Soul Surrender (23 page)

New Jersey, 1776

 

T
he stairs at Jack's home were creaky. With each step, they moaned their displeasure at my being awake at such an hour. But sleep was simply nowhere near, and my lying beside Jack's lightly snoring body wasn't going to make a difference.

A cup of hot tea, however, just might. A few glowing embers were left amidst the ash in the hearth; the faint orange glow cast a warm hue through the nearly black room. The steel poker was like ice in my palm, and I shifted the embers around while throwing a log on top. The embers caught, and soon the fire blazed.

The room smelled of apples. As it always did. The pot still had some water in it thankfully, and I hung it over the flames. They licked the black bottom, dancing around the base.

“Is there enough water in the pot for two?”

I yelped, swiveling and covering my mouth with a palm. “Tom!” I shushed, with a quick glance up the stairs. “I didn't realize you were here tonight.”

“Obviously,” he grunted.

“Thomas, don't be like this. You know I have to . . .” I swallowed.
“. . .
to do my job.”

“Don't call me Thomas as though you're my mother.” He turned away, staring out the window.

“Sorry. Tom,” I corrected.

We sat in silence while the water heated. Until you have to wait for a pot to boil in agonizing discomfort, you don't realize how long it actually takes. I grabbed two noggins from the cabinet, as well as Jack's teapot, and ladled the hot water into them.

“Please,” he whispered, and the desperation in his voice reverberated down to my stomach. “Don't do this anymore. Everything is almost in order . . . there's only two days—”

I rushed him so quickly, it felt as though my feet were separate from my torso, and I clamped a hand over his mouth. My lips pressed together so firmly that I could feel the wrinkling in the corners, but I did not care. With violent movements, I put a finger to my lips, then pointed upstairs. “He was sleeping when I came down. But that's not to say he still is,” I whispered.

Tom swallowed and, despite the anger flashing in his eyes, he nodded.

Tom was the first man whose company I'd actually enjoyed since Buckley. Since Julian. And that terrified me. Because love never came without its price.

“Tom—the other night was fun. Amazing, even. But I have a job to do.”

He stayed seated, and even though it would have been nice to join him, it just didn't feel right at this point. When I finished the tea I would, without question, be rejoining Jack upstairs.

I crouched in front of the fire, staring at the flames. Fire was an enchanting thing. Beautiful and graceful with each lick.

A sigh came from behind me, and though I knew I should have ignored it, I snuck a peek over my shoulder. Tom sat reclined in his chair, one foot propped on his knee and his cup of tea clenched in one hand.

His eyes examined my face. “You look sensational in the firelight.” His mouth curved with only the tiniest hint of a smile.

“Thank you,” I managed to choke before swallowing a gulp of steaming tea.

Tom pushed off the table and with a slow gait walked until he stood just above me. He sank into a crouch as well, the firelight catching in his eyes. “I know you have to do this,” he said softly. “But that doesn't make it any easier.”

Smoke billowed from the fire, and the scent of burning wood mixed with Tom's personal musk was intoxicating. If only he knew that with each night I spent with his father, I came that much closer to saving his life. But he couldn't know that. There was no way to reveal such information. Not after seeing the trouble I could have gotten into simply for inviting Tom to be part of our rebellion. Bloody Hell—if they sent Lucien to the underworld for that, imagine the response for revealing my nature to a human!

With a light touch, I ran my fingers through Tom's hair, brushing the strands at his temple behind an ear. “It will be worth it. I promise you that, Tom.”

He grabbed my hand, bringing it to his lips, and he pressed a firm and lingering kiss to my palm. It tingled up my arm and sent a shiver down my spine. I finished my tea, and Tom gently took the cup, placing it on the table next to his. “I'll tidy up,” he said.

“Thank you.” I stood, straightening the skirt of my dressing gown.

Then with no warning, he took my lips, claiming them with his. His muscular thighs framed mine. His lips molded against mine in a kiss so vibrant that for all of a moment our bodies, our thoughts, were one. I could taste his lust. His daring move blazed something torrid inside of me, and my nipples flared with the desire to be touched.

His fingers tunneled into the mass of curls piled on my head, and he haled his lips to my chin and down my neck. Despite my better judgment, I yielded to the moment, a low purr humming at the back of my throat, and I melt into him.

