he jumped right out of the tree as though the height was nothing to him. Well, Layla could do that too.
“I’d rather call you Saint,” she said, once safely on the ground.
His pale green eyes crinkled at the corners. “Why?”
“Someone ought to think the best of you. I shall apply myself to the task.”
He looked annoyed but she did not miss the way his mouth fought a smile. “You are a strange little bird, Layla. Are we going to the pond or what?”
“Lead the way, Saint.”
And he did. For five wonderful years, he led her on adventures, became her dearest friend. And then Augustus ruined it all. He took her away from Sin and Ireland, and she’d never see either again.
London 1890
St. John Evernight ran full-out, his bare feet hitting the cold, slick cobbles with nary a sound. He did not need footwear, for his skin would never tear, and clunky boots affected his speed and balance. Both of which he needed during a chase.
His prey was just ahead, moving at inhuman speed and agility through the dark alleyway. Too far to catch or get a proper look at. Irritated, Sin put forth the effort and increased his pace, pushing himself to his limits.
Christ but this thing was fast. For Sin had no clue as to its nature; its scent was a strange mix that he’d never before encountered, though it appeared human in shape, which really meant nothing in his world of shape shifters and demons.
The moonless night reduced everything to dark shapes, echoing sounds, rank smells. This was London, after all, a city of foul, coal-leaden fog and evil lurking in shadowy corners.
Breath burning in his lungs, he dashed around a corner, following the slim figure ahead, a dark cloak fluttering behind it like a flag.
Closer, closer.
Sin stretched his arm out, his silver fingers appearing like glass in the darkness. Almost…
His prey leapt, straight up.
“Shit.”
Slate and dirt rained down, clacking and clattering as the thing took to the rooftops.
Well then.
Sin leapt too, landing lightly on his feet and taking off even as part of the roof began to cave under his weight. Scrambling up the steep slope, he reached the spine of the roof and dashed along the narrow space.
His quarry was getting away. Not bloody likely. He’d seen what it had done, gorging itself on a helpless human before Sin had appeared. He’d taken one look at the cloaked figure huddled over the body, blood thick and redolent on the ground, and attacked. Sin would not give this creature another opportunity to kill again.
Unfortunately, whatever it was he chased was slightly quicker than he was. It chafed.
“Sod it.” He halted, sliding a few feet on the slick surface before stopping. The creature kept going, but Sin had had enough. Tearing off his clothes, he watched his prey leap from rooftop to rooftop, its moves akin to a lycan’s but slightly off. Hell, everything was off about this thing.
Nude, Sin took a breath and let his wings free. They unfurled behind him like sails snapping in a full wind. And then he took to the sky, his crystal clear skin now invisible to those below.
Gods, he’d never grow accustomed to that first burst of power and motion of flight. No matter how hellish his life got, flying was bloody glorious.
Up he went, his gaze intent on the creat. . .
“A tight plot and fascinating characters make Callihan’s sixth Darkest London historical paranormal her best to date. It’s easy to get delightfully lost in Callihan’s story; her masterly prose immediately pulls the reader into the deeply detailed universe she’s created. Callihan ably lays the groundwork for the next installment, which readers will hungrily await.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Top Pick! 4½ Stars! Another unique, gripping read. Just when you think you know what’s coming next, she throws a curveball, leaving readers enraptured with the story.”
—RT Book Reviews
Evernight
“[A] perfectly paced, tremendously sexy romance set against a beautifully wrought backdrop.”
—Washington Post
“Top Pick! 4½ Stars! Callihan never disappoints or fails to surprise as she spins her tales of Darkest London. With extraordinary storytelling skills, mesmerizing characters, and plots that twist and turn readers around and around, she delivers a remarkable non-stop read that sucks you in and doesn’t let go. Here is a book you will think about, talk about, and dream about for a long time.”
—RT Book Reviews
Shadowdance
“Top pick! From page one, Kristen Callihan had me. She weaved a tale so powerful, so compelling, that I had no choice but to follow it through to the end… It’s a rare talent, being able to do that, but Callihan has it.”
