Adamant Spirits, page 66
His flat was four stories up, and the shoulder on which I carried my duffel started to ache a little as we made the climb. I wondered at why he’d chosen not to take us up the elevator—if he was apprehensive about the close proximity after I’d rejected him, or if this was some kind of punishment for my rudeness. When we’d finally reached his black lacquer door, I was breathing a little heavier, my lips still burning from when he’d crushed his mouth to mine, my face flushed. Edward didn’t look at me as he pressed the key into the lock, turning it with a click before opening the door and waving a hand inside.
“After you,” he said.
I stepped inside to find a well-appointed sitting room straight ahead with a kitchenette to my left. A pagan talisman of wood and bone hung over the door, and it drifted slightly as we entered, despite the fact that there was no wind. The flat was small, but fashionable, with wallpaper in the rich red and gold that Edward was so fond of. A sofa just big enough for me to sleep occupied the center of the living room, opposite a wrought iron wood-stove, and a window on the far wall provided a spectacular view of the city lights. A black cat sat in the window, its golden eyes trained on me like it knew something that I didn’t.
Edward hung his jacket on a coat rack by the door, and I dropped my duffel on the floor as the cat dropped from the windowsill to pad over to Edward. He made his way to the kitchen to fetch a kettle and the cat leapt on top of the counter, where he stroked it absentmindedly behind the ears.
“Tea?” he asked from the counter, and I nodded. I could already smell the scent of bergamot drifting from the kettle as he placed it on the stove. It was warm in the apartment, but not uncomfortably so, a cool breeze drifting through a crack in the window where the cat had perched not long ago. “You can put a record on if you’d like,” he continued. “You know how the gramophone works, I assume?”
I’d never actually used one, but I stepped over to the ornate device to peruse his collection. Jazz records from America sat on a shelf below it, and I thumbed through them to slide one out that looked promising. I turned to find Edward just behind me, smiling once again as he took the album from me and slipped the black disk out of its sleeve. I stepped aside and sat uneasily on the sofa to watch him place it gently on the pin in the center, then turn the crank and drop the needle.
The sound was clear, crackling only slightly. The music set me somewhat at ease, and I was surprised to find the cat had jumped onto the sofa beside me and subsequently crawled into my lap. I reached out to scratch her behind the ears, and her eyes drifted shut as she purred, perched in my lap with dainty paws biscuiting my thigh. It reminded me of home, where my mother kept several cats around the mill to chase away the rats.
“I didn’t realize you had a cat,” I said. “You never mentioned her.”
He chuckled. “The cat goes where she likes, but she isn’t mine, per se. I like to believe she’s a reincarnated sorceress, giving her blessing to whoever she chooses to provide hospitality for the night.”
“What’s her name?”
“Morgana.” He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “I’m surprised she’s being so friendly. She doesn’t often take to strangers.”
“I’ve had cats my whole life,” I said. “We had one in my barracks at the Somme before the attack…called him Lord Kitchener as a joke.” I looked up at the ceiling, remembering the little beast fondly. “I wonder what happened to him.”
The kettle blew, its whistle dissonant with the music floating from the gramophone, and Edward hurried to move it from the stove to the counter.
“Two sugars, right?” he asked.
God—I’d taken my tea black for so long with the hunters that I scarcely remembered what sugar even tasted like. But I nodded, something sparking in my chest at the fact that he remembered.
Edward poured two cups of tea in fine porcelain cups, then carried one over to me, where I took it with a grateful nod. I was glad that he no longer seemed angry with me, and his posture confirmed it when he sat on the opposite end of the sofa to drape an arm over the back and cross his legs.
“If I’m remembering correctly, the last time we shared a cup of tea was over the sound of artillery,” he said as if he was recalling a fond memory.
“Yes,” I nodded. “And we drank from tin cups, not porcelain.”
“And the tea was spiked with whiskey,” he chuckled. “Somehow, those seem like simpler times now, despite the horror.”
