by Bec McMaster
"You lack that one crucial element to your transformation. I could give you that element, the elixir. If you prove worthy to join my pets."
Elixir? Was this what that document in Ulbricht's cabinet had meant? He flicked a glance toward the patient vampires. "I've seen your pets. Thank you for the consideration, but I'm not really interested in being leashed like a dog."
"They're not my pets. They're the failures, the ones who didn't survive the transformation. They must earn back the cost of the elixir that was wasted on them."
"Lady, they're vampires."
"Precisely. How do you think a vampire is created?"
Byrnes paused. It wasn't something he'd ever thought of before. Most blue bloods lost control of their bloodlust once their craving virus levels reached 80 percent or so and the effects of the Fade set in. Then they began to devolve, their skin paling and their spines curving like a cat's until they loped along on all fours, stinking of rot. That was how a vampire came to be.
Or so he'd always thought.
Slowly, as if explaining herself to a child, Zero said, "You so-called blue bloods have never been what you were meant to be. A blue blood is the first stage of metamorphosis, and when your craving virus levels reach a certain percentage, you begin to transform."
"The Fade," he said.
"The Blooming," she chided. "Perhaps one in a thousand blue bloods survive the transformation without the elixir’s help. Most don’t. Most become a vampire, an abomination that was never meant to be. They're created when the creature dies during the end stages of metamorphosis. That's why they're weakened and crippled, with the personality of a vicious dog. Their brains suffer irreparable loss during the death stages, until all that remains when the virus reanimates them is the hunger."
Despite himself, Byrnes was fascinated. This was the ultimate mystery. He straightened, his fists lowering completely. "How the hell do you know that?"
"I know a lot of things." Zero stepped back, dragging her skirts with her. Fog swept around her legs and those brilliant blue eyes watched him from the shadows. "Such as the fact that Sir Nicodemus Banks brought the craving virus home from the Orient nearly one hundred and fifty years ago, but not the elixir guaranteed to evolve a blue blood as they were meant to evolve. He had stolen the virus from the immortal Imperial family of the White Court, and believed that by spreading the virus through Europe he took away some of their mythos, their power. He never asked himself why they allowed such a thing to happen: they knew that without the knowledge of the elixir vitae, they would never be threatened. Blue bloods, after all, are barely children in my world."
"Then what are you?"
Zero's smile grew as she swept up the vampires' leashes. They moved instantly, straining at her side. "Why don't you ask your good friend, Malloryn? After all, he knows more than what he's told you, doesn't he? You can tell him this from me: we are vengeance, pure and simple, and he will pay our price. We're here to watch the city burn, and to make Malloryn, the Duchess of Casavian, and all those who fought during the revolution bitterly regret their roles in it." Pressing her fingers to her lips, she blew him a kiss. "If you want to know more about what I am—what you could be—then you must prove yourself to me. Find me. Be worthy, Caleb Byrnes. And I might just grant you immortality."
With that, she took a step back and vanished off the rooftop, taking the vampires with her. Byrnes scrambled to the edge, but only fog greeted him. Nothing moved.
Zero was gone. The vampires had vanished.
And somehow she knew his name.
TWENTY-FIVE
"WE HAVE A problem," Byrnes said, striding into the house on Baker Street with Kincaid thrown over his shoulder. The bastard was out cold, and heavy as hell.
Ava looked up from the brass spectrometer she'd been fiddling with in the parlor. "You're bleeding." Her eyes widened when she saw Kincaid. "What happened?"
"Think you can pack his nose? It might be broken."
"I— Of course. My examination rooms, if you please." With a swish of skirts, Ava headed for the small room that she'd claimed as her own.
Fabric rustled. The baroness and Gemma Townsend both appeared in separate doorways, each looking extremely elegant. The baroness was clad in dark green, something sleek and luxurious with feathers and fur, and Miss Townsend wore a frothy rose monstrosity.
"What happened?" Gemma demanded.
"A little tête-à-tête with the enemy. She disapproved of Kincaid's manners. I tried to tell her he had none."
"Is that supposed to be amusing?" Gemma asked.
