by Bec McMaster
Then he turned and stormed out before he saw the answer on her face.
* * *
"If you want to lose your virginity, then you don't need a stranger. I'm right here."
Oh, God. What had she done? What had she said? Ava slammed Dr. Erasmus Cremorne's diaries closed, unable to concentrate on them or the task at hand. She'd used them to research the transformation from blue blood to dhampir when Byrnes's life hung in the balance, and only her ability to create the elixir vitae herself and give him the next doses had been able to save him. She'd wanted to find if there was any mention of something that might affect the dhampir in a Black Vein way, but Kincaid's words kept ringing in her ears.
A perfectly logical, rational decision? Ha! What was logical about this incessant ache? She could barely think. She'd read the same page several times over, until the words all blended into each other.
Who did he think he was?
Ava pressed her fingers to her temples. He'd given her time to think about it, and so that was what she was going to do. She wanted Kincaid. He was correct in that assumption. She'd wanted him in some sort of physical way ever since he’d looked at her that night and told her to touch him. But what about... all the problems that might arise if she let him be her lover?
They were working a case together.
She'd see him every day, regardless of how this ended.
What if there was some argument? Some unpleasantness? She could not escape him if there was, and she liked her new job working for Malloryn. It gave her purpose, and a sense of excitement.
And speaking of Malloryn, he certainly wouldn't approve.
Ava sighed, going to make herself another pot of tea. She needed to weigh up the advantages and disadvantages of the situation.
Lust was not always enough.
Though it was a very, very convincing argument.
* * *
"Here's something," Kincaid said, striding into the laboratory at Malloryn's safe house and finding Ava curled up in an armchair, asleep, with a cold cup of tea sitting beside her. He'd spent six hours questioning Mr. Thomas's neighbors, though he had to admit he'd been distracted.
Who wouldn't be when the one woman who got under his skin professed a sudden desire to lose her virginity?
He paused as he stared down at her.
She'd tucked her feet up underneath her skirts, and her head rested on her outflung arm, a diary of sorts in her lap. It looked terribly uncomfortable, but for a moment, looking down into her heart-shaped face, he had a feeling of... something. And it vexed him to not know what that something was.
"Ava?" He shook her gently.
It was like watching the sun dawn on the horizon; a flicker of her lashes, her eyes blinking sleepily as awareness came back into her face. The faintest of smiles when she saw him. "Kincaid?"
"Sleeping Beauty," he murmured, caught for a moment in the spell of seeing her like this.
"Pardon?" She was swiftly rousing, and his statement clearly flummoxed her enough to get that clever little mind working. "Are you speaking of fairy tales?"
"It seemed to suit the situation," he replied with a soft smile as he sank into the armchair opposite her. "All it needed was one kiss to truly wake her. And I know how much you like the idea of them."
Ava blinked at him, and just like magic, her cheeks turned rosy.
Kincaid waited for her to refer to their earlier argument—and his proclamation. It was written all over her, but she swallowed, and then cleared her throat. "Did you... did you question the neighbors?"
Ah, business then. He smiled at her, unfooled by her redirection. She hadn't said no, and she needed time to think about it.
He could be patient.
"I did."
"And?"
"A curious thing," he said. "Mr. Thomas only discovered three days ago he was stricken with the craving virus. It's a very interesting tale. He was most shocked, hence why the woman who did his washing knew."
"Shocked?"
He could understand the question. With a single drop of blood able to transmit the craving virus, most people who developed it knew they were at risk, or at least suspected. There was usually an altercation. Or a man or woman was paid for blood, or sex, or sometimes both. "With good reason," he said, passing her a small piece of paper. "This is the vaccination certificate for Mr. David Thomas, who attended the clinic on St. Paul's Street. Six weeks ago, he received a vaccination for the craving virus. He was rabidly anti-blue blood. A humanist through and through."