“I agree,” I said, somewhat surprising myself with the response. “After all, what are we to do in a broken world full of broken men?”
We fell into a comfortable silence, listening to the music as the cat purred. It was several minutes before the record slowed, and Edward rose to once again turn the crank and get it started again. The needle spun to life, filling the flat with the sound of horns and smooth, brushed drums.
“Jon,” he said. “I hope you understand that I would never glamour you—or anyone—into coming to bed with me.”
I winced. “You’re still angry with me.”
“Not angry,” he said. “Simply…no, not disappointed either. Sad, I suppose, that you don’t know me better than that.”
I shrugged. “Well, beyond our correspondence, I scarcely know you at all,” I said. “I didn’t even know that you had a cat.”
“I do not have a cat,” he insisted. “The cat has me. But I digress…we have all night. What is it you’d like to know?”
God—I wanted to know everything. I sipped my tea and wondered where to start, Edward’s blue gaze locked on me the entire time. I felt pinned to the sofa—not in a bad way, necessarily, but in a way that made something ache in the pit of my stomach.
“I don’t know how it escaped me that you are a…” I struggled for the word. The only ones I’d heard in the army were derogatory and crude, and nothing quite seemed to encapsulate what Edward was. I refused to reduce him to a stereotype, not when I knew that he was an individual with a rich and textured life underneath the glitz of the city.
“A homosexual?” he asked with a smirk. “I’m not sure that it ever came up in conversation, but it’s no secret. And that’s not precisely what I am. I like pretty things, male or female or anything in between.”
“Is Ronan one of those things?” I asked, and the jealousy in my tone shocked even me.
He snorted, nearly spitting out the tea in his mouth. “God, no,” he said. “Ronan is a friend, and very much committed to someone else.” His eyes raised to mine, a wicked promise in them that made my whole body tighten. “Besides all that, though—I assure you, I’ve never had to use a glamour to get someone into bed. My lovers come willingly.”
It was my turn to stammer now, gulping down some hot tea too fast, and the cat shifted in my lap with an annoyed mew. I scratched behind her ears to settle her as Edward watched me with a bemused smile. “I’ve made you uncomfortable again,” he said, but I shook my head.
“No, I…” I glanced around the room. “This is all so new. I’ve been away so long, and it feels like the England I knew is gone.”
“Well, Jon, this isn’t the England you knew,” he said. “This is…a new world. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
I fiddled with the handle of my teacup, desperate to change the conversation. My eye caught the talisman over the door, then, and I gulped down another sip. “What’s that?” I asked, gesturing up at the object.
He glanced back and nodded. “Ah,” he said. “It’s a ward. It notifies me spiritually if there’s anything or anyone in the flat that isn’t supposed to be here. My mother was versed in old magickal traditions and made it for me before she passed.”
“So you were raised in this?”
“Not this, exactly,” he said, waving his hand around the opulent apartment. “I’ve made something of myself in a way that she was never able to.”
“You were poor?” I asked.
“I always forget that you don’t know,” he said. He put his empty cup down on the coffee table beside us, staring at the scattered tea leaves. “Most of us are poor—practitioners, I mean. They don’t hunt us down and kill us anymore, but it isn’t easy for people like us, especially as electricity becomes more and more commonplace. We’re exceptionally skilled, but have no easy way to ply our trade without attracting the wrong kind of attention.”
“Unlike you, who tends to attract all the right kinds,” I joked.
“Not all the right kinds,” he said, a note of warning in his voice. “But I’ve found ways to keep myself safe. Like that ward back there, and this very fancy flat in Mayfair.”
The cat yawned, standing up in my lap to arch her back, and the movement captured both our attentions. Edward voiced an echoing yawn, and I found myself following suit, holding my hand over my mouth as a wave of exhaustion suddenly overtook me. Edward met my eyes and took my teacup from my outstretched hand, then stood.
