Lust Plague (Steamwork Chronicles)

by Silverwood, Cari

  While she sorted in her head what to say, Cadrach heaved to his feet, went over to the split in the seat, and snuffled at Emily’s armpit.

  “Hey! Mr. Sten, does your mutt always do this to ladies?” She bit off a laugh, then patted the codriver’s seat.

  With a little hop and squirm, Cadrach undulated his furry body through into the driver’s compartment, then promptly sat up straight as if he always sat there. As Kaysana watched in bemusement, the canary fluttered past the gap in the seats and landed on the headrest behind the wolf. She shook her head.

  “Aww. You two are sooo cute together!” Emily chuckled. “Hey, man, I think I got your wolf up here.”

  Sten laughed. “You can have him. He eats too much.”

  “Ma’am, what were you going to ask me?”

  Kaysana felt her forehead tighten and rubbed her eyebrow. “Give me a minute.”

  The clatters, squeaks, and rumbles of the truck filled the air for several turgid seconds.

  “Ah, ma’am, just wanted to make clear that I saw nothing wrong with what went on back there between you and Mr. Sten. You know?”

  Kaysana blinked. The rooftop? Had Emily seen some of that? Oh God. Her skin heated.

  “She means it,” Sten whispered, patted her hand.

  “Like, you know, this zombie plague got the lady pilot. She crashed us because of it, I think. And you’re just affected too. You can’t help yourself, see. An’ I won’t tell a soul. You can”—Emily waved vaguely—“screw half the population of the PME and I have got my lips zipped. I owe you big-time, ma’am. ’Kay?”

  Answering took a lot of willpower. If this was Emily being quiet, God help her. “Okay. Thank you, Emily.”

  Sten had a stone look on his face, lips quivering, eyes glinting as if with tears. It also took a lot of willpower not to thump him.

  “Right. We need to regroup.” Brow furrowed, she stared at Sten and then Emily. “I’ll run through it all, and please chime in if I miss anything important. I’m a little frazzled.” The tiny tremors in her muscles weren’t normal. Fatigue? Must be.

  “One. Our immediate destination is a secondary base up in the mountains. We may need other transport past that. An airship even, possibly. The map’s in Sten’s pack over there?” He nodded. “Good. Two. There’s something there causing this plague, and I was told this virogen gives off a yellow bioluminescence. Need to keep that in mind. Three. We know we may encounter more zombies on the way. Numbers etcetera are unknown. Four. We know they are attracted to…passion.”

  Straight-faced, she plowed on. “So it stands to reason that such passion should be avoided.”

  Sten kinked an eyebrow. “That’s negotiable.”

  “I did not hear that, sir and ma’am.” But Emily looked fascinated.

  Dammit. She was not entertainment for the crew. She wrinkled her nose and continued. “There may be… Five. There may be an automaton guard.”

  “Never heard of such a thing for real.” Sten tented his fingers, elbows on his knees. “I reckon it’ll be human-driven. And it'll be unpowered by now, unless they have a low-burn ember chamber rigged so it can be fired up quickly. Those can last for weeks, even in below-zero conditions.”

  “Okay, so maybe, just maybe, we can rule out that automaton? Which would be great. Any humans up there will be dead or zombified by now.”

  “What do you want me to do, ma’am?”

  The girl was eager but totally unqualified. A librarian against zombies? No. “Maybe you can back us up, Emily. I’d rather return you to a safe area, but there is none. You’re safest with us. Maybe, if the worst happens, you’ll have to take back the data to HQ. If we don’t succeed.”

  “Oh my God. No. Please, ma’am, you have to win. You just have to.” She glanced anxiously at Sten, then went back to steering.

  “We will, honey. Don’t worry. Me and your captain have it covered."

  “Okay. Moving on.” God, now her hand was shaking so much even the motion of the truck didn’t disguise it. She grabbed that hand with the other, clasped them tight together. “Next—food, water, ammo. Sten?”

  He looked pointedly at her hands. “We got enough of the first two, though it’s beef sticks for the food. Ammo…well there's not much. The revolver—maybe thirty rounds in my pack. Then my knife, sword.” He grimaced. “That’s it unless we find something here in those boxes. Never know what people mail to each other. And coal, you missed that. Emily!”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do you know how much boosted coal we have?”