Finally, I placed a palm to his chest and gently pushed him away. “Enough,” I panted in a breathy voice. “Good night, Tom.”

I slid away from his grasp, not only on my body but on my heart, and ascended the stairs, not daring even one more look down at his boyish face. I reached the last step, and as I turned toward Jack's bedroom, my nose hit a sculpted shoulder.

I gasped, jumping. “Jack!” I barely recognized his face; newly hard lines framed a scowling mouth and slanted eyes.

A wry grin slid along his face in a way that suggested anything but a normal smile. “Coming back to bed, my pet?”

I swallowed with a nervous glance back down the stairs. “Y-yes. I couldn't sleep.”

Jack nodded, the scowl melting into yawn. “Very well. Was that Tom I heard down there as well?”

I nodded. “Yes, Jack. I suppose he couldn't sleep, either. I made us each tea.”

“How very . . . maternal of you.” A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “Let us get back to bed now.”

I followed Jack into the bedroom, but that uneasy feeling still gnawed in the pit of my stomach.

E
ight o'clock had come and gone long ago. The first location was someone's home, and with a quick walk around the perimeter, it didn't appear to have any sort of spiritual connections. Nor did Grayson smell any hint of Lucien.

The next locale was an empty lot—same thing. No scent. No religiosity.

The third was a cemetery. Though it was obviously spiritual, Grayson couldn't smell Lucien at all. He sniffed around the headstones and grass for a while, stating after that a lot of people had been through there, and though he could smell the sulfur of past summonings, still no Lucien.

We arrived at the Valley a little after eleven. Kayce had her phone out with the coordinates plugged in—luckily there was an app for that. GPS led us directly to the entrance of an old mine.

Grayson stiffened, the half-full moon shining a blue haze along his hair. “There was a summoning held here,” he said, inhaling the night air. “More recently than any of the other places, though I can't be sure when.”

I gripped his elbow. “Lucien. Do you smell Lucien?”

Grayson's eyes fluttered closed, and after a moment's thought, he shook his head. “I think so,” he said. “But it's very faint. And I smell someone else . . . someone new.”

“Just one other person?” Kayce asked, tucking her phone into her back pocket.

Grayson nodded. “The smell is equally as strong as the sulfur. I'd say the scent is the last person to hold a summoning.”

Kayce nodded. “That's good. That's a good start.”

“So . . .” I trailed off staring up into the entrance of the mine shaft. “Do you think he's being kept inside the mine?” My voice was small as I looked around. “I mean, if you faintly smell Lucien out here . . .”

Kayce led the way, followed by me and Grayson. The darkness inside the shaft was blacker than any night I'd ever experienced.

From behind me, there was a
thunk
followed by an egregious curse.

“You all right, wolf?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Grayson grumbled.

“Dogs aren't quite known for their vision, huh?” Kayce snickered.

“No,” Grayson said. “But we are known for our noses. And I'm telling you that Lucien's not here in the mine. The smell I'm picking up was outside, and even that was barely discernible.”

I paused, running a hand along the rock wall, and Kayce stopped walking, following my pause.

There was a crank sound and then a flick. A dull light flickered on, and in Grayson's hand was a lighter. “That's better.” He paused, mouth pressed into a line while his eyes roamed the mine. “I don't think they expected you to have a wolf helping. And based on the lingering smell of a summoning and this random person, I think it's possible that the faint smell I'm picking up could be his scent contained in a vessel. It would be significantly lessened as opposed to his shirt from our experiment before.”

“So, basically, Lucien's not here now. But he might have been summoned here.” Kayce tutted and rolled her eyes. “I said it in one sentence, dude. Let's get going, then. We're wasting time.”

I reached into my purse and my hand brushed the note card Mia had given me. A chilling reminder of what the rest of my night entailed. My Queen was a terrifying woman, and there was little I wanted less than to be in her presence with no one knowing where I was. The time was passing quickly. It was almost midnight.

I cleared my throat. “Hey, guys—I'm gonna go ahead to the Suck 'n' Swallow. I forgot . . . I told Damien I'd meet him there at midnight.”

Kayce's eyes narrowed. “Okay,” she said. “I'll teleport with you. The dog can drive himself.”

“No,” I answered quickly—perhaps a little too hastily, because her gaze narrowed even more. “We can't leave Grayson alone, you know?”

