by Bec McMaster
"Hold still," Byrnes muttered nearby, tugging the laces on Ingrid's armored corset tight.
"I'm not the one who can be poisoned," Ingrid muttered, and their eyes met.
Kincaid checked his pistol, shooting Ava a look as if to say he knew exactly how Ingrid felt. Ava had insisted upon coming, and Gemma was fitting her out in split skirts, with an armored corset, and a set of pistols.
A hiss of rope whirred past her as Charlie rappelled off the top of a building, landing in the street beside them and unhooking his grappling device. "There's definitely some suspicious movement near the factories. Lynch is coordinating the Nighthawks at factories one, two and three, and he's content to leave four and five to us. I couldn't afford to get too close, but there are dozens of shadows slipping into the factory."
"Ulbricht?" she demanded.
"Can't say."
A sudden noise rattled her to the core. Ava flinched.
"Just a cat," Kincaid murmured, stroking her back. He did that often.
She couldn't quite explain to him why she was so nervous. He'd insist she stay behind.
"Move out," Malloryn said, slipping the auditory device into his ear so he'd be able to communicate with them. "And keep your eyes open. If it is Ulbricht, then I want him alive."
"And if it's the humanists, then we use minimum force," Kincaid insisted.
"Indeed," Malloryn murmured. "Unless we're backed into a corner."
Ava slid the small brass communicator in her own ear, hearing the crackle of someone's harsh breathing. She wanted to be brave. She wanted to help the others, and she hated the idea of seeing Kincaid head in there without her to watch his back, but factory five loomed ahead of her.
Sending her right back into the past.
"Draining factory five," she whispered, staring up at the factory Hague's laboratory had once hidden beneath, as they finished arming themselves.
Kincaid looked at her sharply. "Are you all right? You've gone quite pale."
There was a tremor in her hands. "This is where Hague kept me for several months. There was a secret laboratory beneath the main floors, and he locked me in a tank of some sort of liquid, with a breathing mask over my face, and I could see everything—everything he did to those girls. To me...." Ava swallowed. Fear buzzed along her nerves, a warning tingle. "I don't think I-I can go in there."
"Look at me." Kincaid squeezed her arm. "Look at me, Ava."
She did, drawn by the heat in his voice.
"Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise. Hague is dead. And I would move hell and high water to keep you safe."He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You're safe. You're always safe with me."
"But what if you're not always there?" she whispered, and if she could have shed a tear, she would have.
Kincaid froze, a storm cloud of expression darkening his face. "Ava."
But he was the one who'd said they had no future.
"I—"
"Don't make me any promises you cannot keep," she whispered. "I love you, and I won't hide that. I can't. And I could bear it if you'd let me love you for a little while, something to cherish, a time I could look back on fondly. But if you give me hope, and then dash my heart—that I could not bear."
"We need to talk about this," he said, "but now's not the time." Hesitation filled him. "I could love you too, kitten. It would be the easiest thing in the world, and I want to. I do. But... now is not the time to speak of this."
I could love you too.
He was right. Ava turned away, watching as the rest of the Rogues armed themselves. "Do you need any help with your mech-suit?"
"I can manage, but Ava?"
She looked back.
"Always," he told her sternly. "I will always be there for you, no matter what happens between us. If you ever need me... ever, do you understand? And that's a promise I can keep. For as long as I'm still breathing."
Ava released a shuddering breath. She felt a little better now, a little more herself. "I understand."
"Then let's go hunt down Ulbricht—so we can have a moment to ourselves to talk about where this is going." Then he turned to strap himself into his Achilles armor.
* * *
"Sure you know how to shoot a pistol?"
"Perry's been teaching me." Ava opened her pistol and loaded it, before reholstering it at her waist.
Tension slid through Kincaid's chest, but there wasn't much to say. "I know you're capable," he said roughly. "I'm just worried."
"I'm a blue blood," she said. "You're human. One could say the same."
Kincaid rapped his knuckles on his mech-suit. "They've got to get through this first." And he'd been killing before Ava even knew what the craving was. He glanced to where Byrnes was checking Ingrid's armored corset. The pair of them looked at each other and he saw the same concern on both their faces; a moment where sentiment reflected.
