Soulbound

Book 6: Darkest London

by Kristen Callihan

Genres: Romance; Fantasy Romance; Historical Romance

Synopsis

The sixth book in Kristen Callihan’s dark, atmospheric series set in Victorian London will appeal to fans of New York Times bestselling authors Amanda Quick, Gail Carriger, and Hannah Howell.

Once two souls are joined …

When Adam’s soul mate rejected him, there was more at stake than his heart: after seven hundred years of searching, his true match would have ended the curse that keeps his spirit in chains. But beautiful, stubborn Eliza May fled—and now Adam is doomed to an eternity of anguish, his only hope for salvation gone.

their hearts will beat together forever.

No matter how devilishly irresistible Adam was, Eliza couldn’t stand the thought of relinquishing her freedom forever. So she escaped. But she soon discovers she is being hunted by someone far more dangerous. And the only man who can help is the one man she vowed never to see again. Now Adam’s kindness is an unexpected refuge, and Eliza finds that some vows are made to be broken.

Release date: February 24, 2015

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 432

Sample

So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth,

Still fragrant with ruby wine,

And say with a fervor born of the South

That your body and soul are mine.

—Ella Wheeler Wilcox

London, November 1885

She had always been attracted to death. Sought it out for reasons inexplicable to even herself. But it wasn’t supposed to end this way. And now she was dead. Of that she was certain. She felt the stinging tug of the knife as it pulled through her flesh. Her life’s blood, hot against her skin, cool as it spread in a crimson pool about her still body.

Just before she died, the grizzled, grinning faces of the thugs around her began to fade, the world turning a muddy brown. Eliza’s last breath left with a soft, soundless puff.

And now she was dead. She had fought so hard and so long to live. Done ugly things to remain alive, to survive. She’d come to London to find her distant family. They might help, offer her solace. And she hadn’t even had the chance to look, set upon by bad men barely an hour after she’d disembarked and stepped upon English soil.

Rage surged up within her. She refused to be cut down like this, by these… mindless thugs. Her body was still, a heavy, foreign thing now. No longer hers to command.

Again came the rage, but the black pall of death was stronger. Before she could think, she was simply gone.

No. No!

Eliza blinked, light wavering around her. And then she was back, standing in the alleyway. Alive. Before her, two women fought the men who had murdered her. She had been murdered. Hadn’t she? Yet here she stood, idly watching as these lovely, properly dressed women, one wielding a sword, the other a baton, fought like masters. Eliza nearly laughed. She was going mad. That was it. Madness had at last claimed her.

And then all was still. The men fled, limping and bloodied. And she was left with her saviors. Eliza didn’t know what to say. She felt… odd. No, she corrected, she didn’t feel at all. There was, in fact, a decided lack of any feeling. She wanted to think further on it, but the pretty blonde woman was kneeling next to a body, crimson blood soaking into her fine, butter-yellow skirts.

Eliza stared at the sight, at the body of another blonde woman, her plain brown skirts in disarray, her throat cut, her brown eyes wide and sightless in death. She looks like me. The dead woman looks exactly like me.

“No pulse,” the young lady murmured, pressing her fingers against the woman’s pale throat. “They gutted her. Poor dear.”

“No!” The shout tore from Eliza. Fear, so violent she wanted to scream, rose up within her. She knew that body was hers. And yet… “I cannot be dead. I refuse to go. Not like this. Not from the likes of them.” Again came a flash of ire and need. The need to live.

The pretty blonde glanced at the woman with dark hair and hesitation rose high in her blue eyes. But her voice was calm as she addressed Eliza. “I’m afraid you are dead. I am very sorry we did not arrive sooner.”

The hell I am. Eliza wanted to stomp her foot. In fact, she tried. The action made not a sound. “If I am dead, then how is it that you both see me?” She peered at the women, struck by a strange new fact. “And why do you both glow?”

“You are seeing our spirits,” the dark-haired woman said. “Just as we see yours.” Around them, the breeze began to stir, and it carried the sound of moaning.

Oh, but Eliza did not like that sound. Despair and urgency lived in that sound. Nor did she like the way the shadows in the corners of the alley seemed to stir, as if impatient. Stay away from those shadows. Eliza refused to cower. But she wanted to.

