Page 49 of Soulbound
"I have only one rule: You shall do no harm to your son's wife."
"Cleo Sinclair?" she said incredulously.
"I want her alive. And well." It looked toward one of the other women. "Lady Beaumont."
Lady Beaumont stepped forward, her dark curls shining in the afternoon sunlight. "Your faithful servant, Great Lord."
"Work with Morgana. Create a distraction. Make it bloody." He turned toward the remaining woman, eyeing her up and down. "And you will share my bed. I need to replenish my strength."
The woman's dark eyes flickered toward the others, and she sucked in a sharp horrified breath. "Yes, Great Lord."
* * *
After two days of fruitless hunting through Seven Dials, Sebastian and Bishop were forced to concede defeat. There was no sign of the demon in the Dials. Nobody knew anything about the Relics, and the One-Eyed Crows claimed the men who'd attacked them at Malachi Gray's were outcasts from their hex gang.
The day of the Ascension Ball arrived, bringing with it Ianthe's first act of command as Prime of the Order, and they were all forced to set aside the hunt for a moment.
Though Sebastian questioned the necessity of the occasion—a ball, right now?—he'd been assured by Lady Eberhardt that such an act was more necessary than he could ever guess. The Order had been shaken by Drake's resignation, and the demon's assault at the Rite of Ascension. It needed to see its new Prime and be assured of her strength, and the cohesion of her allies.
And they needed the Order behind them.
Sebastian watched from the base of the staircase to the ballroom at the Earl of Rathbourne's manor as guest upon guest arrived. Ianthe and Lucien greeted them all politely, with Lady Eberhardt scowling mercilessly at anyone who was less than effusive in their greetings.
Eleanor Ross—his father's lover—leaned on a cane in the corner. Sebastian tried not to catch her eye. The left side of her body was still stricken, and his fingers flexed as if remembering the moment he'd flung a wave of force at his mother, and she deflected it.
Directly into Eleanor.
She'd be able to stand straight if it weren't for him. And he'd overheard Bishop murmuring that Eleanor still couldn't use her magic.
He'd cost her everything.
Including Drake.
Dozens of guests were arriving, and the crunch of wheels on the gravel of the driveway heralded more. Sebastian helped himself to a glass of champagne as one of the waiters went past. He'd never been to a ball like this. All the ones Morgana made him attend descended into orgies, and he'd been the centerpiece in most of the auctions. The memories made him sweat a little bit, and he felt somewhat on edge.
One of the musicians began to tune his instrument. The jagged saw of the violin thrummed through him. He gulped a mouthful of champagne. These people would recognize him as the instigator of the melee at the night of the Ascension, despite the fact the demon had worn his skin and he'd been merely a passenger. There was no hiding here, though Lady E had dared him to look them in the eye and arch a cool brow.
"You're your father's son," she had said, straightening his collar, and patting it tenderly as though for a second she thought she stood in front of his father, many years ago. "Don't ever forget that."
He wouldn't. But he also couldn't forget that these people knew him as his mother's son as well.
The music broke into a quiet little riff. Sebastian glanced at his pocket watch. Cleo should be down at any moment. She'd been locked away all day with Verity and Eleanor Ross, and he'd only caught the odd snatch of her thoughts—enough to realize she was terribly excited about such goings-on.
He'd barely seen her in the past two days. Cleo had spent that time reading some sort of book she'd called Sidestep Through Time. The sudden anticipation in his chest surprised him, though perhaps it shouldn't have.
He'd kissed her.
And not just sweetly. He could still feel the ghostly imprint of her mouth upon his, and at night, when he had nothing else to distract his mind, he'd let himself imagine what might have happened if they hadn't been interrupted by the imp attacks.
Almost as if the thought of her brought her to call, the bond swelled, and he blinked back to reality, realizing his wife was approaching.
Turning toward the stairs, he looked up, just as a swish of silk skirts whispered over the carpets up there. A crown of blonde hair caught his attention. Cleo paused at the top of the stairs, and his breath caught in his lungs.
She was—
Jesus.
She wore a ball gown of the palest pink, more of a blush of color than a full wash, and it emphasized the creaminess of her skin. It was beaded with what looked like pure starlight, gilded by the warmth of the light from the wall sconces. The skirts bunched around her waist in swags of wispy fabric before falling to the floor, and tiny little cap sleeves sat just off her shoulders, though the bodice was not virginal. No. Heat stirred in his groin as his gaze traced the slopes of her breasts. He'd never seen her wear such a daring neckline, and some part of him wanted to take his coat and cover her up, to shield her from every other man there in a protective burst of instinct he'd not felt before.
