Brimstone Seduction (23 page)

Chapter 31

T
he next day dawned before they were able to leave the wreckage of the burn site. She and Severne cleaned up the best they could with borrowed clothes so that Levi Severne wouldn't be frightened by their appearances. They didn't want to scare the dying man by showing up suddenly, smudged and charred with burned clothing.

But they did need to check on his father now that Severne's tally marks were gone as if they'd never been.

Neither of them knew what the disappearance of the marks might mean for Levi Severne.

John still hadn't told her he loved her, but he also hadn't let her go for most of the night. There was no mention of him going to see his father alone. He held her hand. She followed. She was glad to be with him after the fear and the flames.

“Without Grim, we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way,” Severne said.

He led her to a garage a block away from the smoking ruin of the opera house.

In the back corner of a reserved section of the garage, a row of half a dozen vintage sports cars gleamed. An attendant met them at the gate and produced the key Severne requested. He led Kat toward the row of cars, and she somehow wasn't surprised when the car he chose was low and lean in a perfect mimicry of its owner. It was a foreign black roadster with minimalist, perfect lines and only a little chrome.

Its motor thrummed to life with a smooth roar once Severne turned the key, after he'd helped her sink down into a leather-upholstered passenger seat as soft as butter.

“French?” Kat asked.

“Of course,” Severne replied.

He drove the car as if he hadn't been born when horse and buggy ruled the roads. Kat relaxed back in her seat and enjoyed the ride. He changed gears in the same way he handled everything, with grace and a purpose of motion gifted to him by a long life and so much practice that he was an expert. She discovered her cheeks were hot as her thoughts strayed to other ways that John Severne had shown her his expertise.

Too soon they came to a subdivision of older homes. The houses themselves were simple, but the grounds surrounding them were obviously the reason for the estates, much more extensive and elaborate than the houses themselves. The land around the houses provided space for gardens and privacy.

Severne pulled to the curb in front of a picturesque Craftsman.

He came around to open her door. Even from the street, Kat could see the bushes she'd seen before, heavy with clusters of hydrangea blossoms.

She paused.

Her mother had been here, and someone had taken her photograph in Levi Severne's garden.

“He's forgotten his former life. He doesn't know me. I have to introduce myself each time I visit,” Severne warned as he took her arm.

But when Levi Severne met them at the door of his home, he greeted his son with his name.

The men hugged as if they were reunited for the first time in decades. Although she was frightened by the implications of her mother's photograph, Kat blinked back tears. She followed John and his father back into the house as he helped the elderly and frail man to his chair. The exertion had taxed Levi's strength. A nurse came from the rear of the house and helped him. He coughed until his handkerchief came away spotted with ashy blood.

“I'd like to go outside to talk,” the old man requested. “I want to be with my flowers in the sun.”

Severne looked at the nurse, and she nodded.

The sun had risen on a bright and cloudless day. The nurse hovered while they prepared her charge to go outside. She touched Katherine's arm before she could follow Severne and his father as they slowly made their way to the back door.

“Terminally ill patients often regain lucidity just before they pass...” Her warning trailed off, and Kat nodded to confirm that she understood.

It was possible John didn't have much time with his father. She would leave the questions about her mother unasked. But she did respond with movement when John looked around to see where she'd gone. He needed her near him. She understood. She wanted to be near him, too.

The garden was lush. Pale blue hydrangea clusters were showy against the verdant bushes. Their beauty hadn't been evident in the old, faded photograph she'd found. Kat allowed some privacy as Severne and his father murmured together. She guessed which bush her mother had been photographed in front of, and she went to it. She brushed its blossoms with her fingers until cool dew kissed her hands.

“The contract is fulfilled? I woke last night as if from a foggy dream. I remembered everything I'd forgotten.” He coughed again, and Severne placed a hand on his quaking shoulder.

But when Levi saw Kat near the bushes, he lowered the stained handkerchief. She had turned from the hydrangea after picking a small cluster. The soft blooms were delicate. Petals fell like blue snow from her fingers.

“She came to me for help. She knew I was no friend to the Order of Samuel. You aren't her, but you have her eyes. Her hair. I remember Anne D'Arcy. I had to refuse. The Council wanted her lover. He was on their most-wanted list. A dangerous revolutionary. I couldn't help her,” Levi said. He talked almost to himself, his words were so quiet. It was the confession of a dying man. “One of the Order's monks followed her here. He was documenting her betrayal for his master. He took her photograph near the hydrangeas. She hurried away before I could reconsider.”

