Page 6 of Hexbound
Maybe it was simply the fact that when he moved he looked like a predator, fast and strong and utterly in control of himself. A man who knew how to use his body.
Verity blushed. She was no innocent. No girl from Seven Dials ever could be, but sex had been somewhat lacking in her experience. Sweaty, thrusting intervals that earned her little enjoyment.
Bishop did not look like the fumbling sort at all. Sex with him would be dangerously intense, she just knew it.
"Hell and ashes," the other man snarled, and shadows danced between her eyelashes as she turned her head toward the pair of them, catching a glimpse of the stranger leaning heavily on his cane.
Instant trepidation crept through her veins, but she stayed very still. Spending most of her adolescence on the streets, Verity knew danger when she saw it. The older man might wear a crisp suit and waistcoat, and he was still handsome with streaks of silver at his temples, but there was something about the way he held himself, even his manner, that made her think that this man feared no one, and had good reason not to.
"Why would someone want the Chalice?" the older man demanded. "It's useless now, without the other two relics."
"That doesn't make me any less uneasy," Bishop demurred. "Combined, the Relics Infernal could control a greater demon. By themselves, their powers are still dangerous and unpredictable. The Blade might have been destroyed last month but what can the Chalice and the Wand do together? From what I remember, by itself the Chalice improves the potency of spells, but who practices alchemy anymore?"
The powerful man paused before the fireplace, his hands resting on his cane as he stared into the flickering flames. Verity finally got a good look at one of the rings on his hand, and her blood ran cold at the sight of the chips of diamond within the thin gold triangle symbol that represented the Order of the Dawn Star. Catching herself before she blurted out her surprise, she tried to ease her breathing. This wasn't simply another sorcerer, but the Prime himself, the man who ruled the Order!
Enemy to all Hex mages like herself, who had either been cast out of the Order or who slipped through its grasp. The Order represented laws and rules that defined what a practitioner was allowed to do with their magic, and punished those who refused to submit. They served the crown and therefore had the backing of the might of the British Empire behind them, whereas she was an unregistered mage whose very presence was a crime.
"The Chalice can do more than simply improve spell potency. It is a vessel that can create an elixir that can bring the very dead to life. It's still dangerous. We need it back." The Prime considered something. "There's not a single sorcerer I'd trust with it."
"You gave it tome," Bishop replied.
"You're my son. You're an exception to the rule."
"I'm your bastard, and you have another," Bishop countered, and there was heat in his voice. "Do you trust him too?"
Verity sucked in a sharp breath. Adrian Bishop was thePrime'sson? Of all the revelations.... This information was worth its weight in gold!
"Lucien has made his peace with me," the Prime said, finally.
"And the other?" Bishop hesitated. "No sign of his body yet?"
The Prime shook his head, a swift dismissal that made her curious. "The excavations of the house continue. If he's... buried beneath that rubble, then we will find him."
"Perhaps it was for the best," Bishop murmured. "His power was immense, and dangerously unpredictable."
"That's enough," the Prime snapped. "Losing one of your sons is never'for the best.'Besides—" His mercurial gaze turned to the bed, spearing hers through the gauzy curtains. "Your charge is awake. I believe you're going to have to add eavesdropping to her list of sins."
Bishop strode toward her. As he snatched at the bed drapery and flung it open, she scrambled back, drawing her knees up to her chest and trying to take stock. One nightgown, a bandage still wrapped around her middle, and a pair of strange beaten bracelets around her wrists.
Not a single weapon, except perhaps the ability to escape.
Those dark, emotionless brown eyes turned molten as he examined her.
"Well, hello again," she said, using bravado to mask that brief hot clench of uncertainty that speared through her.
"You're awake."
Not quite the friendly greeting she'd hoped for.
"What's your name, girl?" The Prime moved into view, pouring himself a goblet of wine.
"What would you like it to be?" Verity murmured, glancing up at the Prime from beneath her lashes. Names were dangerous. And whilst she'd had little choice but to return to the scene of her crime, now she needed to keep her wits. She'd known when Murphy accepted this commission on her behalf that she was playing dangerous games, but the price had been too tempting to turn down and there was no refusing Murphy. He owned her, body and soul.
"The truth," Bishop replied, easing onto the bed and turning a hooded gaze her way.
Why that look left her feeling faintly breathless, she didn't know. Or perhaps she did. It was a cheap thrill, a dangerous undercurrent between them. Her fingers twitched, tempted to reach out and stroke the soft velvet of his coat, or perhaps tuck the long strands of his dark hair behind his ear. It was unfashionably long, and as he cocked his head she wondered if he kept it that way to try and hide the scarring on the left side of his face.
Control yourself.