“I think she’s got the right idea,” he said. “It’s almost morning. Shall we adjourn?”
I nodded, looking out the window. Some of the city lights had dimmed, but they still twinkled, and the sound of a car rattled on the cobblestones every so often. It was a far stretch from the chill silence of Siberia.
“I’ll get you a blanket,” he said. “Sleep well, my friend.”
Edward
I woke to screaming in the dead of night.
My wards weren’t active, so I knew for a fact that no one had entered the flat. That knowledge, however, did nothing to set me at ease as I flung back the blanket and donned my dressing gown to pad silently to the door, creaking it open to find the infernal shouting even louder in the sitting room.
I found Jon twisted in the white blanket I’d given him, bathed in blue moonlight from the window, his mess of black hair fallen across his forehead. He was shirtless, dressed only in the trousers he’d worn last night, and I couldn’t help but admire the pale expanse of his tensed muscles, his arms flexed as if ready for an attack. As I neared him, I observed the glimmer of sweat on his temples, his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth clenched in a grimace. His fingers clawed at the blanket, his whole body shaking in tremors that startled me.
I feared what might happen if I woke him, so I sat in the armchair next to the stove, Morgana jumping into my lap. She was calm, regarding Jon with inscrutable topaz eyes, and I stroked her behind the ears as I watched him come down from the nightmare with a whimpering breath.
It couldn’t have been more than an hour since we’d gone to bed, and I rose to prod the fire in the stove back to life as I went for the kettle, setting Morgana on the Persian rug below. The cat went straight for Jon, jumping onto his chest to settle herself there with her paws tucked properly underneath her chest. His eyes flickered open and he groaned, his hand immediately rising to stroke down her spine.
He didn’t say anything for a moment as he got his bearings; then he sat up slightly, Morgana staying firmly planted on his chest. “Is it morning?”
I shook my head. “Not sure that it’s even been an hour since we went to sleep,” I said. “You were having a nightmare.”
“Forgive me,” he said. “I had hoped I wouldn’t disturb your sleep. I have the dreams more often than not.”
“Tea?” I asked.
“No, it upsets my stomach in the middle of the night,” he murmured. He turned to place his feet on the ground, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes and bending like a broken man. I thought for a moment that he might begin to weep, but he looked up at me again with dry eyes and a haggard stare.
“I have an herbalist friend who might be able to help you,” I said, making my way over to him. I returned to my earlier place on the other end of the sofa, giving him his space while remaining close enough to comfort if needed. I pulled my cigarette case from the table next to me and opened it to pull one out and place it between my lips, striking a match and lighting it until an ember lit at the end to take a drag. “Cigarette? It’s got…a little something extra to calm your nerves. Just a dash of cannabis can do wonders for your sleep.”
His brow furrowed, but he leaned forward to take one anyway, and I tossed him the box of matches. Jon lit his with ease, the flame dancing across the plain of his chest before he extinguished it in the ashtray beside him, and I tried not to let my eyes wander when he was clearly in a vulnerable place.
“How long has this been going on?” I asked after a moment, the aroma of tobacco and herb filling the room.
“Since the Somme,” he murmured. The cat remained beside him, and he scratched her ears impulsively as he spoke. “It’s not as bad when I’m bunking with someone else, but when I’m alone…”
He trailed off, and I nodded in understanding. “I could sleep with the door open when we go back to bed,” I said. “Or we could spend the night talking. I can always sleep tomorrow.”
He smiled up at me—a rare expression, as I had discovered over the course of the evening—and then something came over him as he set the cigarette down in the ashtray, barely even having touched it. I realized that he had noticed my knee, which had slipped out of my dressing gown. In my rush to investigate, I hadn’t bothered to dress.
“Apologies,” I muttered. “I’m…not all that used to polite company.”