Clearly this did not get any easier, regardless of whether the woman you loved could rip a vampire to pieces with her bare hands, or not.
Gemma silently handed Ava a flask. "Drink it."
"What is it?"
"Blood." Gemma checked the weapons strapped to Ava's hips. "And don't argue. It will prime the predator within you so you're faster and stronger, and can see and hear a little better."
He let Gemma's competence distract him from his nerves about Ava. Gemma was dressed to kill in an armored corset that covered her clothes, and an under-dress that was split at the sides to allow her freedom of movement. Gauntlets protected her hands, and wicked little spikes drove out from her knuckles. One punch and they'd pierce a man's body. He suspected they were laced with hemlock, and she had little hemlock bombs hanging from her belt, beside at least four holstered pistols.
"You're looking particularly deadly today," he noted.
Gemma smiled as Ava hesitantly tipped the flask to her lips. "Only today? I must be slipping."
"I pity the poor bastard who crosses your path."
She rapped her knuckles on his breastplate, and the spikes squealed against the metal. "One could say the same."
His glance brushed over Ava's blonde curls, and Gemma saw the direction of his gaze. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and relief filled him. They'd all keep an eye on her.
Ava's chest rose and fell breathlessly as she lowered the flask from her lips. Her eyes gleamed black. Ava patted his cheek, and he captured her hand there, turning the move into a kiss to her palm.
"What was that for?" she asked.
"For being you," he said, stroking his thumb down her palm. "For being brave, and kind, and absolutely fucking perfect."
Heat pinkened her cheeks. "Hardly poetic, but appreciated, all the same."
"Here are the rules," he continued, capturing her face in both hands. His mech fingers dug into her cheek a little. "Survive at all costs. Watch your back. And stay with one of us at all times."
"Only if you promise to focus on your own task—and not on whether I'm safe or not. You're at risk too, you know."
His heart swelled in his chest. She was one hell of a woman. Kincaid reached over and cupped the back of her nape, dragging her up onto her toes so he could kiss her. He captured her mouth, devouring the taste of her. A kiss full of fire and passion, and something else. Something he couldn't quite put into words.
"Anytime you're ready," Malloryn said tartly, and Kincaid heard the sound of a pistol being loaded.
"You're just jealous because neither the baroness nor your future wife are offering to kiss you at the moment," Gemma shot back.
"I don't want to kiss Miss Hamilton," Malloryn growled, "and Isabella will come around. Are we ready? I for one would like to bury Ulbricht alive."
Kincaid broke away from Ava, breathing hard. The others could damn well wait.
"Let's go," Malloryn called. "Be wary. We don't know what Ulbricht is planning. He wants to destroy the draining factory and lay the blame at the feet of humanists, thus starting another war. We're about to stop him. At any cost. I
will not see my city go up in flames again."
"Let's show the Sons of Gilead what the Company of Rogues can do!" Charlie called, darting ahead.
"Bloody hell," Malloryn muttered, and then they converged on the factory.
* * *
Gemma picked the lock at the back of the factory, using a glimmer ball to see what she was doing. Kincaid guarded her back, his enormous mech-suit blocking the light from any guards that might have been posted. Byrnes, Jack, Ingrid, and Ava were out there, removing any of said guards, but they couldn't be too careful.
He didn't like Ava being separated from him, but he couldn't argue against Malloryn's splitting of the teams. His group would be heading into danger first, which meant they'd draw the heavier fire. Better for her to be out there at this moment, rather than inside. And Ingrid had promised to kill anything that went near her.
Verwulfen had a protective instinct a mile wide.
"Got it," Gemma whispered, and then she turned the door handle so slowly sweat dripped down his spine.
Malloryn and Charlie slipped inside behind her. Inside the draining factory, the dull throb and roar of the steam engines that ran the machinery covered the hiss of the pistons in his suit as he brought up the rear.
He'd never been inside one of the factories before. The four of them fanned out, shadows in the night.