Kayce inhaled deeply, and the leather tank she wore creaked with the movement. “Fine. We'll be right behind you.”

I nodded. Perfect. I sure hoped this meeting wouldn't take more than thirty minutes.

I teleported outside the Suck 'n' Swallow, changing my looks with my newly abundant power, thanks to Elliot. I used the same small, brunette girl persona as last time and slipped past the bouncer easily, shifting my eyes, the pass code to enter.

I cruised the bar, and standing at the edge in a black tailored suit was Mia. She looked up from her martini, immediately catching my eye and raising a brow.

I scurried behind the jukebox where I shifted invisible, cloaking my powers.

Mia stood slowly, tapping the bar to get Ink's attention. “Bring my visitor to the back room when he arrives.”

Ink gave one sharp nod, collecting some empty glassware from the bar.

“And Ink?” Mia's voice lowered, but despite the quieter sound, she managed to hold his attention. He lifted his chin, meeting her eyes. Though Ink was a large man, I could smell the trepidation on him. “The martini is good today. About time.” Her mouth quirked so slightly that one might have missed the miniscule tip if they hadn't been watching.

She turned for the back room, holding the door open long enough for me to slip in with her.

The room looked exactly the same; just as unsettling. Mia didn't speak to me. Didn't even acknowledge that I was standing there in front of her, though we both knew she was fully aware of my presence.

After several agonizing minutes of silence, Mia glanced at her phone and spoke. “You're late,” she said quietly. “I would think you'd know by now how much I detest tardiness.” She clung to the double
s
of the last word in a snakelike hiss.

I cleared my throat. “I'm sorry.”

Her hand jerked up to a halting position. “Don't speak,” she snapped. “My guest will be here soon.” Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a bottle of Chanel No. 5. “Dab this on your pressure points. You should learn that if you plan on masking yourself, you must do something about that scent of yours. Anyone with a good nose will know your presence from your smell alone.”

She tossed the bottle of perfume at me, and I just barely caught it in time. After dabbing a bit behind my ears and on my wrists, I placed the bottle onto the glass coffee table.

“What's this about?” I asked, hiding the tremor in my voice.

“Shhh,” Mia cooed. “He's here.”

The door creaked open and Ink stepped forward with a bow. “Your highness.” He gestured for someone behind him to enter.

Peppermint slammed into my nose, and I could taste him on my tongue. Cool and fresh. Julian stepped inside with a nod to Mia.

New Jersey, December 25, 1776

 

“N
ow bring us some figgy pudding—and a cup of good cheer!” The massive group gathered at the garrison singing in a circle, and Lucien had an arm draped around my neck, swaying us both in time to the tune.

He clinked my cup, his eyebrow snaking higher and smirked. “Good tidings, sister.”

“Good tidings, Lucien,” I answered, staring into my ale as though it held tea leaves that could predict the future.

Lucien had arranged for the local bar to bring barrels of ale and cider to the garrison along with as many of his succubi as he could scrounge up. Women straddled the men, right in front of the crowd. Some were penetrated by more than one as there were not enough women to go around.

“Victory or death.” I whispered the code words into Lucien's ear, and he raised eyebrows in my direction. “I thought our additional . . . rations were to have arrived by midnight.”

Lucien swallowed with a glance out the window. “Yes. With this weather, the goods might not make it until morning.”

Panic swelled beneath my calm exterior. “Or not at all.”

Lucien paused. Then nodded. “That was always a risk.” Worry lines etched deeper in his face before he finally relaxed, patting my leg. “You worry about your job. Keep the men entertained.”

I nodded, but I still couldn't shake the trembling fear in my gut. “Lucien—have you seen Jack?”

Lucien studied my face momentarily, then shook his head. “Hours ago. He's around somewhere.”

“I have to be with him once more before . . .”

“Before Christmas is over?” Lucien cut me off with a pointed look.

Honestly. As if I would have slipped with something that big just before battle. I stretched my neck in an arrogant way. “Precisely. I must give him his gift. Tom's life depends on this gift. . . .”

“There will be plenty of time for that. In the meantime, there's a very important man who wants to meet you.” Lucien pushed off the floor, taking my hands and pulling me to my feet as well.