I moved to cover my thigh, but Jon’s hand shot out with inhuman speed, his fingers falling to my bare flesh. My eyes narrowed as I regarded him carefully, raising the cigarette to my lips and taking a long drag before blowing a ribbon of smoke up toward the ceiling. His grey irises settled on my mouth, then met mine, his chest rising and falling faster than before.
“What do you want from me, Jon?” I murmured. He was still holding tight to my thigh, and I knew that if he didn’t let go soon, I would be lost.
“I want…” He trailed off, but he didn’t let me go. “I want to sleep, Edward.”
My name sounded deliciously sweet dripping from his tongue, and bloody hell, I wanted to help him sleep. There was no better way to do that than providing the rush of endorphins after an orgasm, but I couldn’t just say that when he’d pulled away so abruptly earlier. I had to be cautious, to give him every possible avenue to reject me.
“You’re stoned, Jon,” I said. “Earlier, you…you said you were confused, you didn’t want this. You asked if I’d glamoured you.”
“I know,” he said with a bitter frown. “But I’m seeing things clearly now. I’ve barely even taken a drag of that cigarette.”
It was true; the coal was smoldering in the ashtray, nearly untouched, and my heart started pounding frantically in my chest. I felt lovesick and out of control, a feeling that I was unused to, unsure of how he would respond or what exactly he would want, if he’d ever been with a man.
But any hesitations I had were dashed as his hand slid up my leg, pulling the dressing gown aside as he went. I gaped at him, knowing I should stop him before he did something he might regret, but he was so slow and methodical that it seemed he had committed himself to this new course of action. Jon’s eyes fell to my groin, where my cock was rapidly coming to attention under his touch, when I reached down to stop him.
“Jon,” I said, “look at me.”
His eyes met mine, and I moved just an inch closer. “Have you been with a man before?” I asked.
His cheeks heated and he clenched his teeth. “Maybe it’s best if we don’t. If you want someone experienced, then—”
I reached for his chin and tilted his head to look at me again. “No shame, Jon,” I said, my voice throaty and desperate. “I ask because I…” God, I could barely force the words out, I was so hungry for him. “…because if you have, I want to know what you like. And if you haven’t, I want to do all I can to learn what it is that arouses you.”
He let out a harsh breath, his tongue flicking over his lips, and it was all I could do to resist leaning forward to suck that tongue into my mouth. Jon’s hand was almost touching my cock, his knuckles brushing gently against the layer of velvet dressing gown between us, and I would have loved to let him wrap his hand around me and explore all I had to offer. Yet, I considered myself a generous lover.
And if he was as inexperienced as I believed him to be, I wanted him melting for me before I showed him how much pleasure I could give him.
“No,” he finally said. “I’ve never been with…well, I’ve never been with anyone.”
Bloody hell. I sucked in a breath, making sure he didn’t touch me yet.
There were things I wanted to do before we reached the final act.
I turned to swing my leg over Jon’s waist, boxing him in against the back of the sofa. He groaned when I settled myself into his lap, where I could feel his erection pressing insistently against the rough fabric of his trousers. He stared up at me, his hands coming to wrap around my forearms with callused fingers.
“What are you doing?” he whispered, those dove grey eyes locked on mine.
I responded with a kiss, lowering my mouth to his and taking him slow and steady this time. Still, I was confident and self-assured, letting him know that this was right—the first time, perhaps, that anything had been truly right between us. My tongue pressed into his mouth and a soft, vulnerable noise wrenched itself from his throat to echo into my very lungs. I dragged my hand down his bare chest, finally able to appreciate the smooth, rippling muscle beneath my fingers. His abs jerked a little as I trailed my fingers over them, and it surprised me that one so stoic could be ticklish. He yanked his lips from mine as I reached for the clasp of his pants, and we locked eyes for me to find that his pupils were dilated, his eyes wide.
“We can stop,” I said suddenly, “if you want to.”
His brow furrowed, and his hands met mine as if he might push me away. I felt a spasm of fear over his rejection, shame enveloping me—
