Married (17 page)

Graves surged forward, lips twisting, spittle flying as he screamed. “Who the fuck are you to judge anyone? You are a weakling, a nothing. Ruled by women without the bollocks to stand on your own!”

“I am a Davenold.” Adam kept his voice low, but couldn’t keep the warning growl out of his tone. “I am a member of a Family that has been far more powerful than yours since the dawn of time. You may lead the secondary branch, but you are shunned, a disgrace to your Family. I am a man who wields great power in the primary branch, and the female I am ruled by happens to be the Council Sovereign. She rules you too, when it comes down to it.”

Graves’ jaw worked. Color swept his cheeks as his eyes sparkled with an emotion that would terrify all but the staunchest of souls. “Get the fuck out!”

Adam wasn’t intimidated. He was too well trained, too confident in his magic
and
with his fists to back down. He’d taken direct attacks from the former Lovasz Father, one of the strongest witches the world had ever known, and he’d survived. Graves was strong, but Adam was angry.

He told him so. “Only a weak man seeks to prove his power over a female already under his thumb. Only a man who’s trying to compensate for his own shortcomings would beat a woman as obviously defenseless as Tulah.”

“You will get out of my residence. You will leave immediately and not return.” Graves’ command was a mere whisper of impotent sound. Adam could see the other man’s struggle to hold still and not attack.

Adam smirked, just to poke the bear. “Are you sure your betrothed will let you do that? Even women under a man’s thumb have ways of wielding their own power.”

Insanity sparked in his black eyes as Graves swung out. Adam easily caught the stick before it made contact with his face. The magic he held in his palms itched until he let it go in a controlled burst. The stick grew hot, burning with invisible flames.

Graves flinched, his face tightening. His hand clenched around the shaft and Adam could hear the soft sizzle of skin. He watched as the other man fought back, felt a sweep of answering magic do its best to fly up the stick and wage war with Adam’s.

Enhanced with a quickly muttered spell, Adam’s magic was stronger. Just barely.

With a hiss that widened his nostrils, Graves wrenched the stick from Adam’s hold. He switched hands quickly as the magic faded and cooled. Smoothly done, but Adam knew Graves’ palm would be puckered with blisters.

Adam smiled without a single hint of hostility showing. “I’ll leave when I’m ready to leave, Graves.”

A clearing of a throat behind him had Adam spinning. Graves wasn’t given a chance to answer as Charles stepped over the threshold. “Muso has demanded a Family meeting. He wants every Ngozi present. I thought you would want to know immediately.”

Graves stiffened, growled, but didn’t look at Adam as he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him as he pushed Charles out into the hall.

Adam slowly turned to Tulah. Her long arms wrapped around her skinny body, her caramel eyes were haunted but not damp. She was holding herself together well. She stared at him as if he were an alien species, as if she didn’t quite know what to make of him. He liked that. Too many women in his life found him entirely too predictable.

A surge of protectiveness nearly floored him. Adam was ready to don his armor and saddle the white horse, something he did for no woman not of his Family. But looking at Tulah now, he had no regrets. No matter how difficult things might become, no matter how uncomfortable Graves made the Davenolds, he knew he’d done the only thing he could.

Tulah looked impossibly delicate. Vulnerable, but not weak. She was too strong for that, the strength of her will shining in her beautiful eyes. She looked like a woman who’d seen the worst of life, but had survived with grace and maybe even laughter. Adam would love to hear her laugh.

“Are you all right?”

The smallest wince crossed her features. “Thank you. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I don’t come from a Family that allows abuse.”

“Because you’re matriarchal.” The way she said it, it wasn’t a question.

“Because we’re decent people.” He shook his head. “The Davenolds don’t abuse others. We fight, dirty or fair, I’ll admit, but we don’t strike people just because we can. Not our men, and definitely not our women.”

“Patriarchal witches are different.”

Again, he shook his head. “No, a bully is a bully and not all patriarchal men are like that. Eliasz Levy and Silviu Lovasz are two that come to mind, but I know many others cut from the same cloth.”

She bit her lips, dropped her chin. “Graves—”

“Is an equal opportunity hater.”