—NightOwlReviews.com
“Grade: A. The Darkest London series is one that everyone should be reading… It is hard to put it into one category, but if I was forced, [that] category would be pure excellence. If you aren’t reading these books you should be!”
—FictionVixen.com
Winterblaze
“Top Pick! 4½ stars! Not only a gripping novel, but also one that elevates the genre with its depth of emotion, passion, and mesmerizing storytelling… Once begun, it’s impossible to put down Winterblaze.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Dark, dangerous, and totally enthralling, this latest edition in Callihan’s Darkest London series treats fans to a heart-tugging, satisfying romance, fills in a few series blanks with well-handled flashbacks, and nicely sets the stage for stories that are sure to come.”
—Library Journal
Moonglow
“Action-packed… This richly textured tale of 19th-century London interweaves intricately imagined and historically accurate scenes with red-hot sensual interludes. Like the first, a deeply compelling and imaginative story.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Simply fantastic… beautifully written… A Perfect 10 is rare for a debut author, probably more rare for the second novel, but Moonglow more than deserves the accolade.”
—RomRevToday.com
Firelight
“Beauty and the Beast meets Phantom of the Opera in this gripping, intoxicating story… An exceptional debut and the first of what promises to be a compelling series.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“4½ stars! Top pick! Seal of Excellence! Like moths to a flame, readers will be drawn to the flickering Firelight and get entangled in the first of the Darkest London series… Callihan crafts a taut tale filled with sexual tension. This is one of the finest debuts of the season.”
—RT Book Reviews
Boston 1868
Boston was not like London. The streets, though properly paved and lined with stately buildings, felt wider. In truth, everything about America felt bigger in some essential way. Even here, on this side street where taverns and quaint shops lined the block, could not compare to the cramped and sinister darkness of London.
No, Boston was too picturesque, with snow falling like lazy feathers to cover the ground in pristine white. Merry lanterns glowed at every doorway and lit a trail that was easy to follow. Pedestrians did not huddle down in their coats, avoiding eye contact, but gave a distinct nod, as if to say, Welcome to our fair city. Indeed, they all smiled. It was ridiculous. Never, in all her years, had Lena seen so many sets of teeth.
She outright scowled at the simpering woman in a bright pink bonnet and felt a flutter of pleasure when the woman gasped and hurried along. But the pleasure was short-lived. A gust of icy wind rushed down the lane, forcing her to hold the little bundle in her arms closer. Which in turn had her icy heart clenching just a bit tighter too.
It was fortunate, then, that she’d reached the Howling Wolf Tavern. With grim determination, she pushed open the door. Warm air, heavy with the scents of roasted meat, pipe smoke, and the ever-present sweetness of human blood, assaulted her lungs. Ignoring her hunger, Lena strode towards the back of the room. She needn’t search for her quarry; she’d felt him before she had even entered the building. His scent was part of her now, a poison in her blood. She would always be able to track him, even if she didn’t want to.
And though she’d been expecting to find him, the moment Lena set eyes on Augustus, his stern profile limned golden in the lantern light, a punch of feeling tore through her. She simply could not look upon him and not want him.
He did not acknowledge her presence until she slid into the worn wooden bench opposite him, though she knew perfectly well he’d felt her approach too. They’d always known when the other was near.
With careful precision, Augustus pushed his tankard of peaty ale aside and rested his forearms upon the table.
“Lena.” His pleasant, calm voice was a roll of sensation down her back. “Lovely as ever.”
She did not miss his fleeting glance at the basket and the subsequent tightening of the skin around his mouth and eyes. Curiosity there, but not fear or anger.
“As I recall, when last we met, you compared me to a black widow spider.” Lena unwound the red silk scarf covering her hair and tossed it down on the seat next to the little basket she’d been carrying.
Augustus’s smile was thin, but his dark eyes shone with affection she did not deserve. “Well, as they say here, if the shoe fits, wear it.”
“Touché,” she said with a nod. For, really, she did possess the ability to turn into spiders—not one, but dozens—so he was correct.