  “Not sure, but probably enough. The bunkers are full.” Without taking her eyes from the windshield, she pointed backward at the roof. “We’ll have to manually reload the hoppers sometime, though.”

  “Okay. Thanks, darling.”

  Done. Sorted out then. She heard Sten shift on the floor, as if he’d turned, but her eyes were closed. So tired. The rocking of the truck as it went over bumps shook her, and she let her muscles take it in. Wanted to lie back but the metal wall whacked at her head.

  “Okay, love. Looks like we have it all nutted out as much as we can right now. You need some sleep.”

  She cracked open her eyelids.

  Sten picked up her hand and gave it a squeeze despite her tired glare. Though she tried to tug it free, he didn’t let go. “Come on. You don’t have to be the big boss and do everything now. Let me help.”

  The featherlight brush of his thumb over her knuckles distracted her.

  “Relax. Put your head on me. I’m happy to be a pillow for a while. To be your pillow, anyway. Okay?”

  “How can I relax when all I can see is those two dead women on the roof?” Ack. She was telling him too much, but the thickening mire of her misery and the body-grinding tiredness loosened her tongue. She closed her eyes tight, put her hand in her mouth, and bit down until she hurt.

  The mission data was up-to-date, and now her brain was so frazzled she couldn’t think straight. Those two dead women. All those dead… Everything crowded in. She did the only thing she could think of.

  “Sten, close the divider, please.”

  She felt him reach across her to pull down the divider separating them from the cabin. Even through closed eyes, darkness fell. Already it seemed cooler, calmer, though the floor rattled.

  “You okay, Kaysana?”

  “Hold me, please.”

  His arms enfolded her—warm, hard, yet thoroughly comforting—and she leaned in, let her nose nuzzle his shirt and smell the rich masculine scent.

  I’ve always hated being cuddled. What’s wrong with me?

  “I’m sorry. I need this. Don’t know why, but I do. I never let things get to me…”

  “Shhh.” He stroked the top of her head. “I understand. We’re in a fucked-up place. If you need this, I’m here for you.”

  Typical Sten—the f word was his favorite. Didn’t bother her like it had, though. She breathed in and out through his shirt, feeling his warm skin move under her lips. After a while, she realized he was rocking her, just enough to be comforting.

  A feeble thought filtered to the surface: I’m not a baby. But she sighed and let her muscles soften, molding her body against his.

  In time sleep drifted closer.

  The place inside that had altered crystallized again, until it was as if she stood there staring at a strange rock formation with wind humming at her ears and sand drumming at her skin…and in that instant, another layer of her essence stripped away and whirled into some distant oblivion.

  STEN LOOKED DOWN at Kaysana, at the soft motion of her body as she breathed. When she’d finally relaxed and slid down onto his lap, the surge of tenderness had taken him by surprise.

  He removed the collar then undid the cord tying her hair. The black coils slipped across his hand like liquid silk.

  Toughness, competence in battle, these were expected of a captain, but the glimpses he’d seen of a woman who cared, for reasons deeper than duty or honor, that meant far more. He had a fe
eling she’d sacrifice herself if she had to, to save those she loved.

  The differences between their futures and their pasts were huge. For the right woman, though, to find the answers to that puzzle, he’d reach for the moon, stand before the Sphinx and argue riddles, heck, all sorts of crap. Was it possible Kaysana was that woman?

  Chapter Thirteen

  After two hours they stopped the half-track on a riverbank. Already they’d reached the foothills of the mountains. The water flowed cold and deep, pooling and slowing before tumbling over several drops in a series of tiny waterfalls. The trees were thinning this high up. Their sight line was good for miles. No zombie surprises.

  While Sten checked the few sparse trees on the perimeter, Kaysana helped Emily shift boosted coal from the vehicle’s bunker at the rear to the feeder chute. They hadn’t dared to bank the engine, and the rhythmic chugging punctuated the pristine wilderness like the cough of a dying monster.

