Page 20 of Soulbound

"We don’t have a choice. If we’re to have any chance at saving our father, then we need the Wand," Bishop replied, pushing away from the wall. "I’m a Sicarii assassin, Verity’s a thief, Sebastian’s dangerous, and Cleo can predict the future. Together we—"

"Together you’re all fools," Cross said. "Children dabbling in things you barely understand."

"Remington." Ianthe looked up at him, her eyes full of some message only Cross seemed to understand. "We need the wand. We need Drake back. There's a demon inside him, and even if he weren't the father I never had, even if I didn't love him, then that fact alone encourages me to attempt this endeavor. What could a demon not do, with Drake's power? What is it doing?"

Cross considered Ianthe for a long moment. Something conflicted crossed his face, but he finally gave a curt nod. "Leaving Drake in the demon's possession is dangerous. And for friendship's sake, he deserves a chance to be rescued."

Ianthe breathed a sigh of relief. "Then how do we deal with this Malachi Gray?"

"You don't." Cross poured himself a cognac. "I'll deal with him. On one condition…."

"Anything," Ianthe promised, relief flooding her voice.

Cross looked at both Sebastian and Bishop. "I will get you this Wand, and I’ll need the two of you at my back to do it, but the rules are simple: I’m in charge of this mission. Neither of you speak unless I permit it. You don’t make a move unless I instruct you to, and you do not, under any circumstances, confront Malachi directly, or offer him anything. Do you understand?"

"Understood," Sebastian said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We'll go tonight then."

Chapter 6

"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to the Fly,

'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy;

The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,

And I've a many curious thing to show when you are there."

* * *

—The Spider and the Fly, Mary Howitt, 1829

* * *

"DO YOU FEEL that?" Cleo whispered, as Sebastian helped her down from the carriage in front of the menacing iron fence that guarded Malachi Gray's estate. Patches of snow lined the driveway, but the rest of the place was clear.

"Feel what?"

A shiver ran over her skin, unlike anything else she'd ever felt before. Cleo looked down in surprise as her husband's faint touch upon her hand set off some sort of reaction within her.

He always set off that reaction.

But not to this intensity. The sweep of his thumb across her silk glove felt like it caressed something rather more intimate.

Their eyes met, then his gaze flickered lower, before he politely looked away. Her décolletage had been on the receiving end of some rather intense frowns ever since he'd helped her alight in the carriage. Her gown wasn't cut as low as Ianthe's evening gowns, nor did she fill her bodice out to that extent, but he seemed to have taken some fierce exception to the lowering of her necklines.

And so, she found herself wanting to flaunt it.

"It feels like... I've imbibed too much brandy," she whispered hoarsely, "and I can feel all that heat sweeping slowly through my veins."

A muscle flickered in his jaw. "There is a strange feeling in the air."

"Sweet mercy," she breathed, as that smoky touch seemed to settle heavily in the pit of her abdomen. Cleo clenched her gloved hand into a fist. She had the sudden shocking thought she wanted to grab her husband's cravat and yank his mouth down to hers. "What is that?"

"It's called allure," Remington announced, breaking the spell.

Suddenly she could breathe and think again, but a swift dart of her husband's eyes made the heat flare once more. Cleo held his gaze. Liar. He could certainly feel it.