by Bec McMaster
Ava's face was so very, very pale. "You said your brother died."
"He did." Kincaid forced himself to look her in the eye. "The same way my uncle will. His heart gave out. Like I said, it's a degenerative muscular disorder, and the heart is a muscle."
Ava dragged her hands over her mouth. "No."
"Yes." His voice sounded cool and rational, but his heart was beating like a racehorse’s in his chest. "I don't know how many years I have ahead of me. Ian's lasted years beyond Will. And it's early. My legs are weakening, I can feel it, but the braces keep me upright for now. One day I'll be in a wheeled chair. One day I'll be unable to get out of bed. And one day...."
He couldn't say it.
"Is there no cure?"
"Malloryn's instructed the Royal College of Physicians to try and find one, but... I don't hold much hope."
Ava was frozen, looking absolutely horrified. "What about the craving virus?"
"No."
"It can heal virtually anything."
"You think that's any better? To become a—" He remembered to whom he was talking.
"A monster?" she whispered, looking even paler.
"Ava."
"Do you think me a monster?"
"No!" He held his hands up in a placating manner. "But what if it doesn't stop my illness? There are some illnesses, some tumors, the craving virus hasn't been able to help. I don't know if I could dare hope. And it goes against everything I've ever believed."
"You're being stubborn," she snapped, "because of your prejudices. If you'd just accept—"
"What? You want to lecture me? Why don't we discuss the way you accept your nature?"
Ava froze.
"Aye," he said deliberately. "You keep saying I'm the one with prejudices, and I should risk all in the hopes the craving virus will heal me, but you're the one who can't abide blood. You're the one who keeps working on this mysterious 'formula,' so you can pretend to be what you aren't—"
"That's not fair. And I won't take offense at it. You're afraid.... And—"
"Of course I'm bloody afraid." He rasped his hand over his mouth, reining himself back in. He didn't want to hurt her, but couldn't she see how difficult this was for him? "You live in a world of 'maybe,' Ava. And it's part of what draws me to you. Despite everything, you still have hope in your eyes, and it makes you more beautiful than you will ever know. But for me there is no maybe. All I can see is the end. I am going to die. Maybe not tomorrow, but in a few years. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I am. But as I said, fairy tales don't exist. Not in real life. And I'll live every day between now and then as if it were my last, but I won't drag you down with me."
"Is that your choice?" Her eyes were shining, but there were no tears. "It feels like you're not even giving me a decision in this."
"Because I know what that decision would be. Your most beautiful trait is the empathy you can't hide. I won't be pitied. I won't ruin your life because you think you need to nurse me into the grave." He could see everything she felt flickering over her face. "You want marriage, and you want children, and I will not inflict this on a child. I can't." His voice broke. "This bloody curse can die with me."
Kincaid nodded to her curtly, his insides twisted in knots. "I just wanted you to know. And if you choose not to go forward with our agreement, then I'll understand. This is becoming emotionally tangled for both of us, and that's not fair on you. I'm sorry. I should have told you earlier."
But I wanted to touch you just once, and I couldn't deny myself.
Then he turned and stormed out of the alley, unable to bear the look in her eyes any longer.
Seventeen
KINCAID CIRCLED CHARLIE. The young lad was lean and Kincaid dwarfed him, but the bastard was a craver through and through. Which meant he was faster than Kincaid, stronger, and recovered quicker.
If Kincaid didn't have a biomech hand that could punch its way through walls, then he'd be seriously outclassed.
He didn't care if he was outclassed right now. A part of him wanted to be punished, and maybe if he let the physical pain of a fight overwhelm him, then it wouldn't hurt so much inside.
He hadn't seen Ava since last night, when he dropped her home at the safe house and then went and got blind roaring drunk with Xander, ignoring the way his friend kept looking at him as if he knew something was wrong.
And there'd been a note this morning, a quiet one full of unspoken hurt, where she'd told him she'd knocked on his door and waited for him, but she needed to see to something at the guild and could no longer wait.
