by Bec McMaster
"I am not suffering from delicate feelings."
"Of course not. You're just—"
That did it. Kincaid slid his hand through the thick mess of curls loosely gathered at her nape and captured the base of her skull. He dragged her closer, Ava's hands abruptly meeting the wall of his chest as her eyes widened. And then those maddening lips were beneath his, and his mouth captured hers, claiming it with a furious kiss.
Months of frustration, of trying to keep away from her, suddenly unleashed within him like a dam wall breaking. His tongue stabbed into her mouth, claiming her in some strange, utterly proprietary way that suddenly wasn't enough. He wanted to bite her throat; to rub his stubbled face across her pale, delicate skin until he saw the pinkness of his mark painted there; to kiss every last thought of every other man she'd ever seen out of her mind.
It was meant to be a kiss to make his point. A kiss to prove he wasn't protesting too damned much.
Instead it became a kiss that captured both of them within its grasp.
Somehow he tumbled her onto her back. Ava splayed on the blankets beneath him, stiff with shock for all of a second before she surrendered, his hips sinking between her parted thighs. His weight pressed her into the mattress, and Kincaid groaned as his heavy cock was crushed between them.
Damn, she truly was exquisite. Lantern light gilded the soft gold strands in her hair, turned her skin to pure, molten honey, and for a second he couldn't believe she was real. That this was happening. He captured her mouth again, teasing her with his tongue, coaxing her to kiss him back when she hesitated, before she finally began to capture the rhythm of it.
Fuck. Kincaid eased the collar of her nightgown open, fisting his hand in her hair and turning her face to the side as his lips followed the smooth column of her throat down, down to the sweeping curve of her breasts. Breathing hard. Panting in fact, his hand sliding down to cup her breast—
"What are y-you doing?" Ava gasped.
And he realized where they were, and what he'd promised, and the fact she probably hadn't experienced anything like this before.
Damn it.
Somehow he pulled himself together. Kincaid looked down at her face, breathing hard. Her nightgown was bunched between them, barely clinging to the curves of her puckered nipples. The thin silvery scar rested between her small breasts, but he didn't have time to explore more. He had a nervous virgin on his hands, and he'd pushed too far. "I'm showing you what you asked for."
Her hands fluttered between them, then she hesitantly rested her palms on his bare chest. "I... see."
No, you don't, not truly. And the lie came undone in his mind as he realized everything he'd told himself in the last month was untrue. She means nothing; you only want her because you can't have her; you're just bored and her innocence is appealing; she's not for you.... That last one, and only that, was the truth.
Ava McLaren was dangerous.
"May I touch you?" Ava whispered, and there went his mind into dark places.
Yes. He wanted to drag her hand lower and curl those curious fingers around his cock.
Even as he knew she wasn't ready for that.
Kincaid caught her hand in his, and kissed her palm. She followed the movement with those expressive eyes, and when he licked the sensitive skin there, her eyes widened. God, she was so damned perfect. He wanted to see those eyes widen when he slid his cock inside her for the first time, to see the wonder in them. "I don't think touching me is a good idea right now."
Or else her experience with sex would be a very short, brief affair. The ache in his cock was almost excruciating.
Those glorious eyes shuttered. "But...?"
"Not tonight," he replied firmly. "Sleep on it. Be certain this is what you want. Because the next time we do this, I'm not going to stop."
"Oh." A soft, reverent sound. She was thinking again.
He had to get out of here. "Good night, Ava." Leaning forward, he kissed her again. Her mouth and thighs both parted with ease, and then he was groaning and trying to push away from her. Or at least, he intended to push away from her. His cock had other ideas. Kincaid's hips flexed, his erection pushing into her belly, and Ava gasped as she arched beneath him.
Jaysus.
He shoved to his feet abruptly, rearranging himself in his pants. Ava lay sprawled on the bed, looking utterly ravished. All those blonde curls splayed across her pillow. Why was he saying no again?
Right. He needed to find some control, and she needed to be certain this was what she wanted.
"Sweet dreams," he murmured as he turned around and strode toward the door.
