Page 55 of Hexbound
"Your father created them." She sounded dubious.
"It was in his youth, when he fell in with Tremayne and Morgana. He said he was curious, that he dabbled in the dark arts and became fascinated with demons and what they could teach us."
"That does not sound reassuring."
Bishop frowned. Talk of demons and sacrifices had managed what control alone could not: his cock had begun to flag. "He realized what he had helped create was dangerous, and that's when he and Morgana stole them off Tremayne and hid them. He couldn't destroy them, but he never used them again."
She gave a noncommittal murmur. "Found something." Lifting the book up, she read, "The Chalice has the power to negate, as well, that which rides a necromancer and hounds him to the grave. A sacrifice is required, but neither blood nor death will do. The sacrifice is required within. A personal sacrifice of great value." Verity frowned. "What does that mean?"
"I have no idea."
"Hmm." Verity took slow steps as she quietly read.
It was a comfortable silence. Bishop stared at the way the strands of hair that had escaped her chignon were beginning to curl.
He'd thought having her here would be a distraction and a nuisance. He liked his solitude.
Well, she was a distraction, all right. But he was startled to discover that far from irritating him, her presence made him feel calm. He... liked it.
What would it be like to have a wife? Or a lover? To sit in companionable silences as they read after dinner, or to curl up on the sofa together, her feet tucked in his lap. He looked at Verity and realized he couldn't think of anyone else in that role. He wanted her.
And he couldn't have her. To take that step forward would be to cause them both unimaginable grief in the future, when themaladroisebegan to haunt him. Better just to enjoy her company now, before she found a master who would teach her and moved on.
"Bishop?" she said, and it sounded as though she'd repeated the word. "Did you hear what I said?"
"Chalice," he repeated, dropping his gaze to the book he carried, as he sat on the sofa. "Both negates and enhances the swell of a Grave Arts sorcerer's power. I was correct. Whoever Noah Guthrie has on his leash is using the Chalice to improve the amount of power that he can draw."
Verity sighed.
Focus, damn you.Bishop cursed, and turned the pages of the book. He'd lost all trace of the thought that he'd been following. Something about there being only five Grave Arts sorcerers who didn't belong to the Order. "I've been trying to think of the names of those Grave Arts sorcerers who were cast from the Order."
"And?"
"There is one who... would no doubt like to get his hands on the Chalice. One who wouldn't bat an eyelid at the thought of unleashing flesh constructs in London. Elijah Horroway."
"So what's the problem?"
He glanced at her, then glanced again. "I—um, just have to find him."
"So that's our next lead?"
Bishop nodded.
"Good, then we can focus on that. Tomorrow." Verity sighed and crossed the room toward him, closing the book and setting it on the small book table beside the sofa. She sat at his feet, resting her cheek and arm atop the sofa beside his hip as she looked up at him. "I know when a man is looking at me, Bishop. I know when he wants me."
Christ.He set his own book aside and prepared to move, but her hand on his thigh stopped him. Bishop looked down, and suddenly he didn't think he could move. He didn't want to push her away.
Why could he not have just one bloody minute with her in his arms? One minute of sheer physical enjoyment?
Because you know what happened the last time you tried....
"Verity." His throat was dry. "We can't."
Her hand slid up his thigh. Verity glanced up at him from beneath a fan of thick dark lashes.
He couldn't breathe.
He knew what she was doing: knew that the question in her pretty green eyes was very much focused on him and what his answer would be.
