The Pact of the White Blade Knights Page 3

  “No.” Tyon joined his hands. “I don’t need a translator.”

  The scone turned sour in her mouth. She gulped the mouthful against the knot of fear clogging her throat. “Excuse me? Why am I here then?”

  “You have something I want.” Those amber eyes flashed like cognac set on fire. Indignation flared up within her. How stupid of her to believe she’d found someone different. Same old, same old. Usual male predator after a woman in need. He had to be a gangster then.

  Hazel sprang to her feet, a few crumbs falling from her lap. “I’m not interested in that type of job offer. Good day, Mr Sancerre.”

  He rose as well, brows drawn together. “Why are you leaving?”

  “You lured me here under false pretences.” She stopped in front of the open door and spun, anger stirring her blood.

  “I don’t recall having written anything specific in my calling card.”

  Damn him. It was true. “I won’t be your whore. Just because I’m a woman and in need of a job, it doesn’t mean I’ll do anything.” She faced the door again, only it was shut.

  Tyon’s hand pressed against it, and his arm brushed her cheek. For the second time, she froze. That earthy scent of his engulfed her, but couldn’t quieten the frantic beating of her heart. He’d moved incredibly fast and silently. He’d been on the other side of the room. She was sure of that.

  “Sit down,” he gritted out.

  He dared give her orders? After offending her? Hazel clenched her fists. “I wish to leave. Now.”

  “I’m not the most patient of men, and you’ve insulted me with your wrong assumption. As I told you, you’re safe with me, and I would never ask you to whore yourself, and I’m sorry for you.”

  She turned to him again, which wasn’t a smart thing to do since his body was mere inches from hers, and the closeness did funny things to her insides. “You’re sorry for me? What does that ever mean?” Her voice trembled, but it wasn’t only fear shaking it. He was caging her between the door and his huge, hard body.

  His chest swelled as he inhaled, almost touching hers. He put his other hand on his thigh and grimaced as if in pain. “You must’ve met the worst kind of men to jump to the conclusion I wanted to take advantage of you, and you must’ve received indecent offers before. That’s something to be sorry for.”

  Her shoulders slumped. He’d read her so easily. Still, doubt gnawed at the back of her mind. “Are you a gangster?” There. Better to be blunt than beating around the bush.

  That almost smile flashed again. He stepped back from her personal space, the hand on his thigh relaxing. “I’ve been called worse than that, but no, Miss Ravenwood, I’m not a gangster.” He stretched an arm. “Will you sit now?”

  “Fine.” She jutted out her chin and sat back on the armchair. Worst case scenario if his proposal didn’t interest her, she would’ve eaten a good scone and drunk a delicious tea. She could afford a few more minutes here before refusing the job.

  “I’m searching for an artefact.” Tyon stirred the flames with a fire poker. His hunched figure resembled a stone gargoyle perched on the ledge of a cathedral.

  An artefact. That piqued her curiosity despite herself. “Yes?”

  He wiped his hands on a cloth. “It’s something you know well, something you probably worked with at the museum.”

  This man spoke in riddles. “I handled countless artefacts during my work at the museum. Some of them were recently discovered pieces, fresh from archaeological sites. Others came from private collections. What kind of item interests you?”

  “I don’t know.” There was a challenge in his voice.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “It means everything I know about this precious artefact is that you handled it, and it means something to you.”

  The hard lines on his brow and the inclement set of his jaw meant he wasn’t joking.

  She chortled. “This is absurd. Every piece I worked with means something to me. I take my job very seriously, and what kind of request is yours, anyway?”

  Tyon leaned against the wall and shot a glare at the ceiling. “I know it sounds illogical, but I can’t explain it. I can’t tell you more than that. Believe me, I wish I could.”

  “So, you don’t know what this object is or what it looks like?”

  He shook his head.

  “All you know is I’m linked to it.”

  He gave a curt nod.

  Hazel slumped back into the armchair and touched her temples. She was a magnet for crazy situations and mad people. “This is not what I was expecting. You’re asking the impossible.”