The brunette sighed, the sound full of pity and heavy sorrow. “There is still a chance to move on. You must feel it. I suggest you take it, lest you be stuck here just as they are.”

She didn’t need to explain who “they” were; Eliza could feel them. When she couldn’t even feel her own feet. These beings, whatever they were, exuded cold. Such cold. Eliza glared at the shadows, daring them to come closer. She’d make them sorry. Gads, but they gave her a chill. She tried to rub her arms for warmth and felt nothing of her body, only their desire to take her. “I feel it,” she admitted to the strange ladies. “Like someone is plucking on my sleeve.” She shuddered. “I… I can’t! I don’t want to die.”

“Well, who does?” the blonde mused.

Eliza decided she did not like her very much.

The woman tilted her head and eyed Eliza in a calculating manner. “Would you really rather stay? Even if it meant you never died?”

Something inside of Eliza leapt with warmth and tight urgency. Hope. “Is this a true question?”

“She has spirit,” the blonde said to the brunette, who frowned and looked Eliza over.

“She’s a strange one,” the brunette murmured.

Rather the pot calling the kettle. “Says the woman who rushed in like a crazed banshee and beat down three full-grown men,” Eliza retorted.

“She’s in shock,” the blonde said with a smile.

The brunette’s lips twitched. “Likely you’re right.”

What a pair, these two. “I agree.” Wouldn’t anyone be in shock knowing they’d died? No, she would not think of that. Or of the increasingly loud moans coming from the shadows. “Can we move on please?” Hadn’t they said something about her staying here? Hope took on a sharp edge and made her want to reach out and shake one of these odd women.

The brunette ignored her entirely but focused on her friend. “We could…”

“We could,” the pretty blonde agreed.

Saint’s preserve her, Eliza had had enough. Perhaps if she simply tried to get back into her body… The brunette’s words halted her. “You’d be a slave. For however long He deems.”

A new chill went through Eliza. As if she’d had this conversation before. As if she were on the cusp of… something. “Who is ‘He’?”

“The man who can give you back your life,” the blonde said without preamble.

Well… She supposed… That strange, almost anticipatory discomfort within her soul grew. “Will it involve…” She couldn’t finish, but being women, they understood readily.

“No,” said the brunette emphatically. “You merely have to find other willing spirits for him.”

Other spirits? “For what reason?”

“Well, there is the rub,” said the blonde a bit sadly. “Only he knows. Some, he allows to return to their bodies and live life out as we are now. Others, he takes with him. Though he promises no harm will come to them, no one here knows what happens to those souls.” Her blue eyes grew solemn. “You will not know until it is your turn.”

Eliza’s body lay before her, its once-pink skin now bone white and going an ugly grey at the edges. Her life’s blood had begun to congeal and blacken. She looked pitiful, lying there in the muck. Abused and abandoned. She glanced back at the two women staring at her with quiet expectation. They did not appear to be evil. Had they not just tried to save her?

But perhaps they were witches who laid in wait for such opportunity. After all, if Eliza were not mistaken, these properly dressed and uncommonly pretty women appeared to be some sort of soul harvesters. A gruesome job. Eliza would be a fool to trust them. But she’d come all this way, risked death to escape. The only thing left for her was to remain dead or take fate by the hand and see what it would bring her.

Oddly, she wasn’t afraid, but excited. Eliza took a deep breath, uncomfortably aware that she didn’t actually breathe anymore. “Fine. I accept.”

She wasn’t certain what she expected to happen but the two women dickered about for a moment, discussing how to accomplish this supposed miracle. “Ought we not hurry?” she asked them, if only to expedite the process. The moans from the shadows were growing impatient.

“Your body is safe for now,” the blonde assured, even though her gaze stayed resolutely away from it. With a sigh, she then pressed her hand against her heart and murmured words too low for Eliza to hear. But the effect was instantaneous. The cold alleyway grew hot and thick with the smoky scent of myrrh and something dark and delicious. She’d never smelled the like and yet it felt right, this scent, a comfort. Lord but she could draw the fragrance into her lungs all day and never tire of it.

