Page 5 of Hexbound
Verity's heart hammered behind her ribs. She curled her power up tight and small inside her, and then released it like a punch. She was weightless, senseless, a mere flicker... and then the world kicked in around her, slamming her back into tired, leaden bones as she found herself in a garden.
Roses. She staggered to her knees, feeling the weight of her pain riding her down into the ground. A door formed in her vision, almost taunting her. A black lacquered door, stark in the imposing white walls. How many weeks had she stared at that door, wondering about the silent man who lived inside and moved through a ghost world?
Nearly there....
Footsteps swarmed over the gravel behind her and she sucked in the last shred of her strength, unleashing it in a whirlwind of power around her. Instantly she lurched through time and space, using the door as her focus. Then she was there, and she couldn't remember coming back. The twitching of Bishop's wards settled over her skin like an invisible net that itched, just faintly. Relief swept through her. He'd kept them up then. Now at least he'd know someone was there.
If he was home, that was.
Bishop rarely leaves the house. Why would he be out now?
Searching for you, said her far-too-nimble mind.
"Help." A little stronger this time. "Help!"
Reaching out, Verity hammered her fist on the door, leaving a bloodied smear against the lacquer.Hurry, damn you.A brief glance behind showed it was too late. The men chasing her stepped out of the shadows, wearing faceless masks beneath their top hats. Even behind the mask, she could sense one of them grinning.
There was no way in hell she was going to die like this. Grabbing the door knob, Verity dragged herself upright. "Come on then, you rotters! Come on!"
One of them took a step toward her—
And then the door opened abruptly, and she fell inside.
The last personBishop had ever expected to answer his door to fell heavily against his chest.
"What in the bloody hell—?"
"Shut the d-door," the young woman breathed, glancing back over her shoulder.
There was nothing out there but fog, but he could tell from the little pinpricks against his skin as his wards trembled that there had been. Five of them, to be exact. Swirls of fog proclaimed where they'd been standing, and the faint sound of running feet against cobbles echoed like dull hammer blows in the still night.
And then the world sprang into sharp realization. He could smell something rich and coppery. Blood.
"Thank goodness," the woman said. It washis thief'svoice andhermagic that trembled against his wards. He just hadn't expected that pert, upturned face with the faint cleft in her chin, and her full, slightly trembling mouth. A tumble of dark brown hair was knotted in a loose chignon that had seen better days, and she had the biggest, greenest eyes he'd ever seen.
She was also far younger than he'd expected.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He'd spent three sleepless days and nights hunting for her, and suddenly she was in his arms.
"Thought I'd p-pop in and see if you were any friendlier on reacquaintance." She was bleeding quite badly. Bishop pressed a hand against her side where the worst of the blood seeped through her linen shirt.
"Youareaware that you stole a very precious item from me but three days ago?" He eased her onto her back on the floor. "What makes you think for one second that I would help you?"
"Because," she panted, "I can get it back for you. I'm the only one w-who... can find it." She glanced down at her side, her face going white. "Oh, God." Then her eyes rolled back in her head and her weight slumped heavily into his arms.
Bishop froze, cradling her gently. "Bloody hell," he cursed under his breath, then dragged her into his arms and strode toward the stairs. Her head slumped back and a tangle of dark brown hair tumbled over his arm. He was hardly a Healer—his skills ran in another direction entirely—but when one knew how to stop a heart in a man's chest with a thought, or tear holes in the walls of an artery, then you also knew the basics in doing the opposite.
"—saysshe can get it back?" The voice was near, a low, firm tone that brooked no nonsense.
"So she claims. I'm inclined to believe her. She made a mockery of me but four nights ago. Moved through this bloody place like the Chalice was a magnet."
Verity stirred. She knew that voice. Had spent hours listening to it during her surveillance.
Adrian Bishop. He had a beautiful voice, low and smooth like gravel and honey. His face matched the voice; all sharp edges, strong jawline, and typically masculine features, matched by the prettiest eyes she'd ever seen on a man. They were so dark they looked almost bottomless. Cold eyes, she'd thought the first time she saw him, but they hadn't been cold the other night when he pinned her against the wall.
A little shiver ran through her, which was rather surprising. The victory of her theft had had her blood up the other night, and she was always riding the edge of her nerves in those moments, but she hadn't realized the attraction to him remained.
Maybe it was his sheer height? Or the memories of the lean, sculpted planes of his body, gilded by moonlight?
