Page 32 of Hexbound

He'd created them five years ago with his sorcery, by forming a mage globe of pale blue light and forcing it to change from light, to... whatever it was. Harder than diamond, but so transparent it looked like a bubble.

Setting the sphere on the table, he put the whisky bottle to his lips and swallowed raw fire.

It was nothing as to the heat inside his skin, the burning need he felt for her in his veins. Leaving her alone in there tonight was almost more than he could stomach, but it frightened him how much he longed to touch that smooth skin and to brush his lips against it. The only thing that had ever come close to this craving was themaladroise, the Curse of the Grave, that lethal, killing edge within him that hungered for death, for the power that spilled as blood did.

Bishop clenched his fingers into a fist. He needed to contact his father, but first he needed guidance.

"Astaphor mercadi ethuselah...," he breathed, spilling power across the globe with the personal ritual words he had trained himself to use to create this link. The words didn't matter; only the familiarity of them did. Some used Latin, some used ancient languages, some made up their own, like he had. A trick of the mind, to create a link for his spell craft to form a particular spell, so that his sorcery relied on control and force of will rather than rash emotion. Many in London thought power words held magic themselves, and he'd heard the norms on the streets throwing them at him—abracadabra!, presto!—but the truth was the words were merely keys to train the mind.

A spark of blue light formed in the heart of the ball and a ripple of chimes sounded in the distance.

"Adrian?" Agatha looked startled as her face swam into view. "What is it?"

Instantly, he realized it was night and this could have waited. "I'm sorry, Agatha. I wasn't thinking."

Shrewd eyes narrowed. "Wouldn't have anything to do with that girl, would it?"

"No. I'm just tired. And worried."

It was the first time he'd admitted that.

"Your father's going to be all right, boy," she said, her voice softening. "I'm watching over him."

"Thank you," he said, and he meant it.

"And howisthe girl doing?" There was a wealth of meaning in those words.

No help for it. He wasn't fooling his old master. "Do you think she could stay with you?"

"What has she done?" Agatha gained that fire-breathing look around her eyes.

"Nothing." He scraped another hand through his hair, thinking of Verity in her chemise, upstairs, lying on the bed in his guest room. The hex might have worn off, but it lingered like a curse. "It's not right—a young woman staying beneath a bachelor's roof. She should stay with you, for her reputation's sake, if anything."

"Reputation?" Agatha snorted. "As if that's ever bothered you before. You kept Lady Ackerly locked in your cellar for a good month until I was through with her." "Lady Ackerly was poisoning babies to feed off," he said in disgust.

"We weren't convinced," she reminded him. "Not at the start."

Bishop shrugged. He didn't like speaking of Lady Ackerly.

"Do you think that it started out this way?"the older woman had begged, ignoring Agatha and looking directly at him, dropping her sneering façade for the first time."Do you think I wanted this? It burns inside me, this craving. I've tried.... For so many years I tried. You know what I'm speaking of... you feel it, I know you do. You have to."

Bishop scratched his left arm as the itch ignited. Power, bleeding through his veins like a supernova. Beyond any level of energy that a sorcerer could gather from the world around them. Only someone with an affinity for the Grave Arts knew what it felt like after a death, to walk around for days with blistering heat spilling through a man's body, all of his senses heightened, his cock hard and aching for release, and his body barely needing to sleep. One felt invincible; alive for the first time.

And then the dream would start to shatter and the energy lagged until it felt like he was sucked dry. Everything itched. His body would twitch for hours, wanting more, more power. Wanting to feel that current running through him again, until it was all he thought of....

"She appeals to you, doesn't she?" Agatha's voice cut through the distraction, and just like that, Bishop stilled.

He removed his fingers from his arm and the roughened graze there, where he'd been scratching of late. "She's a thief."

"And you're a young man who's never been in a woman's bed—"

"Christ, we're not discussingthat."

Those eyes narrowed. "It might be good for you. I know you've been feeling... tightly strung of late."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Adrian." This time she looked sad. "There are ways to ease the craving."