It was better this way. Wasn't it?
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Charlie asked.
"Just hit me already."
Charlie sighed, and then came at him in a blur of fists. Knuckles slammed into his side, and Kincaid retaliated with a sharp elbow, following up with a left hook that almost connected with the lad's nose.
He'd extended too far. Pain exploded through his cheekbone as Charlie planted him with a fistful of fives.
"Sorry," Charlie said, dropping his fists from a pugilist stance as Kincaid staggered back.
"Don't be sorry," Kincaid growled, and drove at him, desperately needing to drive the horrible feeling inside him away.
They punched, and wrestled, and slammed each other into walls. Blows turned his vision white, and he was soon limping, his body fatigued and bruised, while Charlie looked fresh as a daisy.
It rankled. He'd been worse than useless the night Zero attacked him and Byrnes and broke his nose. How could a human fight something that moved faster than he could even track? Surviving was the best he could manage, which often left him wondering precisely why the Duke of Malloryn had ever asked him to join the Company of Rogues.
He wasn't useless, and he wouldn't let this disease steal his sense of worth from him.
He was a good man in a fight, and he was tired of being taken for the weakest link on the team.
Kincaid went on the attack. Charlie danced around him, anticipating the next blow, and then answering with a right uppercut that slipped beneath Kincaid's guard.
His ears rang, his feet went out from under him, and then he was staring up at the ceiling, rolling his tongue around his mouth to check for broken teeth. Fuck.
"Jesus, are you all right?" An earnest head peered down at him, and that only pissed him off more. "I didn't mean to hit you so hard."
Grabbing the lad's hand, Kincaid hauled himself to his feet. "If you don't hit me hard in training, then the dhampir will when it counts. I need to learn to take those hits."
There was blood in his mouth. He spat through the open window and rinsed his mouth out, just in time to see Malloryn prance into the room.
"You're not enjoying this half enough," Malloryn told Charlie, who arched a brow dubiously.
"I don't enjoy hurting my friends," the lad replied. His fists were low, and he had a determined look on his face, as though he was going to refuse to go any further with this. "I'm done. You've got a death wish this morning, and you're not even protecting yourself."
Malloryn's calculating gaze slid toward Kincaid. "Trouble?"
"Nothing you need to know about."
Sometimes he didn't know why he was there. He was human, half-mech, and a lot of his principles didn't align with Malloryn's. The only thing they shared was the past. Both of them had fought to tear down the corrupt prince consort, though sometimes Kincaid wondered why Malloryn had lifted a finger.
Power?
He'd already been on the ruling Council of Dukes.
And he liked to glide through the shadows, even now. No. Malloryn's motives were completely opaque, and Kincaid wasn't sure if he wanted to know why the man did what he did.
"You," he said, pointing a finger at the duke and tilting his head toward the mats, "and me. Let's go."
Malloryn stilled. "I don't think that's a good idea."
Kincaid couldn't stop a grin. "Why?" He rolled his shoulders. "Think I'm going to spray those pretty teeth all o
ver the room?"
"He's got one hell of a punch on him," Charlie warned Malloryn.
"Or do you save all those suave moves for a waltz at court?" Kincaid taunted.
Malloryn's eyes narrowed to thin slits. "If you think you're going to bait me into a match by referring to my conceit, then I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. I've been called many things in my time. Coward isn't something that riles me."
"Pretty boy?" Kincaid suggested, and if possible, those eyes narrowed even further.
"It's probably not a bad idea," Charlie said, his eyes meeting Kincaid's in a brief flash of conspiracy. "If we're attacked, Your Grace, then you'll need to know how to defend yourself."
"I know how to defend myself." Malloryn sounded irritated. "And if you call me 'pretty' one more time, I'll have to assume you're courting me. I've already got someone warming my bed."
"As well as a fiancée," Charlie pointed out, and Malloryn's scowl darkened.
"No interest in courting," Kincaid said. "Though I'll give you a love tap or two."