Ava sat up abruptly, peering at the certificate. "But that's.... Then how did he get the craving? The vaccination is quite safe. It's been thoroughly tested. And we've had no evidence of anyone coming down with the craving postvaccination."
Kincaid scratched at his jaw. "Did he have the craving before he received the vaccination?"
She started pacing, her skirts dragging behind her, and a lovely little frown drawn between her pale brows. Those stockinged toes sank into the carpets. "Now you've mentioned it, I cannot help but recall seeing something about a vaccination somewhere. Dr. Gibson showed me the files on the other victims, and I swear there was a note in there. I'll have another look for it. They're in my rooms."
"Are you certain?" She looked exhausted, despite the fact it was night, and therefore a blue blood’s “day.”
Ava waved him off, already turning back toward the autopsy rooms. "I'm certain. There's no use in me seeking my bed tonight, not with all these questions circling through my head. I'll be awake all night, staring at the ceiling. Might as well have a look. I'll see you on the morrow."
Then she was gone, leaving him alone in the armchair with an unanswered question in the forefront of his mind.
Seven
"FOUND IT!" AVA declared, holding the folder up high as she hunted Kincaid down the following afternoon. She could hear him moving around inside his bedchamber at the secret house, and rapped swiftly on the door.
"Come in," he called.
"I was right. There is more to this than expected," she said excitedly, slipping inside his bedchamber. "Two of the other victims recently received vaccinations! One of them was a staunch humanist and the other—" Ava staggered to an abrupt halt, losing track of what precisely she'd been saying.
For there he was.
Half naked.
And everything she'd been trying to forget rushed back in. "Pretend all you like, kitten. I know you shiver when I touch you."
Kincaid's braces hung from his waist as he stared into his mirror, and the top button of his trousers was undone in the reflection. There was a towel around his bulky neck, barely covering the heavy slabs of his pectoral muscles, and a froth of shaving cream covered his cheeks. She wasn't a complete innocent; she'd seen half the Nighthawks at the guild in various states of undress as they fought and sparred in the weapons room, but Kincaid was... different.
For one thing, he was an absolute brute of a man, layered with thick, heavy muscle, his left hand constructed purely of steel spars and hydraulics. The posterior triangle of trapezius muscle flexed in his back like a pugilist’s, and his deltoids rippled... both drawing her attention and making her mouth a little dry.
For another, Kincaid was the only man who got to her like this. Every time their eyes met, she couldn't stop herself from blushing. There was just something about the look in them.
If I were a worldly woman, I'd diagnose you with a severe case of lust.
Antidote: either pretend it's not happening, or... submit to it. Get it out of your system.
"What are you doing?" she squeaked. This was not helping her levels of distraction.
Which was probably exactly what he'd intended when he told her to come in.
"What does it look like?" A black lock of hair fell over his forehead, highlighting the blue of his eyes in the reflection. "A man has to shave."
"Yes... but...." Ava gestured to his chest, and didn't quite have the words to continue. He had a thick pelt of black hair on his c
hest, and a trail of it led suggestively from his navel down into his—
She jerked her gaze elsewhere, feeling flushed and bothered. There was some sort of steel contraption circling his waist under his waistband, but his trousers were tight enough for her to see prime example of an exquisite gluteus maximus and she forgot what she'd been thinking about.
Kincaid smiled smugly when he saw where her attention had gone. "Are you tempted, Ava? Are you thinking about my proposition?"
My goodness. Her cheeks heated, and she abruptly gave him her back, squeezing her eyes shut. There was no help for it: the image of him was imprinted behind her eyelids. How horrifically embarrassing. "I am trying to concentrate on this case."
"Ah, the case. So... two other blue bloods visited the vaccination clinics recently and ended up dead with Black Vein," he mused, and the sound of the scrape of his razor over his skin made her nipples harden. "I'm no investigator, but that sounds like a connection."
