Tarnished Knight

2





Lena heard footsteps in the hallway and snatched up a book as she dove toward the daybed. Tearing the novel open, she tried to rearrange her skirts and look like she was enthralled in the story as the door opened.

She’d expected Honoria, but as the silence stretched out, thick and heavy, her skin prickling under the weight of another’s eyes, she knew immediately who it was.

Will.

Lena’s breath caught and she lifted her gaze slowly. Will leaned against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his broad chest, biceps flexing tight beneath his dusty grey shirt and his eyes narrowed to slits as he observed her. Golden sparks danced in his irises, a hint of the wolf within. Never unleashed, but always riding just beneath the surface. A hint that violence could spill out of this man without a second’s warning and sweep away everything in his path.

Dangerous. Predatory. So large that he almost loomed over her. It had frightened and unnerved her at first, because she wasn’t used to men like that, but it also fascinated her.

And she didn’t know why.

She’d always preferred a handsomer sort of man. Dressed in exquisite tailoring with smooth, manicured hands and charm to spare. Will was the polar opposite to that. He didn’t give a damn what he looked like or wore, his hands bore the calluses of hard work and he and charm were only vaguely acquainted.

Still, his presence always left her feeling breathless. And she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what those callus-roughened hands would feel like on her skin. What the rasp of stubble on his jaw would taste like against her lips. A dangerous wondering, for it wasn’t at all the remote, flirtatious feelings she usually associated with men.

No. It spoke of dark nights and smooth sheets, of the whisper of skin on skin and all sorts of things that she wasn’t supposed to know about.

“Will,” she said, her voice embarrassingly husky. “You’re up and about early.”

He pushed himself upright, his fist curled around something. Lena froze as he rolled a piece of brick across the broad palm of his hand and then tossed it lightly in the air.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. “Decided to take a walk.”

Those sleepy, dangerous eyes watched her through narrowed lids. Just waiting for her to incriminate herself as he caught the piece of brick.

“I see.” She cleared her throat and closed the book gently, smoothing the cover. It was upside down. Holding her hand over the title to hide that fact, she glanced up at him beneath her lashes and unleashed the full force of her smile on him.

That always seemed to do the trick.

Will shifted, shutting the door behind him. As usual, he dropped his gaze and ignored her, a slight frown tightening his forehead as he prowled the room.

The closed door was unusual. And he hadn’t fled at the sight of the smile. Lena’s lips stiffened. Trouble.

“Never knew you had such a good throwin’ arm on you,” he said, almost conversationally. Another casual toss of the brick piece.

“I don’t,” she lied with a straight face. “What do you speak of?”

Another dangerous glance her way. “The problem with yellow is that it’s visible from quite a distance. Ain’t no one else wear yellow around here.”

He’d seen her. Lena swallowed. “Actually, quite a few young ladies do now. I appear to have started a fashion.”

“Why’d you throw the brick, Lena?”

“Are you accusing me of throwing that?” she replied, putting the book aside in practiced indignation. “What the devil would I do that for? And at who?”

“My question precisely.” He caught it again, his large fingers smothering it. “You’ll be pleased to know it didn’t hit its target. Barrons caught it before it hit him.”

Lena arched a brow as he prowled closer. “Of course I’m thrilled. Wouldn’t want someone ruining his perfectly coiffed hair.”

Will stopped in front of her, leaning down to cage her against the daybed with both hands. Lena pressed back into the soft cushions, barely daring to breathe. This was a side of him she’d never seen before. He never locked himself in a room with her, never came near her. If she brushed against him, then he usually took off like a scalded cat.

This close, she could smell the heady scent of his skin, sun-warmed and slightly musky. Heat radiated off him. The kind that made her want to curl up against him. The kind that warned she just might get her fingers burned…

“Why?” he breathed, the wild flaring in his eyes.

She was trapped. Pressed into the cushions, her lungs locking tight in her chest as every ancient, primeval instinct surged to the fore. Will had always been just a little bit dangerous, but he leashed the fury within him so tightly that she rarely caught more than a glimpse of it.

This was more than a glimpse. This was the fury peering back at her.

“I don’t know,” she blurted, barely managing to hold his gaze. But to lower her eyes meant defeat in some inexplicable way. Her shoulders drooped. “Or maybe I do. I was on the roof to get some fresh air – some peace – and I heard Honoria and Barrons speaking in her laboratory.” Lena swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “It’s his fault that Charlie caught the craving! They both admitted it!”

Stillness leeched through him. The predator was still there, but something had startled it.

“What else did you hear?” he asked roughly.

“They were speaking about the cure for the craving virus,” she replied. “Barrons warned Honoria not to let word of it get out. He said that if the Echelon found out it would be dangerous.”

Will gave a gruff nod. “Aye. Makes sense. Them bastard’s like controllin’ things.”