  “It’s something you handled recently, perhaps in the past three weeks.”

  Oh dear. He had no idea how many relics a place like the British Museum could receive in three weeks. Anger scratched her skin. She’d wasted enough time here, and the proposal had a fishy quality that urged her to run.

  “And what are you planning to do with this item?” Her voice rose a notch.

  He stared, the light of the fire casting a riot of colours on his handsome face. “I need it to find one of my lost brothers.”

  Again, not what she’d expected. “Brothers? How many brothers have you lost?”

  “Three.” Sadness crept in his voice. “One brother and two sisters.”

  He seemed honest and to care about his family, but his words didn’t make any sense. After dabbing her mouth with a napkin from the low table, she stood up. “Mr Sancerre—”

  “I asked you to call me Tyon.”

  “Tyon.” She paused. His name had a nice sound on her tongue. But she needed more to accept such an absurd job. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

  A dark brow spiked. “I can offer you any sum you require.”

  Her heart flipped at that, and her treacherous stomach contracted, reminding her that money meant food. “Any sum?”

  “Anything you ask.” He straightened, uncoiling his huge body, and his natural menace rolled off him. “And I’ll pay you anyway even if you don’t find the item.”

  She crushed her reticule with her fingers. “That’s very generous of you.”

  Tyon merely shrugged, a casual gesture that didn’t make him look less lethal.

  If she refused, he might get angry as he’d done when she’d been about to storm out of the room, and stirring the anger of such a man wouldn’t be wise. But accepting without knowing with whom she’d work with would be plain foolish. “I need some time to think about it.”

  He bowed his head in acknowledgement, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

  “Well, I have to go now. Thank you for the tea.”

  “Let me escort you home. I can be your chaperone. It’s the least I can do.”

  Which was ridiculous. She needed a chaperone to be alone with him. “That won’t be necessary. Besides, I’m not going home.” Hazel fiddled with her reticule, and the cream-coloured card of Mr Alexander Harcourt fell on the carpet. She crouched to take it, but Tyon was faster.

  He picked it up, and the frightening way he set his jaw sent a quick chill shuddering through her. He handed the card to her. “I must insist to escort you. I know the gentleman you’re going to meet. It’d be my pleasure to properly greet him.”

  By the tone he said the last sentence, Hazel feared his idea of greeting someone properly involved bullets and knives. She shivered under his piercing stare that seemed to cut through her soul. “Very well then.”

  The fact that Tyon knew someone aristocratic like Alexander might be a point in his favour, or in disfavour of Alexander.

  Great.

  Chapter 3

  THE MOMENT THE hansom cab pulled over in front of Aleximanus’s mansion, Tyon relaxed his clenched fists. He didn’t know what was more unnerving—the driver’s soul reeking with envy, Aleximanus moving on Hazel so quickly, or fighting the constant urge to touch Hazel sitting stiffly next to him. Just holding her hand and having a closer glance at her bright, pure soul wo
uld lift years of solitude from his shoulders.

  The entire interview had been sheer torture. Dealing with a woman he couldn’t tell the truth to was a lesson in frustration. Besides, she was a mean to an end. Nothing more. His way to find his fellow knights again before the hallow lost its summoning power.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t have come with Hazel, but he wouldn’t leave her alone with an immortal who was ready to turn her into a lust-breather.

  “It’s two shillings,” the driver croaked, tipping up his flat hat.

  Hazel rummaged in her reticule, cheeks flushing a lovely pink.

  “Allow me.” Tyon put a hand on hers, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her glove. And her soul. It pulsated underneath his fingers like a fluttery bird.

  She whipped her head towards him. A mix of surprise and shock flickered across her face. He withdrew his hand and ground his teeth. Resisting a temptation had always been second nature, yet Miss Ravenwood baffled his hard-conquered control as if it didn’t matter.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, fixing her hat and tugging at her gloves.

  “Here.” Tyon handed the man five shillings, a more than generous tip.

  The man’s greedy hand closed around the money. “Thank you, chap.”