Dragging me to a strapping man of about fifty with a white coif of curls and ponytail tied tightly at the nape of his neck, Lucien presented me with one hand. “Colonel Rall . . . this is Monica. The most beautiful woman in Trenton.”

Tucking one foot behind the other, I offered the commander a curtsey. “Colonel Rall. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure's all mine.” Colonel Rall lifted my hand, dropping a feathered kiss to my knuckles. “And please, call me Johann.”

Jack appeared from nowhere, standing on my other side. His grin was tight as he planted a kiss to my cheek. “Ah! Commander,” he said, taking Johann's hand in a firm grip. “I see you've met Monica. I heard you had your eye on her.”

“Y-you don't mind, Jack?”

“Mind? Not at all . . . not for Colonel Rall. He deserves the best. I knew I couldn't keep a girl such as yourself forever.”

I swallowed. Nothing he said was overtly bad . . . but the timbre in his voice was on the edge of fury. “Jack,” I whispered. “Maybe we should talk . . .”

“About what, my dear?” Jack's lips clenched, and his face twisted from friendly and smiling to burning with rage. The transformation was instant and terrifying. “About how you betrayed me?” I stole a glance over my shoulder at Lucien, who was entertaining the colonel for the time being. “How you kissed my son in my own home?” His grip on my elbow tightened, squeezing the flesh between his fingers.

“Jack—it's not what you think—”

“I think nothing,” he rasped. “It matters not to me. You two can have each other.” He spun, stalking in the other direction. He froze after two steps, looking over his shoulder. “Merry bloody Christmas. My pet.”

“Colonel!” A man in uniform burst through the garrison doors, rushing Johann. “Colonel, we just got word. A note from General Grant—Be on your guard.”

I darted a look to Lucien, unease settling in my chest. But Lucien's face remained marble, watching the conversation.

Rall took the note, flicked an eye quickly over, and stuffed it into his pocket. “We've been liable to be attacked at any moment since our arrival.” He draped an arm around the soldier's shoulder, directing his gaze out the window. “Look out at that sleet. That snow. No man will attack in this. Not on Christmas. Not any day.” With a slap on the soldier's back, he gave a nudge toward the barrels. “Now, get some cider! And let them come . . . we will go at them with the bayonet!”

He turned back to Lucien and me with an exasperated look. “These boys,” he grumbled. “We were attacked by locals just earlier.” He patted the note within his pocket. “Certainly that's what this late warning is for.”

Lucien rolled his eyes with a puff of his lips. “Boys. They never know when to have a good time.” Slipping his arm into my elbow, he guided me toward Rall once more. “Now, you, Colonel. You know a good time, aye?”

A predatory gleam flickered in Rall's eyes, and his smirk climbed higher. “I certainly do.”

 

By sometime after seven the next morning, I had still not slept. And Washington's troops still had not arrived. I slid out from beneath Rall's arm, draped across my breasts, and slipped my various layers of dress over my head. In my vision of Rall's death, it was obvious the battle would happen. Soon, before the snow melted from the ground.

Puddles of questionable fluids covered the floors. No matter where I stepped, it was nearly impossible to avoid. A draft of something rancid flooded my nose, a combination of sweat and booze, leaking out of all the men's pores. I covered my face in an attempt to swallow the retching. A job well done by the succubi. The men were guaranteed to be hungover. Some likely still drunk.

There was a throbbing ache between my legs. Never before had I had relations so many times in such a short period.

From outside, voices grew louder and something jumped in my belly.

“Der fiend! Der fiend!”

The voices grew louder. Panicked. And movement stirred within the garrison. Men jumped from their inebriated states, scrambling for bayonets and britches all at once.

There was a plethora of guns and weapons for the taking. One thing about the European armies—they were not at a loss for funds. I rushed the table, grasping a gun in my hands.

A firm grip on my arm pinched and twisted me around. Standing in my face was Jack, reaching around my body for his own weapon. “What are you doing?”

He gripped the barrel of the gun, wrenching it from my hands, but I held firm in a tug of war.

“I want to fight. I want to help.” I swallowed. Bloody Hell, I hoped he couldn't see through my lies.

“You want to help?” he sneered, letting go of the bayonet and shoving it into my chest. “Very well. Get yourself killed. See what I care.”

He stomped passed me, grabbing his own weapons and racing out to King Street where battle, blood, and death awaited.