Page 21 of Soulbound
"What sort of magic is this?" Bishop demanded with a frown. Or perhaps that was his normal expression, since he seemed to be perpetually glowering.
"Whatever it is," Verity said, with a laugh, "where can I get some more of it?"
"Malachi feeds on lust and violence," Remington said, leading them through the gates. He'd demanded they walk, preferring not to be trapped in the carriage if something attacked. The carriage driver cracked the reins behind them, heading for a place to rest the horses. "The closer we get to him, the stronger the allure will be. It's a subtle magic, designed to give him plenty of victims."
"Victims?" Verity repeated. "That sounds rather less alluring."
"Keep your heads," Remington warned, and among them all, he seemed to be the least affected.
He and Sebastian.
There was a party in progress, and it seemed as though someone had swept the snow from the lawn. The closer they came, the more it seemed as if they stepped into another world; flowers bloomed, here in the heart of winter.
Powerful magic, indeed.
Laughter roared in the night, and music swelled in the gardens behind the dark manor, though it was the sort of music that belonged in no respectable establishment. It seemed innocent enough—a string quartet—but there was something about the dangerous melody of the violin that sent a shiver down her skin. It whispered a song of lust and betrayal, aided by the soft huskiness of voices and the murmur of knowing laughter. The magic of Gray's allure wove between the notes, making her skin itch.
Lanterns gleamed through the trees as Remington led them up a gravel-lined driveway that circled to the back of the house. Cleo couldn't help looking about her in wonder. This garden was what Eden should have looked like. She'd expected naked statues, and raucous satyrs carved in the hedges, but there was nothing of the sort. Lush. That was the word. The greenery beckoned, with lanterns picking trails through the garden, and it seemed as though the closer they got to the house, the more they left winter behind them.
Dozens of red rosebuds reigned over them as they stepped beneath an arch, and she saw the entrance to a maze in the distance. “How on earth did they get them to bud right now?” she asked, brushing a drowsing rose. The air was still cold enough to make her nose numb.
“Magic, I presume,” Sebastian murmured, his gaze locking on the rose. “I’ve always been able to make roses bloom.”
“Yes, but it’s a rather extravagant waste of magic for a party. This Malachi is an artist,” she whispered, as Sebastian led her along a hedge-lined path that opened into the main garden beyond, and the beckoning party. “The music, the gardens…. It's all planned to seduce, but there's an elegance to it I hadn't expected."
Sebastian trailed his palm over a tightly furled white rose that belonged in Alice in Wonderland. "I'm inclined to agree."
"That would be a first."
The words broke from her lips before she could even consider them.
His gaze slid down to her, then back to the gardens, and she suddenly remembered how she'd found him that long ago day, tending to the roses in his mother's garden, while his mother plotted murder in the sitting room.
"Do you miss your garden?" she asked softly, for her previous words had been too sharp.
"Yes," he replied. "Bishop doesn't grant me the time to even consider his roses. He's too busy beating me to death with his magic staff."
"That sounds slightly titillating."
A faint breath of amusement broke from his lips. "He would kill you if he heard you say that."
"He might scowl at me a little harder," she admitted.
"Don't take it personally. He scowls at everyone."
"Except Verity."
"Oh, no, he scowls at Verity," Sebastian replied. "Particularly at Verity. She then proceeds to laugh in his face, or drags him off somewhere else, where—presumably—she teaches him to smile a little."
He stroked his finger along a rose petal as he spoke.
"You enjoy tending them," she realized.
"It's calming." He brushed another rose, a barely opened bud, and then broke it from the stem. Power whispered through him, and delicate pink petals began to bloom and open. A swift movement, and he tucked it behind her ear. "For you."
Cleo touched the soft petals, her breath catching. She looked up into his mercurial silver eyes. The stark black of his coat blended into the night, and he looked good. Too good.
I wish you'd make up your mind. There was no softness in that expression, but she could feel the rose behind her ear. Curse her if she could work out what it meant, though.