“Reynard killed her,” Kat said. She allowed the hydrangea cluster to fall to the ground with its petals.

“I wanted to help her. But I promised my wife I would save our son. Though it seems now that he was the one who saved me,” Levi said.

Severne continued to hold his father's shoulder with a supporting hand. The elderly man had slipped deeper into his garden chair. His head tilted to the side as if he didn't have the strength to keep it upright.

“No. It's the D'Arcy family that has saved us, Father. I didn't fulfill the contract. But my tally marks are gone. The Council is at war with Lucifer's Army. I think our part in it is done.” He showed his father his arm where only clear skin remained. He explained to Levi Severne about the daemon boy and the fire, about the trunk full of ash the workers had found.

By the time he'd finished the whole story, Levi had slumped even more in his chair.

“I forgive you,” Katherine whispered as the old daemon hunter's eyes closed for the last time. “And my mother would forgive you, too.”

Levi held his son's hand while he peacefully slipped away.

The contract had been broken by the daemon war just in time.

Chapter 32

S
he didn't refuse when Severne invited her to stay on board
The Blues Queen
. Cruises were canceled until they could procure more permanent lodging, but Katherine didn't mind the temporary arrangement. The night they'd spent on the riverboat had been her first indication that Severne cared for her as more than a means to an end.

The accommodations were in plush staterooms that had originally been fitted for Victorian ladies and gentleman gamblers, as sunny and colorful as l'Opéra Severne had been shadowed and dark. But still with an element of the dramatic.

She was grateful there wasn't a hint of bas-relief cherry carvings on the walls.

It was bittersweet to imagine Victoria with Michael in one of the staterooms. She was so glad her sister had known a great love after a lifetime of running. She knew exactly what it was like to be brought suddenly to a stop by strength of emotion that made the risk of opening your heart worth taking.

Sybil had come through with closets and drawers full of necessities. Severne assured her the clothes and toiletries were gifts from him to replace what she'd lost in his opera house and not daemon gifts she should fear.

Neither of them knew if she would have a typical gestation or if hers would be as fast as Victoria's had been. The Brimstone burn of Severne's blood wasn't entirely gone, and Kat's body temperature had risen slightly in response to the Brimstone in her baby's blood.

Yet Levi Severne had passed quietly without the torture of damnation seeming to claim his soul.

Different, not damned.

Forever changed by the Brimstone, but not condemned to burn.

The riverboat moved away from the quay as night claimed the city. John urged her to leave the lights off so that the fairy lights on all the columns and rails were their only illumination.
The Blues Queen
was as haunted as l'Opéra Severne had been in her own way. Kat could almost hear the music and laughter that had permeated the decks of the historic boat in the last one hundred years, but it was probably only the whoosh of the paddle wheels slowly churning the water, propelling them toward the cantilever bridge.

The bridge was also aglow and, as they approached, its light suffused the balcony alcove with artificial light on the moonless night.

We have to save ourselves.

John had been right. They'd had to face their own fears and needs to beat Reynard. She'd had to stop running, and he'd had to open himself to love and loss. And even though the Order of Samuel seemed to have been defeated, they would need to save themselves, day after day, night after night, for the rest of their lives. They'd had dark childhoods. They'd survived pain and abuse.

But they had saved themselves...and each other.

She watched her lover approach the alcove where he'd had the skeleton crew rearrange the tables and chairs to make room for a large upholstered lounge before he'd dismissed them to the bridge. The antique chaise didn't seem out of place on the plush balcony at all. It was an outdoor room separated from the deck by potted palms and columns, and when she'd sunk down on the velvet upholstery, she'd experienced a nostalgic warmth for the kisses that could have very easily led to other things if they hadn't had an audience on that night weeks ago.

Tonight, John had showered when he'd come home from the construction site. His black hair was damp, and it gleamed in the twinkle of lights around them. His shirt clung to his skin and his sleeves were rolled at the elbow, but he wore white poplin and shiny black fitted trousers similar to the ones he'd worn the night they'd danced on the riverboat.

She appreciated what he had done in claiming the alcove in a more intimate way for their “date” tonight. She'd played along, dressing in a moss-green dress meant for dancing, and wore nothing but soft wisps of lace underneath.