"Byrnes has the worst sense of humor," Ava muttered. "Put Kincaid down in here."
Byrnes complied, laying the heavy oaf down on Ava's examination table.
"That nose is definitely broken," Ava muttered, tilting Kincaid's chin to the side to examine the mottling bruise on his throat. Her fingertips were gentle as she made her assessment.
Byrnes looked Gemma up and down. "Are we going to a ball or something? I had the distinct impression that this was a house of spies."
Gemma peered down her nose at him. "Don't you pay attention to anything? It's Malloryn's engagement party tonight."
"Ah, the Hamilton girl." He shot a look at the baroness. "Why are you going?"
"It's not as though he loves the girl." The baroness snorted. "And please, Byrnes, we're all adults here. Miss Hamilton trapped him into a proposal. This is hardly going to be a marriage of like minds, but one of duty."
"Someone trapped Malloryn into marriage?" The thought actually amused him.
"He's been a proponent of the Thrall Bill, which enforces proper treatment of thralls and swift execution of those who think they can simply force a girl down and drink her blood." Baroness Schröder peered at Kincaid. "When Miss Hamilton caught him out in the garden with blood dripping down her throat and a sudden audience, it wasn't as though he could pretend it was a setup. Malloryn had to offer marriage or see the entire bill flung in his face. It was rather neatly done, actually. I'd commend the girl on her swift wits if she hadn't just earned herself a cold marriage bed and her husband's undying hatred."
"Wouldn't want to be in her shoes," he agreed. "I really need to speak to Malloryn. Right now, if possible."
Gemma blinked. "He's at his home."
"And the engagement party is...?"
"In his garden."
"You cannot just walk into an Echelon party," the baroness protested. "You smell like blood!"
"As if half the lords there won't smell like blood!"
"Yes, but they... they...." The baroness faltered, gesturing at him.
"You look like you kill people for a living," Ava supplied, peeling Kincaid's eyelid back and shining a bright light into his eye. "Most of the Echelon look like the only thing they've killed is a mink. Or a lemon tart."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?" He looked down at himself. "I'm dressed appropriately. I hardly look like some murderer."
"It's not the clothes, Byrnes," Gemma said. "It's your eyes. Or the look in them."
"Well, I'm not going there to make friends," he replied, circling the table. There wasn't much he could do about his eyes. "How's Ingrid?"
"She went out after you, but came back an hour ago," Ava said.
"What? You let her go out in that condition?"
Ava shot him a steady look. "It wasn't as though I could stop her. What did you want me to do? Arm-wrestle her into submission? And she's fine, Byrnes. Not even a scratch. She just went upstairs to clean herself up."
"And Kincaid?"
"His pupils are responsive, and his breathing is normal. I assume he'll come out of it soon, though he's going to feel rather sore and sorry for himself for a while." Ava winced.
"A wee woman in a very tight dress kicked him in the face several times."
Ava blinked. "A what?"
"Some kind of vampire, that isn't a vampire." Byrnes held his hand up to his chest. "This high."
"You found Ulbricht's mistress," Gemma T
ownsend breathed.
"She found us. And I'm absolutely certain Ulbricht's on her leash, not she on his."
"This will put Kincaid out of action for weeks! What were you doing at the time?" the baroness demanded.
"Getting punched. Repeatedly." He shrugged when he saw their faces, heading for the door. "What? She was fast. Did you not hear the part about her being some sort of vampire?"
"How did you escape?" Gemma followed him to the door.
"She offered me a promotion. I thought about declining, but decided she might tell me more if I played coy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really need to check on Ingrid, then talk to Malloryn."
The baroness tsked under her breath. "The carriage is coming around in fifteen minutes. At least have a shave and clean yourself up. He'll be annoyed if you show up looking like this."
"I thought annoyance was Malloryn's general state of being."
"Oh, you've seen nothing yet," the baroness told him grimly. "Right now, he has a prickle in his drawers, and it's called Adele Hamilton. You don't want to cross him, Byrnes. Not right now."
