Badlands

by Seleste deLaney

  Spencer crossed the hall, opened Mahala’s door and sifted through her clothes. Ever hardly seemed the type to care about fashion, but he knew she wouldn’t give up her weapons belt and studied the shirts with an eye for what would work with the well-oiled tan leather. He pulled out two shirts, one a deep red, the other pale green. Then he moved on to Mahala’s pants, hoping to find a pair that would fit over Ever’s long, lean legs.

  Waiting inside the captain’s quarters, Ever’s hands balled into fists. He would return momentarily. If she didn’t move, she couldn’t be tempted to search for some explanation of the way he made her feel. For the heat that had started on the bare skin he’d brushed opening the door and had traveled through her body, settling between her legs and drawing moisture from her core.

  It was madness. She was here on a mission. If she required release from weeks of frustration in the desert hunting for new prisoners sent across the border, that was one thing. This? This was something else entirely, and she needed to cure herself of the insanity immediately.

  Her muscles loosened, and she rolled her shoulders as she stepped toward the desk bolted to the floor in the corner nearest the door. Her fingers trailed on its smooth surface, dipping into the grooves caused by hours of use. She paused there, wondering what Spencer did at his desk. Shipping manifests? Letters to family—or a woman—back in the States?

  She clenched the hand into a tight fist and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before moving deeper into his room. The straps holding his closet shut fell beneath her fingers, inviting her to take a closer look. Inside, everything hung in strict order. Pants in one section, shirts next—all arranged in a faded rainbow of color. A weapons belt hung between the shirts and a deep brown duster. She toyed with the belt, examining it with the eye of an expert. The leather was worn, but well made. It was smaller than hers, designed for fewer weapons, and she wondered if he favored guns or blades since there were holsters for both.

  “Blades.” She imagined him walking into a fight, at a visible disadvantage while some cocky gunslinger lazily drew a weapon. He’d whip the blade out and let it fly, embedding it in the other man before he even had the gun clear of its holster.

  Ever gave her head a fierce shake, shut the closet and reattached the straps. “He’s probably worthless with a weapon. Any weapon.”

  The bed beckoned to her weary body, and she perched on the edge of it, afraid what she might do if she allowed herself more comfort than that. Hands knotted in her lap, she breathed deeply, trying to replace thoughts of the captain with something else. Anything else.

  Images of Zeke’s face, flushed and smeared with gun oil, came to mind, and she sighed happily. He was a pleasant distraction, one she could cope with.

  She opened her eyes, calm at last, and saw the tintype near the head of the bed. Captain Pierce and a beautiful woman with wide, bright eyes and a mischievous smirk. Ever’s chest tightened, happy thoughts of Zeke banished from her mind. There was a woman waiting for Captain Pierce.

  “Good for him,” she said, trying to mean it, but the pang of jealousy didn’t abate. Her fingers laced behind her neck, Ever closed her eyes and pulled on her spine, hoping the pain would shake her free from her thoughts.

  A gentle cough made her eyes fly open.

  “You’re bleeding again.” The captain nodded at her arm.

  As she lowered her hands to look, blood dropped from the wound onto his coverlet. The crimson spot stood out in stark relief against the dingy ivory spread. It didn’t belong there any more than she belonged here. In his room. On his bed. Ever shot to her feet. “I am sorry. I did not—”

  The captain laid a hand on her shoulder, applying the gentlest of pressure to push her back down. “More worried about you than the bed.” He tossed some clothes next to her then went to his desk, unlocking a drawer and rooting around inside.

  Ever’s heart pounded against her ribcage. She should go. Take the clothes and…And what? He hadn’t assigned her quarters. There was nowhere on the Dark Hawk she could hide from him.

  And she didn’t hide.

  Men hid in fear of her, not the other way around. Her reputation haunted the borders of the Badlands. Prisoners sent into exile knew her on sight. They either feared or hunted her, thinking to make her some sort of trophy. She didn’t allow those men to live long enough to reconsider.