  “Done, Captain.” Grinning, Emily jumped down from the roof. She dusted her blackened hands on her thighs. At least Sten had found her a pair of khaki drawstring pants and a jacket. She’d rolled up the sleeves and the pants. A logo of a yak with a letter in its mouth occupied the back of the jacket, but it covered most of her flesh.

  Sten. Just the thought made her body hum into a higher state of tension. She found the bottle in her top and rubbed some oil below her nose. As the raw scent scoured her nostrils, the relief was immediate. She relaxed.

  How much longer would it work, though? And when he came too close, she might as well be using water.

  She held up a hand. “Let’s fill the water reserve too. Just don’t stay in the sun too long. You’ll burn fast at this altitude.” The air temperature had dropped. She clasped her arms about her for warmth, felt her nipples contract into points.

  “I’ll be okay.” Whistling merrily, Emily grabbed one of the boxlike water cans, then lugged it to the embankment.

  On board the Art of War, she’d have pulled Emily up for disobeying an order. Now she just shook her head.

  Though the stream wasn’t free of impurities, the filters in the engine should be sufficient. She copied Emily and towed an empty container toward the river. The thin metal bounced on her leg. A few feet from the bank, Sten caught up and covered her hand with his.

  She stopped, moved her fingers under his, and just that small confinement of his flesh around hers warmed her.

  “Allow me.” He smiled, uncurled her fingers from the handle, and took the container.

  Bemused, her blood flowing like heated wine through her veins, she wandered out into the chilly water to waist deep and let it clean away some of the grime. The cold numbed her. She returned to the bank and sank onto the soft grass at the edge. Watching Sten was strangely calming.

  He stooped and stretched out to lower the neck of the container beneath the water. Would she ever shed this effect he had on her? The heavy muscles of his arms and neck tightened and stood out. She wet her lips, remembering the way they’d cuddled in the vehicle and after making love at the shop.

  But…making love. She frowned. Why did she think of it that way? It hadn’t been like that, had it? And what he’d done to her on the rooftop, surely not? Though that seemed so distant, so ephemeral, she almost couldn’t believe it had happened.

  Sureness arrived center stage in her head—just a little push, a bit more something, and she wouldn’t want to be free of him. And how would that be? An air fleet captain with a fixation on a frankenstruct? Impossible.

  Beyond him Emily waded ankle-deep. She already had her can filled but clearly found it too heavy to lift. The wolf lazed full length nearby, tongue out, watching, as if anything Emily did was fascinating. Clinging to a swaying stalk of grass was her canary. Emily put hands on hips, and the half-buttoned and poorly fitted jacket displayed deep cleavage.

  “Hey, Mr. Sten! Can you get this one as well? It’s too heavy for me.”

  Lazily Sten waved a hand. “Sure, Miss Emily. Not a problem.”

  The man didn’t put a foot wrong. The perfect gentleman with half-naked Emily, but with me…you’d think I was a temptress. She dug her toes into the turf as she wrestled with how that made her feel. Wanted? Yes. But also happy, cherished even. My head is so mixed-up. While Sten busied himself ferrying the cans to the vehicle, she leaned back, relaxing onto her elbows, and tried to sort everything out.

  Perhaps the attraction was dying away. On the drive here, she’d been mostly free of her strange reaction around him. Then her pulse went skippity-skip at the memories.

  With the bridge a blurred, distant landmark, she stared across the water at an eddy of white froth, drifting, curling, slow as blood. The color flashed from white to red. Numbing pain screwed up inside her stomach, turning even tighter, harder, throbbing up into her head as if someone had wrapped her skull in barbed wire.

  On that long-ago day, the silence had undone her…that and the blood floating out from under the bridge. From the first moment, when the world had shrieked to a halt, she knew what waited beneath the bridge. If she leaned over and looked, there would be a body. Her seven-year-old sister had run there for safety. It was where they went to escape the punishments for any of their misdemeanors, where she too would have run from the bandits. Someone had killed Mingzhu and left her under the bridge.

  She’d not looked, couldn’t bear to. Grandfather had found her there clutching the bridge rail, crying quiet mouse tears, as her father would have called them. Only he was dead too. No more mouse tears. The wall holding in the grief grew sturdier with every year that passed. She hadn’t cried since then—not in all the years between.