He still had a glint in his eyes and heated skin.

He still had the experience of decades that lent him grace and savvy style.

He still had a lean, hard edge to his jaw that only she seemed able to soften.

He softened now as he saw her watching him approach. His mouth curved—only slightly, but it curved. The full swell of his lower lip drew her eye and caused her mouth to go dry in anticipation.

On the table that had been left nearby, a bottle of nonalcoholic champagne chilled in a silver bucket of ice. He went to it first, and she forced herself to recline on the chaise and appreciate the movement of his muscles beneath the almost translucent material of his fitted shirt as he lifted the bottle and removed its cork. The practiced grace of his hands further dried her mouth, and she had to lick her lips.

He'd shown her his expertise in so many ways since l'Opéra Severne had burned.

He poured tall crystal flutes half-f of bubbling gold and brought one to her while the riverboat slowed to a stop near the picturesque bridge.

“I told them we'd like to recreate the midnight cruise on the river. This time just for two,” Severne said.

The cello, the cruise, the hot nights they'd spent in each other's arms—all told her more than words what he felt for her. She could wait for the words. She would wait. Even if it took him forever finally to lower the last of his steely defenses.

He remained standing after he'd handed her the glass, and she sipped the icy drink while he sipped his. He looked up at the bridge, and the lights on its rails illuminated his eyes. Not enough to make them green, but she no longer needed the color to know how she affected him.

“I do miss the piano,” Kat said.

The paddle wheels had slowed to a stop while they'd paused near the bridge, but now they resumed. The rhythm of the paddles churning the water caused a pleasant vibration in the deck and in the air that echoed the one she still felt beneath her skin when John was close to her.

He dropped one knee on the chaise beside her hip, then leaned over to take her glass and place it on the edge of a potted palm.

“Wait for it,” he said. And seconds later the sound of a piano floated out to the alcove. The tinny notes of jazz weren't live. He'd set the vintage gramophone to drop a record and play. The quality of the sound was rich and sweet and aged in the best ways. Much like the man who leaned in to taste the champagne on her mouth.

He gently sucked her lower lip between his and teased over it with his tongue from corner to corner. She drew a breath and held it while he lingered over the flavors on her tongue. When he eased back, she released air in a long, shaky sigh. John Severne was a lot to savor. She still wasn't used to having the time and freedom to experience his attention to detail and the discipline that allowed him to prolong his release while he indulged her every sensation.

He was a connoisseur of all things now that he no longer had damnation burning at his heels.

“You thought of everything,” Kat breathed.

He joined her on the chaise, sinking close beside her so that one leg pressed provocatively between hers. The chiffon rode up on her thighs. The sultry night air had nothing to do with the gooseflesh that rose on her skin. Not when his warm fingers urged her skirt higher until he could cup the bare swell of her bottom in the palm of his hand.

“You have no idea how often I thought of everything about you. Your sigh. Your big chocolate eyes. The taste of sugary cream on your tongue,” John said. “The feel of your heat around my fingers.”

He illustrated the direction of his thoughts by easing a finger into the edge of her lace and running it around her hip. She moaned and he dipped to kiss her open mouth, using his leg to part her thighs so he could gain access to the heat he'd already caused to rise to uncomfortable levels of need.

His tongue teased against hers, eliciting more sighs that turned to soft cries when his fingers found her ache and teased it higher and tighter until she begged for his deeper touch.

“But I won't stop here this time. This is only the beginning of our night,” he promised.

He entered her with a questing finger, and she met his penetration with a thrust of her hips that made him catch his breath. He held it while he gave her the rhythm she wordlessly asked for, and she tasted sweat on his upper lip as the heat of the night joined with the heat they generated together.

She wondered if he'd always have a hint of Brimstone in his blood. Her affinity still sang for him. He filled her senses as he filled her with his fingers. Her sweet ache built and built. He broke from her mouth to suckle one hard-nippled breast that showed through filmy chiffon and lace. As always, he knew when, just when, to do whatever he did and exactly how she needed him to do it.

Kat cried out as her body shuddered its release.

But he kept his promise.

He didn't withdraw to leave her, replete but alone. He rose only to slip off his shirt and his pants. They were outside, under the stars, but their distance from shore and the soft glow of fairy light along with the palms gave them all the privacy they needed. She watched him with lazily hooded eyes as he stood illuminated only by glow.