  Yet here she was, contemplating running from a man armed with nothing more than a cloth he dug from his desk. Ever squared her shoulders, determined to silence her irrational panic. He was just a man. A captain, yes, but still just a man—and a small one at that.

  “Here,” he said, dabbing at her arm with the cloth. “Keep some pressure on it unless you want to pay Henri a return visit. Personally, I don’t much fancy the idea of seeing her again tonight.”

  “Nor do I. Thank you for your kindness.” She held the fabric, convinced it was her own fingers that so warmed her skin.

  “For now, why don’t we discuss this mission of yours in a bit more detail?” He pulled the chair over from the desk, flipped it around and straddled it, crossing his arms along the back and looking at her.

  Ever fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. She wasn’t a criminal and this was not an interrogation. So why did his staring make her so uncomfortable? Instead of dwelling, she forced her thoughts to the matter at hand.

  “Queen Lavinia is dead. Her daughter, Laurette, is deep within the borders of the United States at university. We must return her to the Badlands with all haste.” When the captain didn’t say anything, she pressed on, “Every day without a ruler, the Badlands will fall more and more into the hands of the prisoners. It will turn into the wild, untamed land the Union always believed it to be, and it will be that much harder for rule to be reestablished.”

  The captain’s mouth quirked to the side. “My employer might take issue with the Dark Hawk doing this job off the books.”

  Her lips pressed tight together. If he wasn’t going to help her, she’d already told him too much. “If you are unwilling to assist me then I will, of course, seek out another vessel at the earliest convenience.” She stood and swept up the clothes from the bed. “My heartfelt appreciation for the medical care and transport to your ship’s berth.” Ever tried to squeeze past him.

  He caught her arm in a gentle, but firm, grip. “I didn’t say we wouldn’t help you, only that we need to keep it quiet. I need this shipping route to stay open and active and that won’t happen if your government collapses. But Henrietta’s father owns the Dark Hawk until I pay off my contract. He doesn’t want to give up the ship and is waiting for me to give him a reason not to. Which means Henri can’t know what we’re doing until it’s too late for her to cause problems. And it’s best if you don’t discuss it with the crew because not all of them can be trusted to keep their traps shut.”

  “None of them?” She forced herself to think of Zeke and ignored the heat burning through her at the captain’s touch.

  “It’s probably safer.”

  “And what assurance do I have that I can trust you, Captain?”

  He tipped his head back and met her gaze, turmoil stirring in the depths of his eyes. “None. I’ve nothing to offer you but my word.”

  Chapter Four

  The look Ever shot him pierced his heart, pain tinged with fear and sadness. Soon enough she schooled her features back into their normal stern set. “Then forgive me for saying I will only provide you with information when necessary. For now, all you need to know is I require passage to and from the Union.”

  Spencer stood, his hand still on her arm, unwilling to lose the contact it offered him. “Ever, I’m not saying you can’t trust me, only that I don’t have something tangible that says I won’t betray you. All I’ve got is my promise that your success means my livelihood.” Standing, their eyes were almost level, he only had to tip his down slightly to meet her gaze. “I don’t need details yet, but I’m not your enemy. If you know some way for me to prove it, I’m more
than willing to try.”

  Her lips pressed together and pain filled her eyes once more as she shook her head. “I would like to believe the time will come when a test is not needed, but this is too important.” She tore from his grasp and strode into the corridor.

  He stared after her retreating form for a long moment then he sank into the chair, head in his hands. Women. Every time he let one onto this ship, things went sour. Though to be fair, Ever had been rescued and he wasn’t given a choice about Henri. Mahala was the only woman he’d invited aboard since Elsbeth.

  He raised his head and glanced at the tintype next to his bed. They both looked so serious; they’d been told not to smile. The instant the process was complete they’d burst into gales of laughter, teasing each other about how ship’s officers needed to be able to wear the severe expression far longer than the photographer had expected.

  Then they’d left their parents and taken the Dark Hawk up for its maiden voyage. She sailed with him for nearly five years. Until the day they’d gone hunting with Zeke after off-loading cargo. While Spencer and Zeke argued about who had brought the elk down, Elsbeth raced ahead to finish it off.