* * *
IN THE END they wouldn't all fit in the carriage together, so Byrnes went on ahead, pacing outside Malloryn’s as he waited. Although he didn’t entirely approve of Ingrid’s decision to come along, he had to trust that she knew her body.
And he strongly suspected he wouldn’t have won the argument to see her stay behind anyway.
The carriage arrived, dispersing the baroness and Gemma, who gave him a wink, and then Ingrid.
Or someone who looked like Ingrid, wearing an enormous gown.
It was bronze silk, with black lace slashing across the bodice and a trim little black velvet jacket that showed off her divine curves. The color framed her eyes perfectly, and it wasn't too girlish. No, this screamed silk and sensuality, grace and elegance. A little black hat draped over her left brow, cocked on an angle, and a tumble of long golden-brown curls dripped over her other shoulder.
Quite frankly, Byrnes felt like she'd punched him in the chest.
"Will I do?" Ingrid gave a slow twirl, her skirts flaring out around her.
He could barely speak. This— Her— She was absolutely, stunningly beautiful. "You'll do," Byrnes replied, his words clipped. Then he looked away, out over the garden party at the back of Malloryn's house, searching desperately for some composure. Someone had stolen it completely. Or no, set it alight, and was stomping on the flames.
"I don't believe I've ever seen you speechless." Ingrid's laugh was breathy. Leaning against him, she fussed with his collar, for all the world like a society debutante. However, the look in her eyes as she glanced up at him from beneath her lashes was hardly innocent.
"You're enjoying this," he accused, leaning into her warmth.
"I enjoy anything that involves ruffling your feathers."
"Consider them ruffled." I'm having a hard time not dragging you off into the house and having my way with you. One glance down revealed that she was having difficulty with her breathing too. For quite a different reason. "Does this mean you’re considering my proposal?
Ingrid hesitated. “We’ll discuss it later.”
He swallowed the flare of nervousness this statement wrought in him. “The bust doesn't seem to quite fit."
Ingrid rolled her eyes, tugging at the lace that barely hid her bountiful assets. "Of course you'd notice. It’s an old dress."
"Perhaps I could help with that?"
Ingrid rapped his knuckles with her fan. "Not now," she cast over her shoulder, making her way down the stairs onto the lawn. "Malloryn."
Duty before pleasure. Byrnes followed at her heels.
"Let's separate," she said, twirling a finger. "All the quicker to find him."
"I'll take the left."
“Done.” Ingrid sauntered toward a table loaded with sandwich platters.
Pasting a smile on his face, Byrnes tipped his head to some woman wearing a peacock on her head, then nearly collided with another young woman in gold.
"Pardon," he said, searching over her shoulder for the duke.
The pretty brunette gave him a curious look as he stepped past her, and the two men at her side were both clad in scarlet uniforms, shocked looks on their faces.
Two seconds later the baroness intercepted him. "Do you know who that was?" she hissed.
"No."
"The queen."
Byrnes looked back. "Well, what do you know? She's smaller than I expected." He wasn't the sort of person who had much truck with the elite. "Found Malloryn yet?"
"Good God, you're like a blundering ox. This way." They turned, then the baroness froze.
There was a young blonde wearing peacock blue in their way. "Baroness Schröder," she said, tilting her head like one adversary to another.
The baroness drew herself up. "Miss Hamilton. What a delight. Ah, this is my, ah, my—"
"You're not on the guest list," the young woman told Byrnes with a suspicious slant to her eyes. "In fact, I've never seen you before."
"How do you know?" Byrnes stole a glass of champagne for himself, and one for Ingrid. He couldn't see her anywhere.
"Because I wrote the guest list myself."
The bride. Just his luck. He was caught between two snarling felines, both aware of the tomcat caught between them, despite what Baroness Schröder had said. Girls of good breeding politely pretended that their fiancé's mistresses weren't their fiancé's mistresses. Unfortunately Miss Hamilton seemed to have missed that particular etiquette class.
"Long day?" Byrnes asked the young woman.
"It's the moment I've been waiting for," Miss Hamilton replied. "All my life."
Sounded like it too. "My commiserations."