She nodded and looked away, examining the wall with more interest than it deserved. Adam took a breath. “Do you need to go to the Ngozi meeting?”

Tulah swung her eyes back to him, her gaze blank. He waited for his words to sink in, but when they did, she only shook her head. “I’m a female.”

“I noticed.” Adam took in her expression, evaluating her shock level. He wanted to keep her calm, maybe calm her further and drag her out of the thoughts darkening her eyes. “Where are the other women of your Family?”

Tulah shrugged. “I’m it. And my mom, but she’s…” Her chin lifted, a spark of life lit her eyes. “I’m it.”

Surprising information, not something Adam had expected. “You’re kidding. I mean, we wondered where the women were, but… You’re
it
?”

“The women of this branch have all been married off, except me, and none of the men have been allowed to marry.”

“Why not?”

Sadness washed over Tulah’s face until Adam had to clench his fists to keep from reaching for her. She took a shuddering breath. “Muso decreed twelve years ago that no man from this branch would marry without his permission. Graves stuck to it because it gave him a form of power, too, until he was betrothed to Constance without a word to the Father.”

“He’s breaking the rules?”

Tulah winced and stretched slightly, bending her torso at an awkward angle. “The rules don’t matter, when it comes to what Graves wants.”

“And he wants Constance?”

Tulah rubbed her side gently. “Maybe whatever she brings to the match, but not her. He seems to like her well enough, but she’s…not really to his taste.”

“Hmm.” Adam moved forward, reaching for Tulah, no longer able to hold back. He let every other thought fly from his mind as she pressed her ribs and tightened her lips. “Where did he hit you? Show me.”

Something sly and excited slid through her eyes. In spite of the prickling at his nape, Adam put the odd expression down to her fear and suspicion of him. He conceded she had the right to be distrustful, after being hit by a man who was supposed to protect her. He could see the debate on her face as she watched him silently.

“The emerald caught me here.” She patted her side with two fingertips.

“Let me see how bad it is.” Moving slowly to give her time to deny him, he placed his hand on the small of her back. Heat tingled into his palm, the impression of her slenderness beat him over the head.

Adam took a deep breath and pulled the hem of her shirt up her torso. The material was thin, beginning to fray at the edge, no match for the autumn chill sinking its teeth into London. Beneath the fabric, he could feel delicate muscle and fragile bones as he fought to keep his touch light.

He gathered the shirt under her arm, just high enough to see the darkening skin, but not high enough to reveal her bra. Adam licked his lips and tried to get control over his desires. He didn’t know what it was about the tall, slender woman in front of him, but everything about her called to the very core of him, and a primitive beast within him demanded that he claim responsibility for her safety.

Gently, he dragged a fingertip over the bruise and heard her breath catch. “Did I hurt you, Tulah?”

“No.”

Adam watched her struggle to draw air. Her ribs stuck out too far, every bone delineated. He wondered when the last time she’d eaten a decent meal had been. He had a sudden impulse to fetch her the biggest breakfast the kitchen could offer.

He dipped his head to the side so he could look at her back. A narrow stripe angled over her too-visible spine. She made a noise as he traced the mark and sank his magic into her, willing it to heal whatever it could.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No.” She squirmed from his hold, turning to face him. “You’re not hurting me.”

“There’s nothing I can do for bruises.”

Emotion flowed over her face. Muscles Adam didn’t know he had, deep in his stomach, tightened until he felt as if he’d shatter. He wanted to keep her safe. He wanted to stroke her skin until it gained back the color it had lost and flushed with need. He wanted to kill Graves and set her free.

She’d been haunting him. Every time he’d turned around, she’d been there, looking so lost and alone it was all he could do not to wrap her up and steal her away. Every time he saw her, she’d been staring at him with longing in her eyes. He’d been walking around half-aroused for two days, forced to avoid Constance lest she think it was her doing and exploit his weakness.

Some resolution took hold of Tulah. He saw it in her expressive eyes, the way her full lips softened. Her hands fluttered up to rest on his chest, a featherlight touch that had his senses straining for more. Tulah took a deep breath and looked up into his eyes, showing him her need as blatantly as if she’d voiced it.

She was tall—it was only a matter of her lifting to her toes to bring her closer. “I like the way it feels when you touch me, Adam. I like the way you’ve been watching me.”