  Her scream had made his blood run cold.

  Elsbeth wasn’t the only one who had rushed in to claim the kill. A puma stood atop her body. Four bloody gashes stretched from her shoulder across her abdomen. Both men cocked their rifles but the sound didn’t frighten the animal away. It turned toward them, and the far side of its head reflected the sunlight. Metal rivets were driven into the animal’s skull, holding a monocle in position where its eye should have been. The monocle turned, focusing on them.

  “Cap’n, we need to go,” Zeke’s voice quivered with something too close to fear for Spencer’s liking. The wind eddied, dirt swirling around them like a vortex.

  The smell of blood and animals assaulted his nose. “After we get Elsbeth.”

  “She’s dead. That thing’s been let loose. It don’t have a master out here telling it what to do. It’s a killing machine, Spence. We can’t stop it.” The big man’s hand fell on Spencer’s arm, pulling him away from the scene. “You have to let her go, Cap’n.”

  Spencer shrugged off his first officer’s grip. “The ship can’t fly if we’re all dead. Go back to the Dark Hawk. I’ll either be a few minutes behind you, or I’m not coming.”

  As expected, Zeke followed orders. Spencer trained his gun on the puma’s clockwork eye, and it let out a snarl. Without hesitating, he pulled the trigger. The animal twisted, its claws digging into Elsbeth’s exposed skin. As the bullet impacted its side, its body flew backward, claws ripping through flesh and muscle.

  Spencer shouldered the weapon and raced forward to scoop his sister up. The mechanical eye of the puma twisted and refocused on his face. He turned from it and carried Elsbeth back to the ship, her blood tracing their path in the dirt. In his guilt over leaving, Zeke volunteered for the transfusion she needed. Elsbeth had died with a scream on her lips that sounded eerily like the puma. The clockwork eye had haunted Spencer’s dreams ever since.

  “Something on your mind, Spencer?”

  Henri’s voice jerked him from the memory. Eyes still on the tintype, he swallowed hard once, cursing himself for both dwelling on the past and for leaving his door open. He stood and carried the chair back to his desk. “Nothing of a medical nature.” It was the most polite way he could tell her it was none of her business.

  She moved closer until her corseted breasts brushed against his arm. “Your mental health is as important to me as your physical well-being.”

  He stepped away and waved her into the corridor. After shouldering past her, Spencer eased the door shut. “My head is fine too, Henrietta. What do you need?”

  She sniffed. “Our new passenger has claimed a corner of the loading bay as her home. While I appreciate that she has covered herself, this presents yet a new set of problems.” Strands of hair had fallen from her coiffure, a sure sign Henri had already had her own run-in with Ever.

  “I’ll take care of it.” He had a ship to manage. He didn’t have time to keep running interference between the two of them.

  Packed as it was with goods intended for the fortress, Spencer had to wend his way through the loading bay. He found Ever seated in a far corner, her back against the wall as she combed fingers through the snarls in her damp hair. How Henri discovered her stowed all the way back here, he’d never know. She’d donned the green shirt under her belt, the other hung draped across a nearby crate.

  Not wanting to startle her, Spencer cleared his throat.

  She didn’t even glance up, just kept tugging fingers through her hair. “Captain.” Her voice was flat, giving nothing away.

  He sighed, wishing just once she would meet him halfway. Why did she have to make everything so difficult? “I may have to earn your trust, but as a gesture of good faith, I’d like to offer you a proper bunk.”

  The snort that came from the corner was the last thing he expected. “Lying does not exactly inspire my faith in you.” She raised her head and met his eyes at last. “Your little doll already informed me I could not stay here. Like the clothing, I will accept the sleeping arrangements in order to keep your crew happy.” Ever pushed up from the ground and gathered the shirt and her weapons. “But do not pretend it is some noble gesture.”

  There was nothing Spencer could say to that. He kicked himself mentally. She was right and he’d managed to shove her further away with the deception. He’d planned on assigning her quarters, but it happened now because Henri pushed and he caved. Just like with the clothes. At what point had he lost control of his ship?