  “Hey. Hey, Captain.” Arms enfolded her, pulled her into an embrace, small, womanly arms. The sound of her sobs echoed in her ears. Her palms, where she held them flat to her face, were dry. “It’s okay. Emily’s got you.”

  She shook her head wildly. “’M sorry, Emily.” Choking back more sobs, she refused to give in and let Emily see her weakness. How could this be? The shield she’d kept between her and the agony had slipped away. She felt the pain from that day, tearing her up inside and making her bleed like gut-ripped prey.

  Then Emily’s arms left her, and others slid about her waist and across her back. Hard, strong arms that could only belong to Sten. When his grip shifted and he made to pull her onto his lap, she resisted.

  “Stop.” The sternness in his voice froze her instantly. Only superior officers talked to her like that. “Struggling won’t work. I can and will overpower you.” He hauled her close to his chest, one arm like a metal bar under her breasts.

  “This isn’t…” She gulped. “Necessary. I’m just—”

  “Upset. For sure.” He stroked his hand up the side of her neck, then drew lines across her skin as if following the trace of strands of unbound hair. “Tell me why.”

  Now? Just because she’d stupidly let grief overwhelm her didn’t mean she’d tell him. “It’s nothing.” She wriggled, pushed at his arm, and hurt her wrist. Was he made of steel? “Let me up. There’s far worse things to worry about.”

  “You were crying.” He trailed a knuckle below her eye. “Dry? It sure sounded bad. When do you let loose with real tears?”

  “Never. Like I said, it was nothing.” Already the memory receded. This was a blip in the universe. She was alive. Others were dead. Nothing. She squirmed. “I—”

  Sten sighed. “Right. If you won’t tell, you’ll sit here until I’m happy. Sit!”

  Until he’s happy? But she subsided, stiff at first until the monotonous tempo of his patting settled into her flesh. Her eyelids drooped. She turned in his lap and sneaked her arm around him, letting the delicious heat of his body work through her. The man was so big he could stop anything—a truck, an avalanche, a mountain of bad things.

  “How many other men have done this for you? Held you when you were sad?”

  “Hmm.” She shrugged, resisted sucking on her lip—a childish habit. Do I want to answer? “Non
e.” Least, not for many long years. Her father had been the last to do so. A line of moisture seeped onto her eyelashes.

  “None? Like me, then. I’ve never had a woman want me to do this. To hold them.”

  Never? A glow of satisfaction washed through her.

  “You know.” His voice lowered, and with his chin on her head, the words reverberated into her ears through her skin. “This is twice in a row, but I like it. I like holding you. You’re soft in my arms and smell like a woman should.”

  Being reduced to merely a woman irked her. Her forehead wrinkled as she rummaged for a smart reply. She pulled away. I don’t need his comfort. “I—” His hand covered her mouth, muffling her words.

  “Don’t say what you don’t mean,” he said in a gravelly voice that made her very bones tremble. Slowly he took away his hand. “Well?”

  And suddenly she was glad he’d stopped her. She stared into his intent eyes and couldn’t figure what he was thinking at all. Goose bumps rose, tingling on her arms. “I was going to say…something that was a lie.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He wasn’t interrogating her? While he curved his hand lightly about her neck, then stroked her and played with her hair, she contemplated the grass. His touch soothed her and made her nightmare past slip away. She laid her head back on his chest, frowned. “I thought I was just sex, that you were just”—his own word seemed to fit—“fucking me.” As soon as that left her mouth, she regretted it. Might as well have slapped him.

  “Huh. Somehow that word doesn’t suit you, little butterfly.”

  She stiffened. “Butterfl—” Again his hand covered her mouth. She nipped his finger, but he stayed put and his other hand pinched her nipple hard. Blinking, slowly coming down from her little spike of anger, she released his finger. Then he prodded at her mouth, levered her teeth apart, and slipped the thick digit between them to rest between her teeth and the inside of her cheek.

  “Lick me,” he said, rumbling at her ear. Then he flicked her earlobe with his tongue and pressed a kiss onto her ear, pinning her head between hard biceps and mouth, controlling—all ferocious and male. Liquid heat flashed into her.