Before he could change his mind and scrap all sense of honorable intentions.
* * *
Sweet dreams? Ava paced the bomb site at the clinic the following afternoon, her skirts seeming to irritate her sensitive legs. Ever since Kincaid left her in a heated mess on the middle of her bed last night, she'd been unable to concentrate. She'd never felt this way before.
Of course, she'd never had a man press his body so intimately against hers, especially in places that had never felt a man's touch before....
Ava groaned, trying to clear her mind. The Duke of Malloryn was due at any moment for a briefing. And Malloryn was the most perceptive man she'd ever met. If she even thought about carnal relations with Kincaid while Malloryn was in the building, she was certain the duke would notice.
Right on cue, a carriage rounded the corner, a team of matched blacks trotting along in front of it. Horses seemed an old-fashioned concept these days—an extravagance the Echelon still liked to display—what with steam power ruling the city. Most regular people were forced to make do with coal and steam power, which left a dirty pall hanging over London.
Not the Duke of Malloryn.
Malloryn's crest gleamed on the door of the carriage, and the footmen wore his livery. The silver griffins of the House of Malloryn leered at her.
"He's certainly not hiding who he is today," Kincaid muttered, appearing at her shoulder.
"Perhaps he's here on official business?" Malloryn liked cloaks, and shadows, and disguises. Sometimes he'd appear inside the safe house and she'd not have even noticed a door opening. It was like he sprang from nowhere.
Malloryn alighted from the carriage, wearing a black velvet coat with puffed shoulders, a loose white shirt, and leather trousers. He looked particularly dangerous today, and there was a rapier sheathed at the belt around his hips.
"Didn't know you'd turned pirate," Kincaid said, his eyes twinkling as he looked the duke up and down.
"Ha," Malloryn replied, without a trace of humor. "How droll you are this afternoon, Kincaid. Especially considering the city is under threat by unknown agents who have an enthusiasm for bombs. This is my court dress. I've been in meetings all morning."
"How civic-minded of you," Kincaid countered, and the duke shot him a withering glance.
"Ava." Malloryn tipped his head to her, dusting off his gloves as he looked around. "Perhaps you would care to show me around? I received the baroness's missive, but I'd like to hear it from both of you, if you would?"
"This way," Ava instructed, grabbing a handful of her skirts and pushing open the charred door to the front of the clinic. She wore dark blue today, a color that normally washed her out, but one which would survive better than yesterday's concoction of lace.
She led the duke through the building, staring at the wind-chilled sky that appeared overhead in the actual clinic as she ran through what happened. Malloryn picked his way through the rubble, leaning on an ebony-handled cane that bore his signet.
"What made you look inside the servant drone?" Malloryn finally asked, turning to Kincaid.
Kincaid knelt in the ruptured remains of the room, nudging a scrap of blistered metal. The paint had bubbled off it. "It wasn't working properly. Ava was busy talking incomprehensible scientific theories with Dr. Harricks, and I have experience with such units. I offered to fix it."
"So pure chance
?" Malloryn seemed surprised. "And you set the bomb off?"
"It had a remote detonation charge on it, but there was also a pressure sensor. I set the sensor off."
"I wonder when they planned to detonate it," Malloryn mused.
"Who knows? Maybe they intended to blow up all the clinics in the city at once? Maybe they simply planned to cover their tracks in case the vaccine tampering was discovered?"
"The question now is who," Malloryn murmured. "This is either the work of the humanists, or someone more sinister."
Ava's heart ticked a beat. "Do you think it has anything to do with the SOG?"
The three of them stared around at the blackened room. "The SOG work on creating chaos," Malloryn said slowly. "So I am very interested in this mystery all of a sudden."
The breath rushed out of her.
Malloryn sighed, and pulled out his pocket watch. "I have another meeting in half an hour, but speaking of Ulbricht, Gemma and Charlie returned an hour ago." Malloryn rested one hand on the remaining wall, and peered into the alley behind it. "No sign of Ulbricht in Brighton—but they managed to get their hands on a man who looks remarkably like him, who was being paid to parade around down there."