A grunt echoed. "Hey—"
Faint moonlight gleamed through the windows, highlighting a lithe dark shape that fought in a swift flurry of blows. A guard. And one of the Rogues. Kincaid held his pistol low. He could feel his blood rushing through his veins, but he kept his flickering gaze on the room, and not on whoever had attacked the guard.
"He's down," Gemma whispered through the communication device. And he could just make her out, lowering an unconscious—or dead—body to the ground.
"Humanist?" Kincaid asked.
Gemma knelt over the body. "Blue blood."
They looked at each other.
"Ulbricht," Malloryn breathed, with the tone of a man who would dearly love to get his hands on the vicious lordling.
Malloryn flickered through a patch of moonlight, gesturing them forward with his fingers. Kincaid brought up the rear once again as they all paused in the doorway that led onto the factory floor.
The noise here was much louder. Blood churned in enormous glass vats that lined the room. The swish of liquid danced through brass tubes like the rush of a river, and the enormous filtration devices thundered beneath the vats, their engines vibrating. How much blood was there? Kincaid's gaze slid up the nearest vat. What did that represent in terms of blood taxes, and people who were still forced to donate four times a year?
A hand slid over his armored forearm. Malloryn. A swift glare told him to focus, and he nodded.
The first glimpse of their adversary flickered between brass pipes. A man strode through the room, calling out to others. Excitement licked through Kincaid. Here they were. The Sons of Gilead. The bastards who'd tried to murder Ava.
Malloryn gestured to him and they peeled off, leaving Charlie and Gemma to head in the other direction. Byrnes and his team should be entering shortly, coming in via the front entrance. Sweat slid down his temple. It was hot as hell in here, steam from the filtration devices misting the air.
"Let's find Ulbricht," Malloryn breathed in his ear, before scurrying along the far side of the filtration vats.
Kincaid followed. Cut the head off the snake, and they'd shut down the Sons of Gilead for good.
Half a dozen red-robed figures slipped through the main floor of the factory, kneeling at certain places, and carrying crates. Some of them wore faceless silver masks with only eye slits for expression.
But one of them wore a black robe, and he left his face bare.
"That's him," Malloryn said, his glittering eyes locked on the lord. He smiled. "Got the son of a bitch."
Lord Ulbricht was a big man, almost as tall as Kincaid himself. His hair swept back from his face in distinguished silver wings, and he carried himself as though he were a king.
Ulbricht yelled at one of his followers, and Kincaid wanted to plant his fist in the bastard's face. While he might have reconsidered his stance on most blue bloods, Ulbricht was exactly the type he hated. Pompous, arrogant, and so certain of his superiority and his right to crush everyone else beneath his heel.
"Move out," Malloryn said through the communicator, and then the duke was crossing behind the simmering blood vats, his pistol held low as he pressed his back to the metal base of the enormous filtration device below the glass vat.
Kincaid followed. Every step of his Achilles suit made him confident. Pistons hissed, leaving him lighter on his feet than he'd been in ages.
A faint grunt sounded through the communicator. Kincaid looked at Malloryn, and then they both looked up as a body sailed from the mesh walkway above, slamming into the heavy floorboards.
"Sorry," Gemma muttered.
"We're not alone!" Ulbricht bellowed, and a dozen of the red robes scrambled to form a circle, back to back.
"Who's there?" Ulbricht called, brandishing a pistol.
"It's over, Ulbricht!" Malloryn yelled. "I've got the factory surrounded by Nighthawks, and none of you are making it out of here. If you throw your weapons down and surrender, I'll take that into consideration."
"Malloryn," Ulbricht spat. "Of course you'd be here to ruin the party."
"Destroying your petty schemes is the highlight of my life," the duke riposted, stepping out and pointing a pistol at him. "Step away from the gathering vats before I'm forced to shoot you."
There was a faint flicker of movement behind them, and Ulbricht's eyes shifted in that direction, just as all the hairs down the back of Kincaid's neck rose. "Look out!" he shouted, slamming into Malloryn and crushing the duke to the ground beneath his heavy mech-suit.