Lena couldn’t stop herself from scowling. “Do you think we can trust him? Barrons sits on the very Council of Dukes. Why would he keep this information secret?”

“We can trust him.” Will pushed away from her, letting her breathe. Lena’s fingers trembled as he paced the rug in front of her.

Then she realised that the balance of power in the room had shifted. Will had shoved his hands in his pockets with a blank scowl, the way he always did when he felt cornered.

Or was hiding something.

“What makes you so certain of that?” she asked slowly. Her mind raced. “And why would Honoria trust him, when she knew what he’d done to Charlie?” The questions kept falling into place. She’d been too distracted by her emotions before. “Why would she treat him? I know he helped Blade, but it was more than that. She knew him. Quite well, it seemed.”

Oh yes, she definitely had him nervous. Will scraped a hand over the back of his neck.

“Weren’t your father the Duke of Caine’s prodigy once?” A loose shrug that might have meant nothing. “Honoria would’ve known Barrons as a child. There’s only a few years between ‘em.”

Lena’s eyes narrowed. “You do realise that you never look at me when you’re lying?”

His gaze shot to hers.

“And you get a twitch…” She pointed to her right eyebrow. “Here. When you’re nervous.”

“I ain’t lyin’.”

Lena pushed herself to her feet, her skirts falling around her ankles. “You are so.” She was suddenly certain of it. “You know something about Barrons. Why won’t you tell me? This has to do with my family, after all!”

Will stared down at her from his great height. Emotion tightened his face and made his nostrils flare as she stepped closer, grabbing his wrist. Heat branded her fingers. As verwulfen, Will’s temperature ran several degrees hotter than hers.

Their gazes locked. This was the first time she’d touched him in a long time. Perhaps… the first time ever. Despite her anger, Lena let her thumb stroke over the back of his hand, marvelling at the hot silken texture of his skin and the rough caress of the fine golden hairs on his arm. Men in the Echelon wore gloves and though she’d often seen Will’s hands bare, she’d never truly thought about the sensation of his touch.

Lena’s breath caught in her throat, a languid, liquid ache taking hold somewhere in her lower abdomen. Her gaze dropped to his lips. Harsh, chiselled lips that were drawn into a thin line now. A growl curled through his throat, eyes flaring molten gold with heat and hunger. Will’s hand clenched into a fist and the muscles in his forearm tensed beneath her touch.

“What are you hiding from me?” she whispered, and for a moment she wasn’t sure what she was referring to.

“Ask Honoria,” he snapped, and wrenching his arm out of her grip, he turned and strode toward the door.


Will curled his fists and punched the hard, leathery bag that swung in Blade’s boxing saloon. Sweat dampened his throat and bare chest, but all he could see was the bag. All he could hear was the meaty sound of his fists driving into it, again and again.

He threw himself into the routine, feeling the furious ache inside slowly begin to fade. He never quite lost that edge anymore, not with her in the house, but if he concentrated, he could find some semblance of control.

Christ. What had she been thinking to touch him like that? Her fingers sliding over the back of his hand as she looked up at him earnestly, those rosy lips parted.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched. Not like that. Esme had often given him a sisterly hug, but that was before she married Rip. Now it was easier not to push at Rip’s protective instincts. Rip might have begun to control his craving urges, but he always tensed up whenever Will and Esme touched.

But Lena… It was bad enough with her in the same house. Smelling her honeysuckle scent in every room, knowing that it came from her soap. Picturing it. The soap gliding over her pale, flawless skin in the bath. Over every relished curve…

Will groaned, his head bowing as he caught the swinging bag of sand and pressed his forehead against it. The leather was cool and smooth against his skin, but no relief. His cock ached.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Hiding from her. Running the rooftops at night, trying to use exhaustion to take the edge off him. The fury inside pulsed, pushing against his skin from the inside with razor sharp claws until he felt like it was going to cut its way out. He’d never once been afraid that he would lose control and slip into one of the berserker fuelled furies verwulfen were famed for. He’d learned control in an iron cage, under the harsh whip of the man who’d brought him for his travelling shows. But now it whispered darkly through him, itching under his skin, making him doubt himself.

He could hurt her. Kill her even. Or worse, be unable to stop himself from taking her.

“No,” he whispered in panic, taking a deep breath in until his lungs burned. “You’re better ‘an this. You can control this.”

Will let the breath out with a shaky rasp, then took another. And another. He wouldn’t think of her. Just keep avoiding her the way he had. Hell, push himself harder. Run faster. Push Blade into the boxing ring with him more often. It would work. He’d leashed the fury before and he’d do it again, even if he had to run himself into exhaustion every night.

Raking a hand through his sweaty hair, he pushed away from the punching bag. The edge was growing tighter inside him again. Leaning back, he put all his power into a swing, his fist hammering into the bag.

Sand spewed everywhere but at least it made him feel a damn sight better.