The baroness sucked in a shocked gasp. "Byrnes!"
"Quick! I see Malloryn over there waving at us." He gave the baroness a little push in the back and she stumbled forward, blundering between two young lords in stockings. Darting a glare over her shoulder, she took the opportunity he'd presented her with and disappeared.
Shrewd green eyes locked on him. "Who are you?"
"Someone who knows your fiancé well. Call me Byrnes. And this"—he finally spotted Ingrid's hat bobbing through the guests—"is Miss Ingrid Miller, my fiancée."
Ingrid summed the girl up in one glance. "Why hello, darling," she said, catching on swiftly, though with a slight questioning arch to her brow. "I found him."
"Ah, the happy bride-to-be." Malloryn appeared, his expression at odds with his charming words as he clasped Miss Hamilton's shoulders from behind. That icy blue-green gaze raked Byrnes over hot coals, as if questioning the fact they'd dared to show up. "Darling, the Reynoldses are with your mother. They're looking for you."
"Getting rid of me that easy, are we?" Miss Hamilton offered her cheek, and Malloryn dutifully brushed his lips against it. "I suppose I should have known both the baroness and I are disposable."
"Careful now," Malloryn whispered in her ear. "If you start rumors, I will finish them."
"Your friend here was just offering his commiserations. He seems to know you far too well." Offering Malloryn a challenging stare, Miss Hamilton moved away, her blue bustle swishing flirtatiously.
"My apologies," Malloryn said smoothly, watching her go with a decidedly hawklike expression. "It's been a trying day for Adele."
"No apologies necessary," Byrnes assured him. "I quite like her."
"Want to marry her?"
"I wouldn't want to deprive you of the pleasure."
Malloryn grimaced.
Both Byrnes and Ingrid exchanged amused glances, falling into place behind the duke as he swept them toward the house.
"My study," Malloryn said, shooting them both a look as he made smiles and nods to various people, all whilst propelling them toward the house. "I assume this is important?"
* * *
"YOU'RE CERTAIN?" Malloryn asked after Byrnes filled him in on everything.
"Well, yes," he replied. "She
said her name was Zero, and that—"
"Not about that—about what she said about blue bloods being the first stage of the metamorphosis." Malloryn's expression was tight, and held the intensity of a man who'd just been told the entire kingdom was about to sink into the ocean.
"Is there something we should know?" Ingrid asked, picking up on the tension.
Malloryn's lips thinned. "You were right to come to me with this immediately. This.... Christ. We're in trouble."
"You know what she is." Byrnes was certain of it.
"I wish I didn't." Malloryn paced to the bell pull and rang for a servant. One appeared promptly. "Send for Lord Barrons and his wife—tell them it's urgent, and be discreet. They're in the garden somewhere. And bring us some blud-wein, brandy for the lady. Oh, you'd best postpone the cake too. I'm going to be a while. Make sure the guests have plenty of wine."
The servant vanished.
"Malloryn?" Byrnes asked.
"Wait," he was told by the icy duke. "This is something Barrons needs to hear."
And so they waited.
Barrons and his wife, the Duchess of Casavian, arrived promptly. If Byrnes wasn't mistaken the duchess was with child, though her midnight blue gown was designed carefully to conceal this fact. She was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen too, though in a cool, marble blue blood way. Not like Ingrid, who wore her passionate nature like a dress, or whose very touch seemed to burn him alive.
One glimpse at her husband revealed a dangerous man. Byrnes knew Barrons—had worked with him in fact—but never intimately. The Duke of Caine's heir wore a winking ruby dangling from his ear and was dressed in strict black, with a dueling sword at his hip. The first time they'd met, Byrnes had dismissed him as some peacock from the Echelon, but Barrons had earned his respect. This man had helped pull down the corrupt prince consort and now resided on the Council of Dukes with Malloryn and Lynch.
"Something urgent?" Barrons was straight to the point.
"My agents have discovered something about our nameless villain." Malloryn poured them all blud-wein, with a small glass of brandy for Ingrid, and dismissed the servants. "Tell them."