Her lips brushed over his too softly. He held still, waiting to see what she would do, where she would take the caress. He struggled to understand the motivation behind her need—whether it was loneliness, sexual desire, gratitude or something entirely different. Adam held on to his composure while she grazed his mouth with hers, but lost it completely when she licked his lower lip.

In a desperate attempt to keep the situation from getting out of control, he clamped his hands to her hips and pulled his mouth out of range. “Tulah?”

“I’m sorry, I…” Her face flushed and her eyes dropped to his chest. Adam’s groin tightened, his heart pinched.

“Are you looking for comfort, honey?” He was desperate to understand.

She blew his mind when she looked back up into his eyes and shook her head. “No, I want to know what it’ll feel like when your cock is deep inside me.”

The ache in Adam’s groin turned into a full-blown fire. The strength in her voice, coming from such a delicate, helpless-looking creature, spurred his imagination. His libido liked the contrast. Control frayed as he dragged her hips closer to his, holding her against him as he studied her expression.

“You sure, Tulah?”

She took another deep breath and sank against him. “Yes.”

Who was he to argue against getting what he wanted? He swooped down to capture her lips, claiming them as his right. The time for butterfly kisses was past, with too many things swirling through him to let him slow down.

There were too many doubts and too many instincts welling up that Adam couldn’t bear to examine. He used the heated softness of her mouth to shove them back. He concentrated on the wet slide of her tongue over his, the fullness of her lips beneath the edge of his teeth.

The flood of emotions tangling in his chest made it impossible for Adam to make sense of anything but the physical sensations he focused on as he sent his hands skating over Tulah. He cataloged the flickering muscles in her abdomen, the increase in her body’s temperature, and ignored how his palms itched to feel her magic twining around his own.

Adam did his best to eradicate all hints of vulnerability while he gave her what she was so clearly asking for. Physical contact. Tulah arched against him, brazenly enticing, working her hips as she shifted until she straddled his thigh and her hot center burned through his pants. Her ragged nails scratched up his chest until they met the bare skin of his neck. A jolt just shy of pain sank into his nape as she dragged her claws toward his hair.

He loved it, needed more.

He gave her one last chance to change her mind. “This is going to be hard and fast, Tulah. That’s all I can give you.” All he could afford to give her. “Nothing sweet or soft or lasting. A quick, hard fuck.”

“Yes.” Her hands rocketed down his body and attacked his fly. “Fuck me hard. Fuck me fast.”

The sagging of his pants provided a welcome relief for his rigid dick, but there was nothing soothing about the feel of her palm against his flesh. Slightly calloused, hot and gripping, her hand closed around him with a rough friction his body found perfectly in line with what he craved.

Adam caught her gloriously rounded ass in one big palm. He took a moment to appreciate its curve before he braced her against his body and used the last ounce of common sense he had to throw a locking spell at the door. A twitch of his fingers, a subtle press of magic against the barrier, then his free hand was buried in her hair.

Unbelievably soft, tightly curled—he’d wanted to explore the texture of that dark halo from the first moment he’d seen her. It slipped over his fingers like raw silk, catching on his knuckles and springing away with a vitality that took his breath. He dove in farther and cupped his hand around her skull, angling her face back up to his.

And sank his tongue deep into her mouth. He licked her, tasted and teased. Slick velvet met wet silk, dancing a drugging waltz. Her lips were soft and full, cushioning the hard line of his as he pressed closer. Her tongue flicked over his and tempted wildly.

Adam felt as if he couldn’t catch his breath, as if the floor rolled beneath his feet. All his experience couldn’t prepare him for the sweetness of her mouth, the sheer need he had of her. A need that swelled and surged and wrapped his spine in sharp barbed wire. Feeling unwanted emotions rising fast, he ripped his mouth away, breathing roughly. He struggled for control.

Untangling his fingers from her hair, Adam swept his hand down her back. Denying the swirl of his emotions, he focused on the feel of her. The softness of her, the steel in her spine. There was strength in her—not just mentally, but physically, well-hidden by the fragility of her form. She was too small, but that only meant Tulah was a fighter when it counted.