The women seemed less enamored of the scent, for they frowned and fidgeted as though agitated. Eliza might have made a further study but her eye was drawn to the spot just next to the women. There, a shadow formed, completely black, with a density that gave it a tangible depth. Its hazy edges grew sharp and distinct, taking on the shape of a large doorway.

Foreboding raced through Eliza as her attention stayed riveted on that spot. “What is it?”

“Hush.”

Someone was coming; she was sure of it. Footsteps echoed, the sound hollow and far off. The fragrance in the alley grew thicker, richer, until Eliza thought her mouth might water. If she had a mouth, that was. Then he appeared, larger than life and handsome as dark sin.

Good gravy, it figured she would have to die in order to rest eyes upon a man so stunning. Tall, with the lithe grace of a warrior, he walked towards them without care. His coal-black hair fell over his brow as if he’d just risen from bed. On a boyish face, this might look slovenly, but this man… His features were carved by a master, a big and bold aquiline nose, strong, slanting cheekbones, and a stubborn chin, shadowed with an evening beard. He was the most overwhelmingly masculine male she’d ever seen.

His deep, dark voice poured over them like hot milk. “My delicious daughters.” Daughters? “My most lovely creations. How may I be of service?” He smiled at the two women, bringing Eliza’s attention to his mouth. A bitable mouth.

A flush of unwanted heat went through her.

The blonde, now blushing spoke. “My Lord, we have one who desires to join.”

And then he looked at Eliza. Beneath thick, dark brows that slashed over eyes of stunning gold, he hit her with the force of his gaze, and Eliza’s world turned on its end. Him. It was him. She blinked, not understanding why he felt so very familiar, so very right. It didn’t matter, for his expression grew covetous and calculating, and she feared she’d need all her wits with this one. Fate, it seemed, had just played a very nasty trick on her.

Aodh, son of Niall, former knight and one-time terror of Ireland and Great Britain, now known as Adam, king and creator of the GIM, took one look at the little spirit wavering before him, and his entire existence ground to a halt. Had he not lived centuries devoid of a single, pleasurable feeling, he would not have been able to hide his surprise. As it was, he barely remained standing. A rush of pure, exquisite emotion punched through him, battering him about like a cork on a monster wave.

Holy God. It almost hurt, this feeling. He allowed himself a small breath. He was feeling. After all these years. Heat and throbbing below his waist had him biting back a laugh. His cock was rising. He’d actually forgotten that particular sensation.

The female spirit was eyeing him as if he might soon bite. She was right to worry. He wanted to bite. But the glow that surrounded her form distracted him. He stared at it, disbelief, hope, and emotion writhing within him until he feared he might double over. That glow, soft gold mixed with sharp silver. The light of her soul. He did not have to glance down at his body to see the exact match of her soul’s light to his.

It was her. After all of these years. The endless searching. He’d found her. Why, then, did a strange, desperate rage fill him now?

“Your name?” he asked of her. Tension rode his frame hard.

The spirit narrowed her eyes, her gaze sliding up and down Adam’s form as though inspecting something distasteful. Perfect. Wonderful. They were off to a grand start.

Her voice, when she spoke, was clipped, with the flat tones of a Yank. “Eliza May.”

“Mmm.” It came out as a dubious rumble. Adam flicked his attention to Mary. “I’ll have a word with you, sweet Mary Chase—”

“And you are?” Eliza May cut in, her translucent hands upon her hips. Like a little fishwife. His little fishwife.

Again the anger, the helplessness. He didn’t want to need her. Didn’t like the urge that rode him hard and demanded he fall at her knees and weep with relief. He found himself snapping. “Not to be interrupted, treats.”

The lass’s pert chin lifted. “I’ve a right to know your full name, sir.”

Oh, but she would be interesting. Of that, he was certain. Adam put on a smile meant to chill and sauntered over to the hovering spirit. The temptation to touch her was too great. He traced the line of her cheek, and a shiver licked over his skin. She was warm, solid, to him at least. For at this moment, she lived in his realm. She didn’t even realize she’d passed into it and that what the lovely Miss Chase and Mrs. Ranulf saw of her was merely a spirit, barely clinging to their world. “My Lord and Master, My Irresistible Liege,” he murmured, while his cock throbbed against his trousers. “Pick whichever one you want. Then shut up. I am speaking, and not to you.”