Bullets ricocheted off his back armor, and Kincaid swore under his breath, rolling them out of the way beneath one of the enormous vats of blood. More of Ulbricht's men appeared in the shadows at the back of the factory. Ava! Jaysus, where was Ava? He caught a glimpse of Charlie sprinting across the factory floor with Ava in hand, shoving her behind the filtration system in the corner.
Their eyes met, and Kincaid ducked his head back down as more bullets rained toward him and Malloryn. Safe. For now. Charlie would keep her out of the way, and it was clear Ulbricht's focus was on Malloryn.
"Son of a... bitch." Malloryn sucked in breath as though he was winded. He pushed at Kincaid's breastplate, but lacked the strength to shove him away.
"You hit?" Kincaid demanded, easing off him.
"By a small freight train by the feel of it," the duke rasped, sitting up and swaying.
"Better that than a Firebolt bullet."
Malloryn pressed tentative fingerprints to a dimple in the back plate of Kincaid's mech-suit. "They're not using Firebolts."
"Aye," Kincaid panted, as gunfire sparked above them on the walkways that circled the factory. "Not yet." The filtration device under the vat was keeping them safe, but he could feel the metal of the suit pressing uncomfortably against his skin where bullets had impacted. "They're using those new armor-piercers." Designed to send shrapnel through a blue blood’s body so they caused as much damage as possible, clearly the bullets weren't quite strong enough to penetrate sheet metal.
Or maybe he'd been lucky.
"You saved my life," Malloryn blurted, and it was the first time Kincaid had ever seen the duke look close to ruffled.
Kincaid hauled the duke onto his knees. "I'm going to hold it over your head forever too."
There was the duke again, that icy gaze locking on him. "I might just let you, if we get out of this alive."
Holding his hands out, Malloryn ejected the pistols that were hidden inside his sleeves, and they swiveled into his palms. "Ulbricht's mine."
"That's the sort of thinking that gets people killed," Kincaid pointed out. "This isn't a duel, Your Grace, and we've got ladies in h
ere. If I see him, I'll shoot him."
"Fair call." The duke pressed a pair of fingers to the auditory device in his ear. "Status, please."
Static buzzed in Kincaid's matching earpiece.
"I've got Ava," Charlie replied. "We're hiding under the filtration device opposite you. There's a gunman pinning us down."
Pistol fire bloomed above them, then Gemma strode along the mesh walkway, firing dramatically from two pistols. A man in black cried out, then tumbled off the walkway, slamming into the middle of the factory floor. "One sniper down," Gemma said, and then sprinted into the shadows above as return fire pinged off the mesh under her feet.
"Jack here," growled the taciturn man. "I'm hit."
"Ingrid and I are keeping an eye on him," Byrnes echoed. "Flesh wound only, but it will keep one of us out of action. He's not a blue blood, and Debney will wring my neck if he dies."
Kincaid frowned, looking around. "What's that sound?"
"What sound?" Malloryn murmured, focusing on the rest of the group.
What the hell was it? "It's almost like a... a clock—"
"Anytime you want to join my party, Malloryn," Ulbricht called, his voice echoing through the factory. Laughter followed his words. "I'm told the fireworks display is going to be the event of the year."
Fireworks—?
Shit.
"Move!" Malloryn screamed at him, shoving him out into the open.
Muscles ached in Kincaid's thighs as he pushed himself into a sprint, following Malloryn. Every second stretched out—
—and then a massive roar went up behind him, the force punching him in the back and sending him head over heels. His knees jarred against his mech-suit as he hit the ground, heat searing across his back and something wet splattering all over him. His lungs sucked in dry air. Jaysus. He was frigging boiling inside the suit.
Malloryn slapped at his back, and some part of Kincaid's mind distantly realized he'd been on fire.
"Looks like we're even," Malloryn said, dragging him to his feet. "Can you move?"
"I'll have to," he croaked.
There was blood spattered all over the duke's face, and ash darkened his coppery brown hair. Kincaid threw a glance over his shoulder. The vat was gone. Just gone. Smoke and flames boiled out from the ruined filtration device, and blood steamed in patches on the floor.