  Tyon didn’t let go of the coins, peered at the man’s rotting soul, and breathed in its darkness.

  Ex tenebris, ad lucem. Ex umbrae, ad solem.

  The evil’s putrid taste curdled his blood and left a trail of pain in its wake. His own soul twisted in protest at the invasion of evil, a silent roar reverberating in his chest. He gritted his teeth, fighting the nausea.

  Slowly, he let go of the money and released his hold on the man’s soul, leaving it shiny and gleaming. It wouldn’t last though. Evil would conquer the soul again. But the man would have his chance to change his path once he had a taste of what having a clean heart meant.

  The man’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and he faced back the road, a hand rubbing his head as if he were wondering what the hell just happened.

  “It’s done,” Tyon murmured.

  “Are you all right?” Hazel sweet voice was like the soft caress of a fresh wind in a scorching day.

  “Yes.” He exited and helped her out of the cab. Her small hand slid in his, tentatively as if she expected him to snatch her from the cab and kidnap her. He couldn’t blame her, but the moment their hands touched, there was no mistaking the light spreading inside him. It was soft candlelight in a stormy night, but it was there.

  Her shoulders tensed, then relaxed when she stood next to him. Dark lashes fanned her cheeks when she averted her gaze. Her hand slipped from his in an almost jerky movement, and Tyon regretted the loss of the contact.

  It was better this way. He’d taken an oath. He couldn’t afford to lose control of his power, but he couldn’t deny that five years of celibacy had taken its toll on him. Desire spread like fire on dry grass when she was close.

  Hazel adjusted her coat. It fit her a bit loosely on the waist, and for the first time he studied her body. Her cheeks were a bit hollow, and her clothes seemed to be a tad on the big size. And then there was the way she’d eyed the scones. Miss Ravenwood wasn’t eating enough. His chest clenched at the thought. Taking care of her would be a privilege if she’d ever let him.

  “Is this Mr Harcourt’s mansion?” she asked, head tipped up towards the three-storey, white-walled house.

  It towered in the middle of the road with its tall Grecian columns, red spruces at the side, and ten-foot brick walls. A diva that wanted to attract the sole attention of the passers-by, just like Aleximanus.

  Tyon nodded. “One of his many proprieties.”

  “Do you know each other well?”

  Oh, we do. “We’ve been acquainted for a long time.” Centuries. Since they left France to join the Monk’s crusaders.

  Tyon offered her his crooked arm, and after a moment of hesitation, she accepted it, her delicate hand resting ever so lightly on his elbow.

  The surge of energy burst again within him, sharpening his sight, smell, and hearing. Colours sparkled with blinding radiance, pulsating like twinkling stars. He glowered at the unusual outburst. Miss Ravenwood possessed some exceptional quality that called to his power and fuelled it, or perhaps it was only a consequence of the fact that one of the hallows had chosen her as its bearer.

  The ground beneath him shook, a light tremor that could’ve been mistaken for the regular shaking due to the recently built underground train or the excavating machines digging tunnels. But he knew better. The quake came from his core, the first sign he was losing control of his power, a warning he couldn’t ignore. He squashed his free hand over his thigh and welcomed the pain the cilice’s teeth inflicted on his flesh. The agony shut down the flow of energy. The shaking stopped, and he released Hazel’s arm. He couldn’t afford to unleash his power and risk an earthquake in the heart of London.

  He fiddled with his collar and didn’t glance at her.

  Hazel pursed her lips, but didn’t protest. Didn’t say a word. Only her gaze flickered to his thigh before focusing on the mansion again.

  There are so many things I can’t tell you, Miss Ravenwood.

  They strolled side by side along the cobbled path leading to Aleximanus’s front door. Tyon knocked on the door harder than he meant. The noise echoed from the house.

  A uniformed butler swept into view when the glossy black door opened. “Good afternoon.”

  “I’m Miss Ravenwood.” She bobbed a curtsy.

  “Ah, Miss Ravenwood, Mr Harcourt is waiting for you.” The butler held the door wider.

  She bowed her head. “Thank you.”