Ava stared at the wall, the folder curled against her chest. Concentrate, damn you. "Uh, yes. Francis Jenkins was the second victim, and Marcus Long was the fourth. Both had been vaccinated around a month before they died." There was a pause. Water dripped, and she could only imagine it gleaming on Kincaid's smooth cheeks... sliding down his hairy chest in rivulets. "Could you please put some clothes on?"
"Why?" That suggestive lilt was back in his voice as fabric rustled. A towel, perhaps. "Does it bother you?"
"Yes."
"Keep your voice down," he murmured, setting something aside with a clank. His razor, she suspected. "We're surrounded by people with exceptionally fine hearing."
"What's wrong? We're not speaking of anything untoward, are we? You're not embarrassed by your suggestion?"
"I value my balls where they are, thank you very much, and several Rogues have made quite complicated threats to their well-being, should I even look at you twice."
Her cheeks had to rival a sunset right about now. The other members of the Company of Rogues had threatened him? Wait... what? "That makes no sense. It's not as though I have to beat my suitors away with a stick. I would have thought Gemma a more likely candidate for seduction?"
The femme fatale gave new meaning to the word alluring. Sometimes Ava just liked to sit and watch Gemma in action when she was flirting. The other woman always had a witty comeback, a saucy double entendre. Sometimes Ava wished she too had the same confidence and easy manner, but she might as well be wishing for the moon.
"You underestimate your attractions, especially to a man like me. Gemma's the one warning me away. She smiled very sweetly as she offered to poison my tea with a severe emetic. Then there's Malloryn, of course, who was most put out to find Ingrid and Byrnes in a dalliance. He wouldn't approve. You're you and I'm me, and never the twain shall meet. That sort of thing."
Never the twain shall meet? "That's not what you were proposing last night."
"Oh, were you thinking of accepting?"
Ava caught her breath. "I haven't decided, but I will thank the lot of them to keep their noses out of my affairs."
"They're just protecting you."
"I can make my own decisions, thank you very much. I am not a child. I am not a weak-willed woman. And if I want to indulge in an affair, then that is my business and no one else's."
"Perhaps Gemma thinks I have a bad reputation?"
"You do." She'd seen women eye him appreciably, and Kincaid had often given them a wink in return. That utterly wicked smile spoke more than words ever could. "Now... are you dressed? We have to work out why there are five dead blue bloods."
"Yes, I'm dressed." Fabric rustled once again. "Your poor innocent eyes should be safe if you turn around. So what's the diagnosis? Disease? Murder?"
"I don't know. But don't you find it interesting this Black Vein rears its head at this particular time—right when Lord Ulbricht and the dhampir group have shown themselves committed to causing civil unrest in London? Right when one of the dhampir themselves died in the same way? As much as I dislike leaping to conclusions, as you said, that sounds like a connection."
She chanced a look at him, only to find him doing up the buttons on his shirt. A pity.
Ava pinched herself. Not a pity. It is not a pity. She needed to forget he'd ever put his hands on her at the Garden of Eden. It was too distracting, too close to home. There was nothing between her and Kincaid.
You're lying to yourself. You find Kincaid physically compatible.
If one were looking at a list of faults and strengths, then she had to admit she found him attractive in a visceral, somewhat barbaric way. He was no gentleman, and sometimes it looked like his shoulders threatened to tear through his shirt and coat.
Ava belatedly realized he was staring at her, and he'd said something, and— "Pardon?"
"We don't even know they're working together," he clearly repeated, looking younger with such smooth cheeks. "Ulbricht was Zero's puppet. There may be no connection between him and the remaining dhampir, now she's dead."
She forced herself to focus. "But their cause is the same. Civil unrest, chaos, the queen off the throne, and in Ulbricht's case, the Echelon back in control."
"I'll concede that point, but what makes you think our little mystery is even connected to them? It sounds like there's something wrong with the vaccination, a side effect or a... vulnerability. Something causing this Black Vein, since you're not convinced this is a disease."