He was being a bastard, unworthy of the knight he once was. And yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself where she was concerned. She’d turned him into a truculent, possessive child. In truth, if he didn’t have her spirit bound to his soon, he was likely to break down and cling to her skirts.

Unhinged, Adam turned his attention to Mary—he had things he needed to discuss with the lass—but he stopped as he spied Eliza’s body laying bloodied and battered upon the cobbles, her skirts still rucked up, a pool of blackening blood widening about her head like a macabre halo.

Had she been violated? A new sort of rage lit through him. So strong that the dark alleyway was illuminated with golden light, and he knew his eyes were glowing.

Eliza, seeing the direction of Adam’s gaze, swished to hover over her body as though she might hide it. “Don’t look at me, it.” Her teeth bared in a snarl. “At my body.”

Her pride was a feral and beautiful thing. My sweet dove, if I could, I’d tear those who hurt you into pieces.

“Why?” he asked mildly, as if he wasn’t aching for violence. “It’s dead. And if you want to keep it, it’s also mine.”

Mine. Mine. Mine. It was a rampant refrain in his head.

Eliza flinched, her mouth gaping before snapping shut. “I thought… They said that you wouldn’t want…”

And like that, his desire wilted. She feared him. With good reason. The poor lass had just been abused. Adam was better than this. Usually. Still, the disgusted look in her wide, brown eyes irked.

“Devil take it. I quite literally have beings knocking against each other for the opportunity to have me.”

Even now, ghosts stuck between worlds gathered, straining along the periphery of the alleyway as though held back by an invisible wall. The silent, wraithlike figures twisted and undulated in unmistakable entreaty. They always did. Thanks to his curse, almost all beings craved his touch and attention. Except this one. His supposed fate and savior. Adam glared. “I’ve no interest in unwilling, prissy misses.”

The lass sneered at him. “Oh, how the other ghouls must envy you.”

Wee smarmy… Adam took a step in Eliza’s direction. “Let us get this over with. Will you swear fealty to me?”

“What would I have to—”

“Yes or no. Right now, Miss May.”

He needed her capitulation. Now.

Eliza May glanced between Mary and Daisy, her expression unsure and pained. She’d get no help there. His lovelies were forbidden to talk to her at this moment. It was his law. “Tick, tock, Eliza.”

“All right.” She drew herself up, all five and a half feet of sweet curves and bitter resentment. “I swear it.”

The triumph that filled Adam was absolute, yet not at all the satisfaction he expected. No, he feared. Feared that she’d somehow slip through his fingers and be lost to him again. Unacceptable. “Excellent.”

With a flick of his wrist, he’d conjured a thin, golden chain and struck. The chain coiled around Eliza’s spirit and her body. Adam gave the chain a lazy tug, and Eliza flew into her body. A great gasp broke from her lips as her body arched off the ground and then flopped back, struggling against the golden bonds like a fish in a net.

He felt her pain. He felt everything. Finally. Freedom. Finally, it was in his grasp. All he had to do was keep Miss Eliza May by his side. Forever.



Three years later… London 1888

The young man stretched out upon the table struggled to remain still. That much was evident in the way his taut, bared flesh twitched along his muscled thighs and lean abdomen. As the whitening of his wrists where they were bound with crimson satin ropes to the table, and in the way his narrow hips shifted ever so slightly, a tiny thrust upwards as if that one restrained action would bring some relief to his member.

Eliza tried not to look there, at the obscene, angry length of him, bobbing about with each breath he took. Nor did she want to meet his eyes. She did not want to know what lay behind them, if he was in agony or in ecstasy. She settled for studying the pale length of his flank, smooth near his buttock, furred with blond hairs along his thigh, now glistening in the dim glow of the room.

“This one is wonderfully obedient, is he not?” murmured a feminine voice in her ear.

Eliza forced herself to stir, and she swore the tight clench of her corset threatened to put her off her turtle soup. “He has lasted longer than the others.” A benign statement but the only one she could muster. For there had been others. A parade of young and beautiful creatures looking for sensual pleasure in the hands of Eliza’s Auntie Mab and her court of fools.

