Kiss Me Deadly: Tales of a Paranormal Romance

Then, during one secret exploration of the musky tunnels beneath the kitchen, Chauncey stumbled across skeletal remains. The rats had scattered from under the bones at the sight of his torch, leaving Chauncey standing alone with the dead. He’d made it a point from that day on to keep to the above-ground parts of the château.

“You’ll get your money,” he told Elyce at long last. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Once you do something for me,” he said slowly.

Elyce tossed her hair back and jutted her chin. “Pardon?”

He nearly smiled. She was indignant. Heaven forbid she had to earn her keep. “Jolie Abrams,” he said, the idea of kidnapping flexing inside him.

Elyce narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

He turned, giving her his full attention. “The lover of an enemy,” he murmured, eying Elyce with newfound interest. If the angel caught scent of him, all would be lost. Which meant he needed a proxy. Someone capable of moving unnoticed under the watchful eye of the angel. Someone capable of securing Jolie Abrams’s trust. A woman.

“Then I feel sorry for her. You’re hardly one to treat your enemies kindly. I’ll expect my money by the end of tomorrow. Good night, Chauncey.” She turned, bustling away in a dress that was too lavish to be anything but a Coste original, and had, no doubt, been funded by his pockets.

Chauncey clenched the silver candlestick he’d been absently stroking and hurled it through the air at her.

She must have heard the candlestick scrape against the mantle; she half turned and ducked under the hurled object, tripping backward into the sofa. Her whole expression blanched. She was scarcely breathing, and Chauncey smiled at the fine tremble vibrating through her.

He cocked his eyebrows in silent inquiry.

Shall we start again? he spoke to her mind, using one of the great and terrible powers that came with being the bastard son of a dark angel. He’d never met his real father, but his opinion of him was fixed in contempt. However, the powers he’d inherited from him were not altogether loathsome.

He watched a flick of confusion seize Elyce’s face as she grappled with the idea that he’d spoken to her thoughts. It was quickly replaced by denial. Surely he couldn’t have. It was impossible. She’d imagined it. It was a typical boring response that only irritated him further.

“Don’t be such a bully, Chauncey,” she said at last. “I’m not afraid of getting my hands a little dirty. What did you have in mind?”

She was trying hard to sound inconvenienced, but Chauncey could tell that underneath the well-practiced layers of her expression, she was more than a little worried of his answer. Of him. Her boldness had always been a cover for her fear.

“I want Jolie Abrams brought here. Before tomorrow night. You’ll have to hurry; she lives in Angers.”

“You want me to bring her here?” She blinked at him. “Why not just send a carriage for her?”

Send a carriage. Oh, certainly. With the family crest of Langeais blazed across the door. If that didn’t alert the angel, he didn’t know what would. “Tell her lies, make her promises, I don’t care. Just make sure she’s here before midnight.”

“And her lover?”

Chauncey made a disgusted gesture.

“Does he have a name?” Elyce pressed.

Chauncey nearly snorted. She wanted to know if the man was of stature and wealth. She’d turn on Chauncey for a generous sum. Elyce’s loyalties always went to the highest bidder.

“No,” was all Chauncey said, an image of the angel’s face darkening his mind.

“Surely he has a name, Chauncey.” She took a bold step toward him, laying her hand on his sleeve.

Chauncey retracted, locking his hands behind his back. “Meddling doesn’t become you, love.”

“I’m not your love.” She covered the frustration in her voice by injecting a new level of spite into it. “Do you have your eye on her, then? This Jolie. Do you wish her to be...” She trailed off, but Chauncey was perceptive enough to finish her sentence.

Do you wish her to replace me?

He smiled to himself. Ten seconds ago Elyce had despised him, but now that she feared he’d found someone to fill her void, she was suffocating in her own jealousy. She hadn’t completely hardened her heart to him, then.

“I could find him, you know,” Elyce said. “I could, and then what would you do? Kidnapping? They’d send you to prison!”

“I never said anything of kidnapping,” Chauncey said quietly.

“Oh but I know you, Chauncey.”

He grabbed her chin, wrenching her face up to meet his eyes. He was about to say something, but realized the rough gesture was more threatening than words. Let her fill the silence by imagining the worst.

She tossed her head to the side and stumbled back a step. Then she hurried toward the door, stopping at the threshold.

“After this, I’m through with you.”

“Delivering the girl will earn you half the money.”

She stared, momentarily dumbfounded. “ Half? ” she echoed, eyes flashing.

“Keeping an eye on her here at the château and making sure she doesn’t die under my roof will earn you the other half.” He didn’t want to bring down the full wrath of the angel—he merely wanted a bargaining chip. “I’ll pay in full when the job is finished.”

He saw her balk at the idea of a dozen consecutive days of labor. As if she had no concept of what he went through for the same period of time every year. And would again, unless he brought the angel to his knees.

“No,” she said.

Chauncey took a seat on the sofa’s armrest. He meant to speak pleasantly, but an undercurrent of warning slipped into his voice. “I doubt I need to remind you how I’ve come to your aid in the past. What do you think, love, will become of your future without me?”

“This is the last time,” she snapped.

He folded his hands loosely in his lap. “Always slinking back, begging for money. Always swearing this time it’s the last.”

“This time it is!”

He made a face of mock belief, which he could tell only infuriated her further. She might let him have the final word tonight, but it wouldn’t last. She’d come around sooner rather than later to trump him. He was already looking forward to it. She was a fiery nymph, standing before him in cream velvet that melted seamlessly into her translucent skin and pale hair. Only her icy blue eyes stood out. He found himself on the verge of being spellbound by her all over again. “Do we have an agreement?”

“Beware, Chauncey. I’m not a woman to be toyed with.” At that, she whirled back around, marching past Boswell, who jumped to life from his station just outside the door and jogged after her to try and reach the château’s doors first. He lost. The doors slammed, reverberating through the halls.

Chauncey smiled, despite the headache splitting his skull. He hated surprises, but Elyce’s unexpected visit tonight, well, he couldn’t have planned it better himself.

He’d be very surprised if Jolie Abrams wasn’t sitting prettily in this very room tomorrow evening.

* * *

The following evening, Chauncey was in his bed chamber, his valet dressing him in green velvet breeches and a matching waistcoat, when Boswell entered.

“Miss Cunningham and Miss Abrams are waiting in the library, Your Grace.”

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

Boswell coughed uneasily into his fist. “Miss Abrams is in a state of sleep.” He put a funny intonation on the word.

Chauncey turned to face his butler. “She’s sleeping in my library?”

“Heavily drugged, My Lord.”

Chauncey broke into a grin. Elyce drugged her? The nymph was even more imaginative than he remembered.