“What brings you here?” he asked.
So solid, was Augustus. The calm in the eye of the storm. Not even her reappearance after thirty years of separation had him rattled. Was it wrong of her that she wanted to unnerve him? Likely so.
“Would you believe I missed you?” she offered lightly.
“Yes.” His gaze stayed steady on her. “I missed you too.”
Well. She was not expecting that. It deflated her, damn him. “Let us not play games. You could find me anytime you wanted, Augustus.”
“It is not the finding that proves troublesome, my dear. It is the welcome I shall receive once found.”
“Fair enough.” Lena settled back onto the bench, trying to convey ease. “I have to go away for a time. Perhaps to Nowhere.” Nowhere being another plane of existence where demons such as her could escape. Augustus, along with all manner of supernatural beings, could travel there as well. Though there were realms, such as what supernaturals commonly called There, that pure of heart Augustus could enter, and she, with her tainted soul, could not. A fact that never failed to irk her.
As expected, his dark eyes flashed silver upon mention of Nowhere. “Why?”
“I have a few things to take care of.” She had some hunting to do, and her prey was currently skulking in the darkest corner of Nowhere. But Augustus needn’t know that.
He frowned at her caginess. “No one simply chooses to go to Nowhere.”
“I’d prefer it to here. Tell me, are you happy living amongst these simple colonials?”
He didn’t bother to answer, merely gave her another one of his eloquent looks. Which only made her want to needle him.
“What pet are you following now, Augustus?”
He always had a few souls he guarded over, guiding them this way and that way, like some overzealous hand of God. They were little pawns in his ultimate chess game. And yet, she knew he loved every one of his “children.”
Augustus did not bother to deny it. “A girl named Eliza May. She’s an Evernight—the Boston branch.”
Odd coincidence, though, as she was intimately tied with the Evernights, an old and powerful family of Elementals who lived in Ireland. She’d recently placed St. John, a young babe who was in need of hiding, in their care. The irony almost made her laugh.
“And who is Miss May destined for?”
“Never you mind,” Augustus said with sad predictability. “Now, answer my question. Why are you really going to Nowhere? Do not tell me you have a sudden urge to holiday there.”
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Believe what you will. I shall confide in you this: it is safer for me to go.” This was true.
“Explain, Lena, and use long sentences for once.”
A brief smile touched her lips. “If I stay, I shall be hunted down by the father of this.” With a flourish, she lifted the basket and pulled back the woolen blanket draped over it. Deep in a nest of red silk lay a tiny babe. The few wisps of hair she had were a rich brown, and her plump, little cheeks flushed pink with life as she slept, oblivious to the chatter around her.
All color drained from Augustus’s skin, leaving little streaks of silver at the edges of his hairline. He managed to get himself under control quickly, but his mouth remained agape. “Please do not tell me you’ve stolen a baby. Anything but that.”
“Stolen? Ridiculous. What would I do with a baby?”
His stern look spoke volumes.
Though Lena had been waiting for this moment, relishing it with a sort of sick glee, she suddenly faltered, her cold heart thumping hard against her ribs. “It is mine,” she got out.
Absolute silence. Around them, the tavern’s patrons laughed and talked, drank and ate foul-smelling ale and food. But here, at their little corner table, the air stirred with rage. Against her palms the pitted wood table began to vibrate as if it soon might shatter.
“Temper, my love,” she murmured.
And his eyes went full-on silver. “Whose is it?”
The question was a whip against her skin.
“I’ll not tell you.”
“Lena. Please.”
It hurt her, she realized, to see the pain in his eyes. They’d known each other for nearly a hundred years, neither of them aging. And though she’d had many lovers, none of them meant a thing to her. He was the only man she loved. The only man she hated. Had he done similar and conceived a child with another, her rage would have known no bounds.
Softening her tone, she leaned in. “Augustus, I did not plan this. Indeed it is a shock. Sanguis do not procreate without intent. Believe me, having a child was not part of my plans.”
“And yet you have one,” he whispered with a harsh breath.