  Ever followed the captain back up from the bowels of the ship to the corridor she’d run from earlier. He opened the door directly next to his quarters. She paused a moment. She’d staked out the spot below to be as far from him as possible. The suggested cabin was much too close.

  “When Henri came aboard, she claimed our stateroom, said it was her right as the owner’s daughter. I hope crew quarters are acceptable.” His face colored a tiny bit.

  Did the woman always get her way? Ever glanced inside. The cabin was similar to his, but without the personal touches: the desk less worn, blanket instead of coverlet, bare walls, and not a tintype to be seen. “I do not require finery. This is more than adequate. Thank you.”

  “If you need anything, I’m next door. Mahala’s across the way, and Zeke next to her.”

  Ever nodded and moved to the closet, swaying with the gentle motion of the airship. The brass hangers inside were fixed on the rod, and she buttoned the top of the blouse as she hung it up. When she stepped back, Spencer was still standing in the doorway. “Is there something else?”

  “Yes. Our conversation earlier interrupted my attempts to rectify your clothing situation—”

  “I am passable now, correct?” Ever waved a hand at the shirt.

  “Of course, I just thought you might want—”

  Zeke popped his head into the room. “There you are, Cap’n. Mahala says we crossed the border several miles back. We should be in Austin by morning.”

  “Austin?” Ever knew the people of Texas were wild, like the Badlands, but with men in charge they had little order or stability. South of the Badlands, their territory stretched east to the cursed Mississippi River, west to the ocean and south to Mexico. Her soldiers often traded with Texans during patrols and she’d learned enough about the geography to know the Dark Hawk’s destination lay well within its borders. “Why so far south? We need to—”

  Spencer held up a hand to silence her and she crossed her arms, glowering at him while she waited. “Thank you, Zeke. Tell Mahala if she sets us a course, I can take over the helm so she can rest.”

  Zeke nodded, favored Ever with a smile and disappeared back into the corridor.

  Stepping to the door, Captain Pierce eased it shut. “We’re going to Austin because a straight shot to the north puts us over too much Badlands territory. Another air battle isn’t
on my list of things to do. Besides, Zeke’s family lives there. We can unload and make better speed. I’m trying to keep your secret, Ever, but if you make a habit of questioning my decisions in front of the crew, it’s going to be hard.” He rubbed a hand across his brow with a weary sigh. “You need to get some rest. We’ll outfit you better in Austin. I have some favors I can call in.”

  His words were like a slap in the face. She was doing as much to risk the princess as anyone with the way she hounded him. As the captain laid his hand on the door, Ever stopped him with a word. “Apologies, Captain. I am accustomed to making decisions, not being unaware of them. Please forgive me.”

  The nod he gave was the barest of movements. “Get some sleep.” He pushed the door open and left her alone.

  She stood, staring at the door for several minutes before she accepted that he wouldn’t return. Her fingers tore at the buckles of her weapons belt and she tossed it onto the bed. The gaslamps burned low, their radiance reflecting off the furniture’s brass fixings. She removed the borrowed shirt and sank onto the bed, intending to simply rest her eyes for a few minutes.

  As soon as the mattress enveloped her body though, fatigue overtook her.

  Visions haunted her sleep. The queen’s head on a pike, screaming at her to fulfill her role then telling her she had earned a reprieve from duty. Clockwork animals stabbing at her skin, bringing both life and death. Princess Laurette’s murder in a dozen vivid incarnations. The gliders falling from the sky, bodies mangled as they crashed into the rocks below. The faces of the Dark Hawk’s crew painted in blood. Zeke. No. Spencer.

  Ever flailed on the bed, her limbs tangled in the blankets, a silent scream on her lips. Sweat drenched her body when she finally awoke, breath coming in panicked gasps. Sitting up on the bed, her fingers searched out her weapons but touching them brought little comfort. She knew sleep wouldn’t come easy the rest of the night. After dressing, she made her way to the bridge, intending to sit up with the young pilot. Mahala hadn’t seemed the sort to insist on small talk.