At Eliza’s side, Mab’s ivory skin was luminous and without line or flaw, her auburn hair holding glints of gold, bronze, and copper. An ageless beauty that did not seem natural. Unless you took into account that Mab was fae, an immortal.

Fairies. Fae. Eliza had never paid myths much mind. In Boston, one was far more likely to hear stories of the Headless Horseman than those of little winged creatures. How very misinformed she’d been. Fae were beautiful, powerful, and able to alter their appearance to pass as human. Mab confided it took a measure of power to maintain, and that once their bodies were destroyed here, the fae must return to their lands to regenerate. Decidedly strange creatures. And, according to Mab, Eliza had their blood running through her veins.

A year ago, Eliza would have thought her aunt mad if she’d claimed to be one, save Eliza had once been chained to the demon Adam long enough for the wool to be irrevocably pulled from her eyes. This brave new world was not the bland, colorless life she’d once lived amongst normal society.

Around her, fine gentlemen and ladies ate a grand feast at the fifty-foot long white marble table. Candlelight and crystal turned the world into glitter and gold. Wine flowed with the generosity of Bacchus, servants dressed in emerald green ready to refill a glass should it lower even an inch. Which made for sloppy drunkenness. A respectable lord tossed a chicken leg across the table, and the room erupted into laughter as it landed with stunning precision directly between the large globes of a countess’s breasts.

The countess merely plucked the little limb from her bodice and bit into the meat with pearly teeth.

Eliza took a bracing sip of wine and immediately regretted it, as a low burn traveled down her throat. Sticky-sweet smoke drifting from hanging brass burners made her head light. And the poor lad laid out before her, desperate for attention, seemed to give a silent sigh, his body growing ever more tense. At Eliza’s side, Mab chuckled before leaning forward to trace a path with her tongue along the young lad’s ribs. He moaned in response, his pale length arching. A mistake.

Mab lifted her riding crop and snapped it down on tender, unprotected flesh, eliciting another moan from the man. “Silence.” She whipped him again, much to the room’s amusement. “I did not give you leave to make a sound. Or to move.”

And so he tried again to behave. Mab turned to Eliza, and her dark eyes were alight with glee. “A sturdy hand, Eliza. They relish it, you see.”

Yes, she saw very well. Mab was grooming her. It had happened slowly, the fall into this particular niche of debauchery. It had been lovely at first, being given costly gowns of the finest silk, velvets, and cashmere, living in Mab’s luxurious home, eating rich and luscious foods every day. And the parties. Endless parties. No one to tell her that she was too loud, too brash, clumsy, frivolous. No one stalking her for favors she did not want to give. Eliza was free. To be herself, to indulge in whatever whim pleased her.

But then came the cruelty. Eliza had seen enough of the world to understand that those who begged to be tied up and whipped did so in the pursuit of pleasure. They’d come to the wrong place. For Eliza suffered no illusions now; Mab’s pleasure derived from the pain and suffering of others. And the lad upon the table would soon end up like those who had come before him. Dead.

Unable to take another moment, Eliza pushed back from the table, her voluminous, aubergine satin skirts undulating as she rose.

Mab’s delicate auburn brow lifted. “Surely you are not leaving.”

Eliza could make many excuses. She chose the one most likely to repulse. Leaning down, she whispered in Mab’s ear. “Privy.”

Her aunt’s pert nose wrinkled. “Horrid, the human body.” Her pale hand waved in lazy fashion. “Go. And be comforted in the knowledge that soon you will not suffer such indignities.”

Why? Eliza hadn’t the courage to ask her. It seemed her courage had left her on the day she’d fled the demon. She ought to have fought him for her right to live free.

Cool damp swarmed her as she stepped onto the stone terrace that ran along the back of the house. From inside, ribald laughter continued, a trilling sound that scraped her nerves. But here all was clear and still. Eliza hugged herself close. She did not want to be in this house, in this life. And though she was likely as foul and morally wrong as they were, she did not want to be. She could run. Again.

Always running. Since the age of fourteen when her grandfather Aidan died, she’d been running from things. Some nights, it felt as though she were running towards something. But she’d never found it. Only death and entrapment. Oh, but she knew death.