  The man arched a brown brow at Tyon. “Who must I announce to my master, if I may enquire?”

  “I thought you knew Mr Harcourt,” Hazel half whispered, half hissed.

  Tyon clasped his hands behind his back, squinted, and released only an ounce of his power, expecting to see a dark glow erupting from the butler’s head. Instead, azure light shimmered, bright and pure like a child’s smile. Either this man was particularly resistant to a sin-breather’s influence, or Aleximanus hadn’t tried to infect him with his evil.

  He called back his power. It curled in his gut and swirled, ready to be summoned again. “I’m Tyon. That would suffice. Alexander knows me.”

  The butler’s nostrils flared at Tyon’s curt tone, but he bowed and stepped aside. “Please, follow me.”

  Hazel let out a small gasp when she walked into the foyer. Tyon guessed the mosaic floor, the horseshoe-shaped staircase, and the paintings would easily impress anyone who had never been in a toff’s house.

  Nose tilted up, the butler strode along a wide corridor lined with double doors and pots of flowers. One would think Aleximanus loved to surround himself with works of art and exquisitely carved marble statues. But the truth was that he ruined and corrupted everything he touched. There was no beauty around him, only skin-deep glamour.

  Tyon’s tongue craved to shout these words at Hazel, whose wide eyes drank in the expensive silken drapes and French furniture.

  They arrived at a sitting room with a table set for two. Aleximanus stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, sunlight gliding his hair.

  The butler bowed. “Master, your guests are here. Miss Ravenwood and . . . Tyon.”

  Aleximanus pivoted, a smile on his face. His smile stretched further when he saw Tyon, eyes gleaming. “Miss Ravenwood, my dear Tyon, what a surprise. Please, sit.” He waved at the table. “John, another cup, please.”

  The butler slid out of the room on silent feet.

  Hazel dropped a curtsy, her face flushing pink. The same colour of her pillow-like lips, and Tyon wondered if her nipples had the same hue. Or her secret petals.

  Working his jaw, he shifted his gaze to the ridiculously embroidered curtains and clenched his thigh. The cilice’s hard bite sank deeper. He’d resisted the lure of lust-breathers, destroyed a few, yet a simple w
oman threatened him more than an army marshalled into battle.

  Aleximanus held a chair for her. “Please.”

  “Your invitation was unexpected,” she said, sitting in a swish of skirts. “Although, I think I saw both of you in the park the other day.”

  Tyon caught a glimpse of her slender ankle wrapped in the leather of her high-heeled boots and perched on the chair next to her.

  “I remember you, miss. You were reading a newspaper.” Aleximanus’s mouth quirked up as if the bastard knew Tyon’s predicament. “What brings you here, my friend? How bizarre that you and Miss Ravenwood know each other.”

  “It was a chance meeting,” Tyon said, almost snapping. “An interview. I hope Miss Ravenwood accepts my job offer.”

  “Ah, I see. How curious.” He sat when the butler entered pushing a trolley with a pot of tea, biscuits, and a spare cup. “I summoned Miss Ravenwood here for the same reason. A job offer.”

  Hazel’s brows drew together. “What offer, sir?”

  Aleximanus put his hand over hers, ignoring the tension riding her body. “I know you’re an excellent translator of ancient languages.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “I’m fluent in Latin, ancient Greek, and Sanskrit among others.” The light dancing in her eyes made her look younger.

  “Excellent, Miss Ravenwood.” Aleximanus squeezed her hand before releasing it. “I have a few texts I’d like you to translate for me. Here.” He handed her a leather folder fat with parchments.

  She almost snatched it from his hands and flipped the pages, her smile brightening the room. “Ancient Briton. Fascinating.”

  “I knew you’d be interested.” Aleximanus stroked her knuckles and shot a wink at Tyon.

  An angry, toothy beast raged Tyon’s chest with iron claws. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it was jealousy. “Your offer arrives late, Alexander. I’ve already made a proposal to Miss Ravenwood, as I told you.”

  Aleximanus poured tea for Hazel. “May I ask how much Tyon offered you, miss?”