He pulled his blade free and turned back to help Livia.

She stood beside the couch, her hands on her knees, gasping for breath. The rat still had the blanket twisted around its neck, but it splayed upon the couch. Dead.

He strode to her. “No magic, no weapons, and still you find a way.”

“I’ve never cared for being powerless.” She straightened and glanced at the trio of dead monsters. “The Dark One will send more.”

“Then we make sure he doesn’t find us.” He ran a hand along her shoulder, down her arm, a quick confirmation that she was sound.

“Where can we go? It must be someplace John doesn’t know of.”

He gathered up their few belongings. “There’s never a shortage of hiding places in London.”

Bram and Livia rode his horse beside the river, past ships at anchor and smaller boats tied to piers. The river embankment was heavily shadowed, and the figures picking their way along the muddy shore seemed distant, lost recollections. Fog crept up from the water, heavy and dank. A girl passed by, selling oyster pies, and Bram purchased two, which Livia and Bram bolted as they walked. A few hoarse and muttering watermen lingered nearby, stamping their feet and complaining of the lack of business, but otherwise there was only tense suspension.

They moved away from the river, into an old and crumbling part of town.

“Here,” he said, nodding toward a tavern. A sign swinging from its shingle announced, BEDS BY THE HOUR OR FOR THE NIGHT.

She eyed the tavern dubiously, and well she might. The two-story structure looked as though it had been built in the time of Henry VIII, and no repairs or maintenance had been done since the reign of Elizabeth. What windows weren’t broken were coated in grime.

Yet Livia seemed to understand that this was the kind of place John would never look, and, as such, was far safer than one of the more elegant inns. So, after Bram paid a boy to tend to his horse, she followed him inside.

Half a dozen men cradled tankards as they sat in chairs and settles, and suspicion glinted in their eyes when Bram and Livia entered. More than suspicion shone in their gazes when they looked at Livia. Bram stepped so that he stood in front of her, blocking her from their leers.

“What do you want?” a haggard woman in an apron asked.

“A room for the night.” Bram coarsened his accent. An aristocrat in Whitechapel would only attract unwanted attention. “Got to have a lock on the door.”

One of the patrons stood and swaggered over. Gin seemed to ooze from his pores. A knife with a worn handle was tucked into the waistband of his breeches. Puffing out his chest, he sneered, “Don’t talk like a nob, but you dress like one, an’ got a sword like them fancy gents, too. Maybe you is a nob, and you got a nice fat purse with you.”

Bram met his gaze without blinking. “Try taking it. You’ll wind up as dead as the toff I stole this gear from.” His grip tightened on the pommel of his sword.

The gin-soaked man blanched. He scuttled back to his seat and paid particular attention to the bottom of his tankard.

“No trouble,” the tavern keeper said sharply.

“Don’t want trouble,” Bram answered. “Just a room.”

The woman led him and Livia up the rickety stairs, then unlocked a room at the end of a hallway. He peered inside. The room held minimal furnishings, and the walls were bowed with age, but the bed appeared clean, at least. He held out his hand, until the tavern keeper relented and gave him the key.

She stepped out into the hallway. “Food’s extra.”

“We won’t be eating.” He shut the door in her face, then locked it. Turning back, he faced Livia, who stood in the middle of the room wearing a wry expression.

“From an abandoned house to a dockside warehouse to a dilapidated inn,” she murmured. “No woman has ever been so overindulged.”

“I’d take you to a goddamn palace if I could.” He glowered at the warped floorboards.

She crossed to him and cupped a hand to his cheek. “There are no palaces for fugitives.”

He leaned into her touch. Even in this shabby place, his need for her roused easily. But he could not give in to that need when peril loomed close on every side.

By force of will, he turned away. “We’ll abide here. The other Hellraisers are making their way back to London, and you need to regain your strength.”

She scowled. “Curse this helplessness . . .”

“Not so helpless. You did manage to kill a giant demonic rat.”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “One creature is nothing. We’ll face far more than that in the coming battle.”

The small window looked out onto the street, but hardly anyone was out. “In the Colonies, we had scouts keeping watch on the French. They’d warn us in advance of hostile action. What I wouldn’t give for those Rangers now.”

“Spiders use their webs much the same,” she said, thoughtful.

He turned and leaned against the wall. “As we’ve neither Rangers nor giant spiders, we’re at a disadvantage.”

“Perhaps not.” She studied her hands. “I can spin a web of magic, cast it over the city. Should John or the Dark One disturb the web, I’ll know.”

He moved to her and took her hands in his, palms upward. “You were unable to use magic against the creatures in the warehouse.”

Bands of angry color stained her cheeks. He realized too late that she didn’t like being reminded of her perceived shortcomings. “Summoning the Hellraisers taxed my power.” Her words turned husky. “But I know of a way to replenish my strength.”

His breath caught as she grasped his hands and walked backward toward the bed.

“Ancient and powerful, this magic,” she continued, her eyes growing heavy-lidded. “The first acts of creation were the joining of male and female.”

“Tempting,” he rasped. “So bloody tempting. But we’ll be vulnerable.”

She shook her head. “It makes us stronger.”

Brutal hunger gripped him, knowing now what it could be like between them. “Then let us be strong.” He kissed her with a need as fierce as madness.

Light threw bands of watery sun through gaps in the walls upon the floor as Livia and Bram made love. The need they had for each other couldn’t be sated, and the day’s tension sharpened their desire rather than dulled it. Her power responded to his nearness, drawing strength from him, from the passion they created. Together, they were unleashed, fearless.

They each possessed a wealth of experience, and neither could begrudge the other’s past profligacy when it meant hour upon hour of pleasure, of strength.

Livia felt herself borne upon waves of sensation, every part of her learning every part of Bram. Were she not half so worldly, she might have blushed at their activity. Yet she was no girl, but a woman grown, and felt no shame when she beheld the red markings she left on Bram’s back, his buttocks, the indentation of her teeth upon his neck.

He marked her, too. In every way. On and within her. They took turns having each other, and sometimes it was a battle to see who would win. He was indefatigable, bold, sly, inventive. And he devoured her demonstrations of power. He stretched out across the bed and she used him as she pleased while he rasped rough words of encouragement.

With each touch, each moan of pleasure and shivered response, she felt her magic strengthen, as though feeding kindling to a fire. She’d previously used sex to create power—yet she’d never had a lover like Bram before. Not merely his experience, but the bond they shared. His caresses held more import than merely the sensation of flesh to flesh.

They took and gave with equal measure, her magic growing more potent. It fair glowed around her like a corona. He saw this, and it seemed to stimulate him further, his gaze and hands and mouth devouring her.

The web of magic spun out from her with each touch and release. She felt herself at the center of an invisible yet gleaming net, attuned to everything.