The pair of them circled him, and Malloryn's gaze swung between them. Charlie bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes alight in anticipation, "I promise I won't tell anyone if he beats you."
"Fine. Let's do this then. Once." Malloryn pointed at Kincaid. "You, on the mats." Shrugging out of his jacket, he turned that cool look on Charlie. "And to make this even, you can join him. If the two of you can take me down, then I'll forward you an extra month’s worth of wages." Malloryn tossed his coat toward a chair and started unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up.
Charlie crowed, but Kincaid paused. In his experience, it was rare for a man of Malloryn's arrogance to walk willingly into a trap.
Which made him wonder about Malloryn's fighting ability.
He'd never seen the duke fight, though he knew Malloryn was devilishly handy with a pistol. He'd proved that when they all rode to rescue Byrnes last month.
Malloryn wasn't the sort to set himself up for embarrassment. No. He was the sort to set a trap, and as he caught Kincaid's eye, he smiled faintly.
Son of a bitch.
This was going to hurt, he suspected.
The pair of them danced around the duke as he limbered up. Malloryn had stripped to his trousers, like they had, and the duke was surprisingly muscular for a man Kincaid hadn't seen actually do much.
"Anytime the pair of you are ready," Malloryn said, shooting Kincaid a mocking little smile.
He went in, hammering a blow toward Malloryn's weaker side, but the duke was suddenly not there, striking up with a chop of his hand that slammed into Kincaid's throat.
He hit the mats, feeling like he couldn't breathe, and knowing Malloryn pulled the blow. Fuck. Charlie was dancing around, faring a little better, and Kincaid swallowed hard, before kicking the duke's feet out from under him.
Malloryn wasn't down for long. He arched his back and flipped onto his feet, turning to keep them both in his line of sight. He looked mildly discomposed.
And Kincaid suddenly wanted to take the bastard down.
"Work as a team," Kincaid told Charlie, lumbering to his feet, his braces holding him upright as he settled into a more defensive stance.
They moved together, trying to take Malloryn unawares. Punches hammered toward the duke, but he was simply never there. A hand caught Kincaid's wrist, heaving him in a wrestler’s throw, and he somehow managed to flip over Malloryn's back, landing on his feet. Charlie stepped in, trying to distract the duke, and Kincaid decided the only way to do this was to throw all his cards in.
He took the duke down in a dive, Malloryn twisting like a cut cat in his arms. An elbow slammed into his solar plexus, and then his jaw, and Kincaid saw stars as the duke rolled over him and landed a sweeping kick to Charlie's chest.
"Jesus." Charlie hit the mats.
Kincaid tried to lift himself off them. This was not working the way he'd planned. Everything hurt.
"Where... the fuck... did you learn to fight like that?" Kincaid panted, hands on his knees, as he waited for Charlie to get to his feet.
"I was one of the heirs of a Great House." Malloryn was at least breathing hard. "The first time someone tried to kill me, I was six, for the only way to become head of one of the Echelon Houses is to either assassinate your way to the top, or present a duel to the death. My father was ambitious. I started playing with knives when I was two."
"Well," Gemma drawled from the doorway. "I hate to interrupt the sweat session, however, there's been a note, and it says it's urgent."
Malloryn lowered his hands from their defensive stance. "Had enough?"
Kincaid lifted his head from his slumped pose, then exhaled and nodded. "Yeah. You win."
Gemma clucked her tongue. "Which one of you two was foolish enough to challenge him?"
Kincaid raised a hand, then reached out to offer Charlie a lift to his feet.
"In Kincaid's defense"—Charlie threw the words over his shoulder—"I was right there with him. Didn't know His Grace could handle himself."
"Perhaps next time we can oil all three of you up, and let you have at it?" A sudden innocent smile decorated her full mouth, and her gaze slid over the three of them lasciviously. "But only if I get to let the rest of the ladies watch."
Charlie flushed pink and scrabbled for his shirt. Both Kincaid and Malloryn eyed each other. The duke's smile had faded, and he was once again reverting back to his controlled persona.