She had died once. Years ago. Of that she was certain. She’d felt the sting of the knife as it pulled through her flesh. And seen her life’s blood spread in a crimson pool about her still body, and known with cold certainty that she’d suffered a mortal wound. It hadn’t been a dream. It had been real. And yet she now lived. Because he had given her life anew. “Him, he,” that is how she thought of the demon who’d held her captive for a time, linking her wrist to his by an enchanted golden chain. Never think his name, much less utter it. To give voice to a name, even in one’s secret thoughts, was to give it power. Eliza May had enough sense to know this.

Yet, try as she might, the memory of the demon, that darkly handsome fiend who oozed sensual heat and temptation, never left her. Not for a moment. Such a strange demon, the one who created an entire race of supernatural beings. He’d called them Ghosts in the Machine, the GIM. Humans who, like her, had been struck down before their time yet refused to go gently into that cold night. The demon had given them immortality, the ability to roam free in spirit form, and a clockwork heart to bind them to him for a period of time. It seemed a fair bargain. Yet she’d received no such heart. He’d wanted something else from her. Her very soul. Her capitulation. Just like the other man she’d run from.

The demon’s roar of rage and pain, the one she’d heard the moment their connection had been broken, still rang in her ears. Her cousin St. John had whisked her away so quickly that she’d only been treated to a mere second of that sound. Yet it haunted her all the same. Because it was not the shout of a man who’d easily give up.

Why did he want her? They’d gotten along like tar and sand, stuck together because of circumstance, an irritant to both each other and those who had the misfortune to be around them. And still he’d been determined to keep her.

How strange it all seemed now. Like a nightmare. She was no longer chained. She was safe. Aunt Mab assured her that the demon would never come for her. That once the chain had been broken, he could never find her again. Cold comfort.

Eliza’s fingers dug into her skirt, and the fabric made a hushed rustle. He had given her gowns too. In a rainbow of colors, a buffet of textures. And she’d turned away from every one of them, too fearful that she’d be drawn by his enticements.

You wouldn’t even be here were it not for me. No, you’d be rotting in an unmarked grave, forgotten and unavenged. Because the GIM did that for you as well, didn’t they? Striking down those who hurt you. And what thanks do I receive? Silence. You agreed to be mine. Mine!

The worst of it was, she had agreed. She simply hadn’t realized how much it would chafe to lose her freedom. From the moment he had her, he’d kept her chained by his side, his mood always angry, always looking at her as though she ought to be giving him something more. Yet he’d refused to tell her what. He’d grown more sullen, and she’d stopped speaking altogether. And then two men had come for her. Friends of her aunt. They’d saved her.

And she’d escaped him. Her stomach clenched. Guilt was a terrible thing. No, she would not think of it. Or of his guinea-gold eyes framed by thick, black lashes. Accusing eyes, filled with rage and pain.

As if beckoned by her wayward thoughts, a lone, mournful howl rent the night. Every hair upon Eliza’s body stood on end as she straightened. Heart pounding, she glanced toward the back at the windowed doors, where everything was warmth and light. Had it come from within the house or from outside?

Past the grand hall that ran along the back of the house, she could see a small slice of the dining room. Mab’s party was still in full swing. Not a flinch or concerned face in the room. Had she imagined the sound?

A mystery solved, as another wailing howl rang out. Such pain and misery in that cry. It wasn’t human, that howl, but sounded as if made by a dog. And it had come from the direction of the kitchen wing. Had a dog found its way inside and been hurt? She couldn’t fathom how, but nor could she remain here and ignore the plea for help.

Slipping back inside, Eliza crept past the dining room and into the main hall. Once outside the kitchen doors, she stilled. Where now? The echoing quality of the sound made it difficult to discern its origins. With only the light of a few sconces lit along the walls, the hall was filled with shadows. Silence was a weight against her skin, warring with the sound of her blood rushing through her veins. The tall case clock by the salon door tick away.

Eliza’s shoulders slumped, and she let out a slow breath. Perhaps she had… A yelp, high and aggravated. Most definitely that had come from the kitchens.

She hadn’t taken two steps when she heard someone coming. If there was one good talent Eliza possessed, it was to trust her instincts, and now they cried out for her to hide. Ducking behind one of the decora. . .