“Yes. And the father, he cannot know. It would be dangerous for her.”
At this, Augustus’s gaze went back to the babe. His expression shifted to one of longing and regret. Lena could not stop from reaching out to him, touching his warm skin with the tips of her gloved fingers. “Please believe this of me.”
“I do,” he said, still looking at the babe, ignoring her touch. But then, as if waking from a dream, he stirred, and a frightful expression tightened his familiar features. Again the air began to hum. “You cannot take the child with you to Nowhere.”
“No.” It hurt to utter the word.
His fine lips curled back on a snarl. “Why are you here?”
He knew. She could see it in his eyes. In his rage.
“She will be safe with you.”
“No.”
“She needs a good influence. A protector.”
“No.” It was nearly a shout. Flushed and breathing hard, he glared at Lena. “Do not dare ask this of me. To bring me your child by another and…” He broke off, grinding his teeth.
“Look at her,” Lena pressed. “Really look. Use your gift and tell me that she isn’t destined for you to protect. If she is not, then I shall leave and never bother you again.”
It was cruel, using his gift against him. Only she knew what he could do, how he saw the future paths of all but his one, true love. That it was her fate he could not see was a stab in the heart and the only thing that kept her going.
He did as bided. And promptly cursed. “I will never forgive you for doing this to me.”
“I may never forgive myself. But it must be done.”
She could not, would not, look at the babe. Already her chest was too tight, her eyes burning. “You are the best thing that could happen to this child.”
He snorted and looked away.
“You must promise me this,” she said over the lump in her throat. “She cannot know who she is. Never let her return to England.”
His dark eyes pinned her. “You beg of me to watch over this child, then you must trust me to raise her as I see fit.”
“And what do you see?” Lena could not help but ask it.
“England. Judgment. St. John.” A shudder went through him. “She is the key to St. John’s future.”
“Margaret’s boy?” Lena thought it over, and it made sense in a way. He was just a baby now, but the child had the blood of greatness in his veins, the son of a powerful Elemental and a demi-god of chaos. One day his power would be fearsome. What then would her child be? Lena longed to see her babe come into her own.
“Well then,” she said slowly. “Keep her away from England until you sense that it is safe for her to return.”
He gave a grunt of agreement, his gaze returning to the babe.
A strangled breath left Lena as she prepared to leave. Do not look at the child.
Quick as a flash, Augustus caught her cold hand, squeezing it tight. “Stay. Stay with me. I will protect you. On my life.”
A watery smile pulled at her lips. “You and I both know that is impossible.” She was the one person Augustus could never save. It was their curse. Doomed to love and never be together.
“Lena.” It was an agonized plea.
Gently, she broke free of his grip. “I came to you. Only you.”
His chin jerked in a nod. “Only you would I do this for.”
She needed to go. Moving was akin to tearing off strips of her flesh. But she did, standing slowly and feeling every bit of her two hundred and twenty-seven years. The babe had not stirred but her soft, steady little breaths seemed to fill the silence. As if prompted, Augustus lifted the basket and brought it close to him, careful not to wake the child.
His expression was one of reverence and wonder. Lena knew he was already in love. That hurt too, selfish creature that she was.
“She is a half-breed,” he said.
“Yes.” She fought the horrid tears that wanted so badly to bloom in her eyes.
Thankfully, Augustus was too busy peering at the child to notice her disquiet. “You refuse to reveal the father, fine. It saves me the trouble of having to hunt him down and kill him. But I demand to know her origins.”
“Nothing you can’t handle.”
When he shot her a glare, she snorted. “Come now, Augustus. You are a Watcher, the creator of Judgment angels. You mean to tell me you fear this child might harm you?”
His lips pursed. “I fear what she might do to others without the proper training.”
Fair enough. Theirs was a world of strange and powerful beings. Some capable of complete mayhem. But to reveal the child’s origins would be to reveal the father. So Lena merely gave him a bland look. “It will be clear when she fully matures.”
“How helpful.”
Yes, wasn’t it? Being annoyed at Augustus helped, however. Another deep breath and she could back away.