Pity. For a second, Kincaid had almost liked the bastard. Even if he was mercilessly beating the pair of them.
"You used to be more fun, Auvry," Gemma murmured, crossing her arms over her chest.
Malloryn sighed, and dragged his shirt on, buttoning it up to his chin. "I used to be naïve too. Yes, even me. What have you got for me?"
Gemma held up a small envelope. "I don't know. It's addressed to you, and I didn't think you'd appreciate it if I opened it."
"That's never stopped you in the past," Malloryn pointed out, snatching up the letter, and examining it. "You used to slide a hot knife under the seal, then re-melt the wax to seal it."
"Perhaps I learned my lesson?" There was something sad about her smile. "Maybe I'm not as fun as I used to be either?"
Malloryn met her eyes, and Kincaid felt like an observer in some intimate dilemma. He knew there was history between the two of them, though he doubted it was romantic. Gemma had failed Malloryn once, though that was the extent of what Kincaid had heard.
"Or perhaps that's what you want me to think." Malloryn snorted, and it broke the tension, even as he slid his thumbnail beneath the wax seal.
"You're getting cynical in your old age," Gemma retorted.
"That's what happens when one of your spies bugs your study with a recording device, and the rest of them have a betting pool on whether you're going to get your fiancée to the altar or not."
Kincaid grinned. "Well, some of us still know how to have fun."
"So far you're in front, Your Grace," Charlie said promptly. "Though if the bride cries off, do let me know. I've got fifty quid riding on it."
"Miss Hamilton's not going to cry off," Gemma said. "She trapped Malloryn into a betrothal, so she's hardly likely to...."
Kincaid's attention shifted away from the argument between Charlie and Gemma. The duke had opened the envelope, and he saw the sudden tension in Malloryn's body.
"What is it?" he barked, cutting through Gemma and Charlie's conversation.
Malloryn's gaze cut to his. "Where's Ava?"
Something about the way the duke said it made Kincaid's insides turn to ice. "She wanted to discuss something with her mentor, Dr. Gibson, at the Nighthawks guild. Why? What does it say?"
Malloryn tugged a piece of blonde hair from the envelope. "It says, 'You should keep a closer eye on your operatives.'"
Kincaid's heart kicked in his chest.
* * *
"Sure you're all right, lass?" Gibson asked, pouring her a cup of tea.
No
t really. No matter what she tried, she couldn't focus this morning, and poor Dr. Gibson had noticed.
I am going to die. Maybe not tomorrow, but in a few years. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I am. But as I said, fairy tales don't exist.
Ava moodily drew her synthetic protein solution out of her reticule. She rubbed at her arms. The smell made her feel a little ill, but she felt decidedly unbalanced today. She'd spent all night sobbing tearlessly to herself, alone in her room with her heart breaking in her chest, and all she could think was that she needed to find a cure. Something. Anything. Even if the answer was to convince Kincaid to risk the craving.
...the way you accept your nature....
Damn it.
"What do you know of degenerative muscular diseases?" she whispered.
Gibson looked up sharply, handing her the cup and saucer. "Not a great deal, I'm afraid. Why?"
"No reason." And no hope there.
Gibson went to put the blood back in its melting ice bath, but Ava suddenly reached out, stilling her hand. "May I?"
"Are you certain, lass? You've been off blood for a long time."
Too long maybe. She nodded, and laced her own tea. Blood spilled through the diluted water, like a reddened cloud in the bottom of her teacup. Ava stirred it even as heat spilled through her veins and the predator within her awoke. It felt like something alien took over her body. She was sharper, more alert, her vision suddenly catapulting forward in intensity until she could pick out the fine hairs on Gibson's cheek, and the network of capillaries beneath the good doctor's pale skin.
If she couldn't accept her own nature, then how on earth could she convince Kincaid to even consider the idea?
"Bottoms up," she said nervously, and gulped a large mouthful of her tea.