His body was still as hard as it had ever been. He would never be soft. He was all lean muscle and sacrifice, but now he accepted the softness of her touch whenever she gave it. And he didn't mind showing her what she did to him with her touch.

His erection was swollen and ready for her when he came back to join her. She sat up to take him in her mouth before he could lie back down. He jerked in reaction to her suction, and she accepted the inadvertent thrust of his hips with a groan. The ache he'd temporarily eased tightened again between her thighs. He recognized her pleasure in his, and he increased it by taking what she offered with a careful rhythm of hip movements.

But only long enough to make her crave the heat and hardness in her mouth to join with her, to completely banish the need to be filled that her body cried for.

The affinity and her desire for Severne were entirely responsible for the vibrations rocking her now. The paddlewheels churned, but they had faded from her perception. He pulled from her mouth and pressed her back on the chaise. With gentle hands rough from callouses, he slipped the chiffon from her. His move revealed the barely-there lace of her underwear. He teased over its edges where it outlined the lush swell of her breasts, and then down to where it clung to damp chestnut curls.

But he'd maintained control as long as she desired him to.

He knew it. He read her reactions with an immortal's eyes.

He'd been nearly a daemon for too long not to know exactly what she wanted.

He snapped the lace from her hips. She didn't mind the brief bite of material as it pulled free. She opened her legs, and he drew in a sudden breath. She still surprised him occasionally with her desire never to hide again. With her need to be bold.

John sank down on the chaise between her open thighs.

She welcomed him as he unsnapped the front of her bra and fully freed her breasts. They moved with his thrust when he worked his hips to join himself with her. He looked down at her with eyes that glittered in the fairy-lit night. She couldn't see the color of his irises. It didn't matter.

She trusted their connection completely.

He took everything she offered then. Her trust. Her body. Her future. He plunged deep and long and hard until her body tensed in another orgasm that shook her until she cried his name to the sky above them. Only then did he allow his own release. He filled her with heat. His heat. And she eagerly wrapped him close with her arms and legs and her no-longer-hiding heart.

* * *

“I have a letter from my sister. Grim continues to guard them, but they've had no trouble. The Order of Samuel seems to have fallen apart without Reynard. Or maybe the Council has turned them into soldiers to join the daemon war,” Kat said.

Severne had been busy with something on deck and had just returned. His skin was developing a natural glow from his time in the sun. With his torture chamber burned and no Grim to consider, he often ran at midday or worked out on the deck. He no longer kept himself jailed away.

“She says Michael is already crawling. Months ahead of a fully human baby's time.” Kat ran one finger across the letter in her hand.

She placed her other palm against her abdomen. It was still flat, although a pregnancy test had confirmed Sybil's diagnosis.

“No matter the baby's speed of development, there's one thing he or she cannot do without,” Severne said.

He came to her and placed warm hands on her shoulders. He was no longer closed off from her, but he still hadn't declared his love or his intentions. She could only read his feelings in his touch and see them in his mossy eyes.

He urged her to her feet.

“Come up on deck. I have something for you,” he said.

He held her hand as they climbed upstairs. She didn't need the help. She was still as lithe and agile as the years of playing had helped her to be. What would it be like to play her cello with a large pregnant belly? She would never know. Her cello was gone.

“I enlisted the help of Tess in the choice. I hope you like it,” Severne said.

They came up on deck, and he led her to the alcove where they'd danced and kissed for an audience, only to find it had been more for their own desires.

Her beloved cello had burned. But on a stand near a chair in the alcove was a shiny maple instrument accompanied by a bow.

Not new. One like her old instrument.

Yet as she hurried forward, she noticed it was far superior. An instrument that was a piece of polished art, crafted by a famous Italian master.

“You've missed your music. I wanted to give it back to you,” Severne explained.

The baby fluttered when she picked up the bow. He settled as she played. Severne waited until she came to the end of a classic French lullaby.

“I don't deserve you. Or this. I don't deserve the chance to be a father after all I've done,” Severne said. “But even though I'm afraid you'll be taken from me to mete out the punishment I deserve, I have to claim this blessing...you and the baby. I love you, Katherine D'Arcy. I want you to become my wife. A damned husband is not what you deserve, but I offer you my heart.”