He glanced up at her, and instead of anger, she saw endless sorrow and reluctant understanding. “Tell me her name.”
Lena hadn’t dared to name the girl. Why? When she’d never have a chance to know her? Lena almost confessed as much when her mouth opened, and she blurted out a name.
“Layla. Layla Starling.” Her little night bird.
Ireland Ten years later
Layla knew that Augustus was not her father. He’d always been very clear on that account. And yet he had always been very clear that he loved her as much as any father could love a child. Therefore she did not truly mourn the loss of parents she’d never known. Indeed, she had a fine life. Fine home. Lovely dresses. And her favorite doll Annabelle.
There were times when Augustus had to go away. But it was never for very long. And when he returned, he’d seek her out first thing, set her on his knee, and ask after her day. Layla loved her guardian very much. And there was Mrs. Gibbons to look after her when Augustus was away. So, no, she never experienced loneliness or fear.
How odd, then, that she knew the boy in the tree was both lonely and afraid.
“Why are you up there?” she asked, peering up at his dangling legs, all covered in soot. “Are you hiding?”
His strange, pale green eyes seemed to glow in his equally soot-covered face. “Hiding? Hardly.”
“In trouble, then?”
“Nosey boots,” he muttered in that thick Irish accent of his. “Don’t you ever climb trees?”
“Yes. But not when I’m crying. Unless I want to hide, that is.”
His scowl was fierce. “I am not crying.”
The silvery tracks through the soot told a different tale.
Layla caught hold of a lower branch and easily climbed up the tree. She smiled as the boy scrambled farther up as if he didn’t want her near. Perching on a nice, sturdy branch, she looked him over. “Were you helping to put out the fire last night?”
The barn on the Evernight property had burnt down, and the flames had been so great that the very night sky seemed to glow orange. That was, until Mrs. Gibbons had shooed Layla away from the window and ordered her to bed.
“Why would I be doing that? I’m just a boy.” He looked off, his nose wrinkled in a scowl.
It was then that Layla saw the book resting on a thick branch. He made a reach for it as she picked it up, but she was faster. “Tom Sawyer. Oh, I liked that one.”
As he huffed, she glanced at the front page. “Says property of Saint John Evernight. Is that you?”
He glared down at her. “First off, it’s not Saint John. It’s pronounced Sin-jin.”
“Why on earth would you pronounce Saint John as Sin-jin? It does not make sense. My name is spelled L-a-y-l-a, and you pronounce it Lay-lah. Just as it ought to be.”
He snorted. “Lass, if you had a look at how the Irish spell most of their names, it would do your little head in.”
Layla had no response for that. Ireland was a strange and wonderful place to her. So fresh and green. At least out here in the country. Augustus had only just moved them here to a large manor house, surrounded by a carpet of emerald that stretched all the way to the sea. Since St. John, or Sinjin, was an Evernight, that meant he lived on the adjoining property.
“I think they ought to call you Saint. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
He appeared rather ill at the prospect. “Who in the bleeding hell would want to be called a saint?”
Bleeding hell were bad words, she knew, but she liked the way they rolled off his tongue and the fierce way he glared made her smile. Perhaps because, at the very least, this boy paid her attention. She hadn’t any friends her own age since she’d arrived from Boston.
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “I just thought… well, if you did something wrong, you’d be the last person anyone would suspect if your name was Saint.” She lowered her voice in her best grown-up impersonation. “‘Who stole the last currant tart?’ ‘Well, I do not know, but surely it could not be Saint. A boy called Saint would never stoop so low.’”
St. John snorted. “They call me Sin, not Saint.”
“Oh,” Layla said in a small voice. “Well, then you are in a bad way. A boy named Sin is bound to get into trouble.”
He rolled his eyes at her jest. But she did not miss the way he seemed to hug himself and turn his face from hers, or the way his chest hitched with a sharp breath.
“Did you get hurt in the fire? Is that why you were crying?”
“For the last time,” he spat out, “I was not crying.”