"Perhaps there's a bad batch of vaccine? The science behind it is accurate—I remember reading about it in the medical monthlies when Sir Artemus Todd published it posthumously, but I confess I simply haven't had the time to research the science in more depth." The black veins in Mr. Thomas's pale dead face sprang to mind again. Ava frowned. "The vaccine works because the craving virus cells they inject have been made inert. So if it were a bad batch, then you could perhaps say Francis Jenkins, Marcus Long, and David Thomas might then become blue bloods—which is what happened. But... there's no reason to suspect it would do anything other than afflict them with the craving. No black veins. No side effects, barring perhaps a fever. I've been speaking to Dr. Gibson, and the entire time the craving virus has been known in England, there's never been a single case of something like this happening to a blue blood. This Black Vein looks like... like something ravaged Mr. Thomas's body, rupturing all his veins and capillaries and making a mess of his inner organs. The craving virus simply couldn't heal all that damage in time. But I would like to attend some of the clinics today, just to see what their procedures are like, and whether Jenkins, Long, and Thomas are isolated instances."
"Sounds more like connected instances to me," he said. "We just happen to have three dead bodies, who were all recently vaccinated, and all just happened to come down with this Black Vein?"
Ava released a slow breath. "I've been taught not to believe in coincidence and not to make judgment until we have solid evidence. If you lock your mind into a position, then it's very easy to convince yourself with the merest fragment of proof."
"Still, it's a damned good thing I haven't received a vaccination," Kincaid muttered, rubbing his arm.
"You were thinking of getting the vaccination?" Of course he was. He despised blue bloods, and the worst thing any humanist could imagine would be to become infected. "What stopped you?"
After all, it had become common practice among those who were rabidly humanist as soon as the vaccine was made widely available.
Kincaid shrugged. "I don't like needles."
Ava felt a smile curve her lips.
"What?" he demanded.
"Nothing."
His eyes narrowed. "You're trying not to laugh at me."
She couldn't help herself. It erupted from her in a loud snort. "It's just the thought of you, Liam I'm-too-brash-for-my-own-good Kincaid, shuddering at the thought of a needle." The mere image of it set her off again. "Mr. I don't need laudanum for my broken nose because I'm far too brave for that."
Kincaid
very carefully crossed his arms over his chest, scowling down at her with menacing form. "Miss McLaren, I'm a man. I am brave."
"You're a fool," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's not as though I thought any better of you for denying yourself pain relief for your nose. That's not courage. That's obstinacy."
"Well, I was flirting with you. I hardly wanted to look like I had the pain tolerance of a child."
"While you had a broken nose?" she demanded. "You were not!"
"I assure you, I was."
Kincaid would flirt with her dead grandmother. Ava turned away with a scowl of her own. She didn't know why that thought bothered her so much. "I shouldn't believe a word that comes out of your mouth."
But a little part of her was still wondering....
Disadvantages: he is arrogant, he hates blue bloods, and he drives me insane.
Advantages: he thinks I'm not like other women. In a good way. And he called me beautiful.
There was silence.
"What?" she demanded.
"Nothing."
But she could tell it was something all right. He had that thoughtful expression that made her feel a little wary at times.
"Spit it out. It's not as though we've ever kept secrets from each other." Indeed, the blunt way he spoke his mind often made her feel relaxed—she had a terrible habit of blurting whatever came to her mind, after all, and it was nice to know she could do that with him.
Kincaid grabbed his coat, slinging his arms through it. The metal spars of his mech hand caught in the fabric, and he worked them free. "You may think the worst of me, Ava, but the truth is, you also think the worst of yourself. The very idea a man might be flirting with you or find you attractive doesn't even occur to you, does it?"
She was trapped between him and the door, and the sudden lack of space between them made her nervous. Ava dashed a blonde curl behind her ear. "What... what do you mean?"
Kincaid pressed a hand against the door beside her head, leaning closer. The scent of his cologne did wicked things to her, and the hunger within her awoke, whispering naughty thoughts inside her head.