Kincaid scratched his jaw. "They wanted us to think Ulbricht was there."
"A distraction, yes." Malloryn's black boots crunched on blackened timber that crumbled into ash under his weight. "Did you know Lord Ulbricht has an investment in Bayard Industries?"
"Bayard Industries?" Ava asked.
The duke graced her with a small smile. "An umbrella for the smaller company, Kestrel, that produces the vaccine. I've been busy too."
"He's involved with the vaccine tampering." All the hairs on her body stood on end. Her case was connected after all!
Malloryn held a finger to his lips. "Possibly. There certainly does seem to be a connection, and if Ulbricht's working to cover his tracks, then he's up to something."
"But why? I still don't quite understand why the SOG would tamper with the vaccine," Ava said, running her gloved fingers along the smoke-grimed steel workbench that had been warped in the blast. "If Ulbricht is behind this"—she had to keep saying "if," just in case she corrupted her chain of evidence—"then what purpose does it present for the SOG? I just cannot suspect a motive in all of this. They're blue bloods. Was the Echelon up in arms about developing a vaccine for the craving virus?"
"Quite the contrary," Malloryn admitted. "The Blood Rites were always meant to be an elitist privilege. The vaccine, therefore, played perfectly into Ulbricht's intentions of keeping the Echelon 'pure.'"
"It's not about the vaccine, or the Echelon," Kincaid said suddenly, startling both her and the duke. "It's about creating fear in the populace. He's striking at the humans, taking away their perceived safety. There's a great deal of humanist sympathy left over from the revolution. The staunch humanists were the first to line up for the vaccine when the clinics first opened, so they'd never have to fear an accidental infection turning them into... into what they consider to be monsters."
A pause. She was quite certain he'd mean to say “turning them into monsters,” and it made her feel a little hollow inside.
"Go on," Malloryn instructed.
"Last month Ulbricht was involved in the mass disappearance of people. The kidnappings and disappearances made people afraid, and they also just happened to help feed his mistress's vampires."
Ava shuddered. A truly horrific thought.
"But the people don't know that. Their friends and family vanished, and the Council of Dukes hushed it over and paid out in blood money. Those we rescued from Zero and her vampires were returned safely to their families, but... not all of them came home. It looks like the Echelon are up to their old tricks," Kincaid said, and Malloryn gestured for him to continue. "So Ulbricht takes away their vaccination clinics. Nobody's going to receive the vaccination if his or her friends are coming down with the craving virus after having it."
"For what purpose though?" Ava asked. "Ulbricht's cause was to see the Echelon back in power. How does this help his cause?"
"I agree. That's a great deal of maybe and perhaps," Malloryn said. "What does it gain him?"
"If I wanted to cause chaos in the city, then that's how I'd do it," Kincaid replied. "Stir up old resentment. Make people afraid of blue bloods again."
"But for what purpose?"
Kincaid shrugged. "As you said, we don't know for sure Ulbricht is behind any of this, and until we do, we can only guess what he intends."
Malloryn scratched at his jaw. "I've got all my spies out trying to track down any of the other members of the Sons of Gilead."
"Makes it easy, when they bloody tattoo themselves with a rising sun," Kincaid muttered.
"Agreed." For once Malloryn seemed almost cordial when he tipped his head to the burly mech. "If such tattoos were in plain sight. Some of the SOG members think this a game, a lark. Ulbricht's been toying with the young sons of the Echelon, and playing to their sympathies with his tales of how things were better in the good old days. Half of his SOG are stupid young nobles who are fresh out of their Blood Rites and perfectly content to tattoo their allegiance on their wrists. It's not them I'm interested in. They're the sheep."
"The Echelon is still holding the rites?" Ava asked in surprise. Once the Blood Rites had been deemed a nobleman's rite of passage—the time when a young boy was first infected with the craving virus, provided his candidacy was approved, of course.
"It's tradition," Malloryn replied, "and there's nothing the Echelon likes more than to cling to outdated practices."