When she simply waited for an explanation, he gave an expansive sigh, the sort Cook did when Layla asked for her meat to be served rare. Layla never felt badly about that, though. She loved bloody meat. It tasted sweet to her. Why Cook couldn’t understand this, she’d never know.
“I…” Sin bit the corner of his bottom lip and then blurted out, “I started the fire. It was an accident.”
“Oh.” Layla pulled one leg close to her chest, leaving the other to dangle. “Were they very cross with you?”
“They don’t know.”
They were silent for a moment, listening to the birds chirp.
“Once, when I was six,” Layla said, “I took it to mind to have a bath. I turned on the taps myself. Only I had to get my doll Annabelle ready, and then I’d forgotten I’d promised her a tea party, and well… Mrs. Gibbons came charging in, shouting about a leaking ceiling.”
Oh, the memory still burned.
Sin snorted. “You flooded the bath?”
“Yes.”
He laughed and laughed. A very nice sound. And she told him so.
Unfortunately, it made him stop. But he didn’t ask her to leave. Instead they sat for a long while, until her legs grew cramped. “I have to get down. Will you come and play with me at the pond instead, Saint John?”
“Call me Sin. It’s what my friends do.” And then he jumped right out of the tree as though the height was nothing to him. Well, Layla could do that too.
“I’d rather call you Saint,” she said, once safely on the ground.
His pale green eyes crinkled at the corners. “Why?”
“Someone ought to think the best of you. I shall apply myself to the task.”
He looked annoyed but she did not miss the way his mouth fought a smile. “You are a strange little bird, Layla. Are we going to the pond or what?”
“Lead the way, Saint.”
And he did. For five wonderful years, he led her on adventures, became her dearest friend. And then Augustus ruined it all. He took her away from Sin and Ireland, and she’d never see either again.
London 1890
St. John Evernight ran full-out, his bare feet hitting the cold, slick cobbles with nary a sound. He did not need footwear, for his skin would never tear, and clunky boots affected his speed and balance. Both of which he needed during a chase.
His prey was just ahead, moving at inhuman speed and agility through the dark alleyway. Too far to catch or get a proper look at. Irritated, Sin put forth the effort and increased his pace, pushing himself to his limits.
Christ but this thing was fast. For Sin had no clue as to its nature; its scent was a strange mix that he’d never before encountered, though it appeared human in shape, which really meant nothing in his world of shape shifters and demons.
The moonless night reduced everything to dark shapes, echoing sounds, rank smells. This was London, after all, a city of foul, coal-leaden fog and evil lurking in shadowy corners.
Breath burning in his lungs, he dashed around a corner, following the slim figure ahead, a dark cloak fluttering behind it like a flag.
Closer, closer.
Sin stretched his arm out, his silver fingers appearing like glass in the darkness. Almost…
His prey leapt, straight up.
“Shit.”
Slate and dirt rained down, clacking and clattering as the thing took to the rooftops.
Well then.
Sin leapt too, landing lightly on his feet and taking off even as part of the roof began to cave under his weight. Scrambling up the steep slope, he reached the spine of the roof and dashed along the narrow space.
His quarry was getting away. Not bloody likely. He’d seen what it had done, gorging itself on a helpless human before Sin had appeared. He’d taken one look at the cloaked figure huddled over the body, blood thick and redolent on the ground, and attacked. Sin would not give this creature another opportunity to kill again.
Unfortunately, whatever it was he chased was slightly quicker than he was. It chafed.
“Sod it.” He halted, sliding a few feet on the slick surface before stopping. The creature kept going, but Sin had had enough. Tearing off his clothes, he watched his prey leap from rooftop to rooftop, its moves akin to a lycan’s but slightly off. Hell, everything was off about this thing.
Nude, Sin took a breath and let his wings free. They unfurled behind him like sails snapping in a full wind. And then he took to the sky, his crystal clear skin now invisible to those below.
Gods, he’d never grow accustomed to that first burst of power and motion of flight. No matter how hellish his life got, flying was bloody glorious.
Up he went, his gaze intent on the creat. . .
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