"You don't approve?" Kincaid looked at the duke as if he'd done something interesting.
"I'm not particularly fond of the old ways, or those blue blood relics who cling to them, like Ulbricht and his cronies. The Great Houses manipulating and assassinating their way to glory... it made for a rather wary childhood, if I'm being honest. You only have to have one servant try to cut your throat one morning to realize there are better ways of doing business." He shook his head. "No. I'm interested in progress. The revolution changed the empire, and I'm tired of dragging blue bloods kicking and screaming into a better future. However, when Ulbricht and his cronies start using the heirs of that future—that is when I am going to have to take a stance.
"I want Ulbricht's head, and the only way to find him is to find those SOG members who don't flaunt their tattoos. They're the ones in power, and they're the ones I would like to have a rather stern word with."
Ava exchanged a glance with Kincaid. Ulbricht deserved whatever Malloryn had in mind, she told herself.
"I'm sending Gemma and Charlie to investigate Bayard Industries," Malloryn said, "and the Nighthawks are all over Kestrel Laboratories."
Her heart fell. "But this is—"
The duke arched a brow.
—my case. Her shoulders fell when she saw the implacable cast of his shoulders. One didn't tell Malloryn what to do. Especially not when he was in this mood.
"There was a photograph of the clinic in the paper this morning, with you in the background, Ava," Malloryn said, resting both hands on his cane. "It was claimed you're with the Nighthawks, but if the right people were looking, then they'll have noticed your face. It's not personal. You've done very well so far. But nobody knows Gemma and Charlie work for me. You, however, have rather distinctive blonde curls."
She hadn't even realized the journalists baying outside had had a photographer with them. Damn it. All the excitement she'd felt crumbled to ash, much like the building around her.
Kincaid crossed his arms over his chest. "Then what do you want me and Ava to do?"
"Wait. The Nighthawks will be bringing back samples of the vaccine from Kestrel Labs, and I'm sure Dr. Gibson would welcome Ava's assistance in testing the vials to see if any of them have been tampered with at the laboratories—or whether they were affected after they'd been transported from the production facility."
"It was clearly tampered with at th
e clinic," Kincaid interrupted.
"Most likely. But I want to be certain. We have to work out whether the entire production needs to be dismantled, and how to control the outcry. And," Malloryn speared Ava with a stern look, "we still need to discover what this Black Vein is, and how it's killing blue bloods."
"I'm working on it." The problem was she had a dozen puzzle pieces, and no precise means of putting them all together yet. Black Vein seemed to be connected to those humans who'd received the tampered vaccine. She'd found nothing in the contaminated vaccine vials so far that might explain it, but perhaps the Nighthawks’ samples would contain some clue.
"Keep me updated."
"As you wish, Your Grace," she said, swallowing down her disappointment. Years of experience with the Nighthawks had taught her to be patient. They had a suspect, they had a few clues. She could work this out.
"Excellent." Malloryn snapped his pocket watch shut, and headed for the door. "Keep me apprised of the situation. Or... keep the baroness apprised. She'll pass on what she deems relevant to me, and if Ulbricht does rear his pale head, I'll take over."
"You're not going to be overseeing the operation?" Last month, Malloryn had had his fingers in every pie.
Malloryn shot her a raised-brow look. "I forget how distracted you can be, Ava. Kincaid, what is happening in my personal life this month? Since you're all so terribly interested in it?"
"You're getting married, Your Grace," Kincaid replied. "Every single Rogue in the Company—excluding Ava—is wagering on whether you'll get the lucky bride to the altar or not."
"Correct. I would much rather be overseeing this case. But apparently I have flowers to peruse, and cakes to taste, and places to be seen...." Malloryn grimaced. "One month and then I can forget this ever happened, and return to my regularly scheduled duties."
Forget he was married? Ava blinked. She knew the duke and his fiancée were forging a marriage of convenience in the wake of a scandal where the duke had been caught in the gardens of some ball with Miss Hamilton, but she'd thought relations between them might have thawed by now. "Isn't it time to forgive Miss Hamilton?"
