Claire forgot to pretend unconsciousness and opened her eyes wide.
“She’s awake, sir.” Dankyo’s brown eyes glittered. “This room is not secure. A child could abscond. As your security advisor, I insist on some means of ensuring this…frankenstruct is still here on the morn.”
His master sighed. “Your suggestion?”
“I’ll arrange something, sir.”
The men placed the stretcher on the bed then indicated she should roll off onto the bed. Gray-uniformed, with Security written on their shirt pockets, these must be Dankyo’s men.
“Come on, love,” the taller, heftier one muttered.
She winced as she shifted to raise herself on her elbows. Her red dress rode up, revealing three rows of black silk sutures on the outside of her right thigh. The room swam, turning the cream-striped wallpaper into a sea of milk.
“Here.” Two warm muscular arms slid under her. One at her shoulder, the other just below her bottom—scooping her up and moving her onto the emerald satin bedspread.
“Sir!” Dankyo said.
“Calm yourself, Dankyo.” The words were spoken from mere inches away. “She doesn’t bite. Do you?”
Clear iron gray eyes stared down at her, though when she met his gaze, they darkened. She stared back. A shiver ran through her.
He frowned as if seeing her for the first time, and she wished she’d been able to hold back that shiver. It made her feel…vulnerable.
As her eyes slowly closed a shadow passed above, and something gently brushed across her forehead. His fingers, she realized. The touch of his warm skin against hers felt good, and the place inside where she kept herself coiled and ready to fight relaxed, soothed by the rhythm of his fingers. Blackness rolled in. Her last thoughts chased her down into the abyss. Escape. Soon. Though for some reason she couldn’t remember why.
* * *
The next day, she was left alone in the room apart from a burly woman with a face like a wax gargoyle that had squatted too long in the sun. Dressed in a floral gown, her brown hair in a bun, gargoyle woman occupied a leather easy chair, every inch of it overflowing with her flesh. Whenever Claire needed to move from the bed, the woman would scowl and grumble, only to heave from the chair and trundle over with the handcuff keys in hand.
The handcuffs must’ve been Dankyo’s idea. One of her wrists was kept cuffed to the right hand pillar of the bed, and when she needed to go to the bathroom, the woman locked her wrists together. It made everything difficult, her arm cramping at times with it stretched over her head, and no one, gargoyle woman included, seemed to care that going to the bathroom was a laborious affair. She’d examined the cuffs. An ordinary pair she would stand a chance of picking, but these had some strange clockwork mechanism on each side. Still, a hairpin she found wedged at the back of the bathroom cabinet might be useful.
The little white dress they’d given her was already marked with blood. A bad color for concealment too. One mistake from them is all I need. Once my leg heals, I’m gone. But where to? Have I got the guts to desert? I can’t stay here.
She remembered something about the Brito-Gallic league—how they hated the PME. Perhaps she could pass as human there if she was careful with how she dressed, at least until she figured out if frankenstructs were legal.
Yes. To the west, then. She breathed out slowly. Settling on a goal had eased the tightness in her chest. To the west.
The late-afternoon sun streaked in through the glass doors, and Claire was halfway to the bathroom. The outer door banged open, and two guards trundled in a trolley bearing an engine of some sort with wires at one end, a crank at the other, and ridges of machined metal going halfway to the ceiling in layers like a steel wedding cake.
What the… Horrible images crammed into her head—sharpened steel, blood, pain—the paraphernalia of torture.
She stumbled. Her injured leg caved, and she went to one knee, with her cuffed hands on the floor just stopping her from completely toppling over. Fiery spikes screamed up her leg. She stifled a gasp of agony. The room hazed.
“Here now.” Quick solid steps approached her. Someone picked her up like a child and held her against their broad chest—the muscles and the scent of a man. Blinking to clear her vision, she let her gaze travel up to his face. The gray eyes she recognized.
“Good afternoon, agapi mou.”
That confused her even more. Had he just called her my love in Greek?
She screwed up her mouth. “I’m not your love. Put me down.”
A smile tweaked the corners of his lips. “So you can fall over again? I think not. Where do you wish to go?”
She reined in her instincts—striking at his eyes would get him to drop her…and then she’d likely be shot.
Squirming didn’t loosen his grip and only sent more pain spearing through her thigh. Fuming, she weighed her alternatives.
Very well. If he wants to carry me, that’s his problem.
“Finished thinking? That scowl does not become you.” He quirked an eyebrow.
This time she took a longer look—black wavy hair, a strong yet proportionate nose dividing his broad face, and black stubble on his chin. Her heartbeat accelerated.
“I was headed to the bathroom.”
With that he swung slowly around, took her to the bathroom, nudging open the door.
Alone in the bathroom, with the door closed behind her, Claire felt tremendously relieved, as if she’d barely escaped a trap. That a man had touched her without her permission grated on her nerves, though he’d not done anything. She’d be more careful in future. Try to keep out of his way.
Except when she opened the door, she found him waiting.
“I can get back to the bed myself.”
“Stubborn, aren’t you? No. I’ll carry you.”
And he scooped her up again. She couldn’t evade him, not with her leg injured and her wrists cuffed. The trolley with the strange machine awaited her at the bedside, as did an elderly man with thin gray hair. His neat suit and the stethoscope protruding from his jacket pocket marked him as a doctor. If this man carrying her hadn’t made her nervous already, the machine surely would have.
She said a mantra to get her pulse rate down. Why would they treat me as nicely as they have, only to torture me?
“Perhaps if we exchange names, you won’t feel so shy about being carried?”
Shy? She turned her gaze from the man holding her, to the machine, and back. What is this device?
“My name,” he said, maneuvering around the machine and lowering her to the bed, “is Theo Kevonis. I am the owner of this house and the adjoining lands. I was at the airship crash, and I helped rescue you. I must tell you how glad I am that we did that.” Very polite, but he hadn’t let go of her wrists. The grip was loose, as if he barely knew he held her, yet when she pulled away, his fingers tightened and kept her cuffed hands there.
Theo? The thought struck her like lightning. Theo was a shortened version of Theodore. Her target’s name. Inkline hadn’t given her the surname. Surely, it would be an impossible coincidence for this to be the same man. Besides, Inkline was dead, wasn’t he? Which meant her target didn’t matter, one way or the other. Professional curiosity crept in, though. Could this Theo be important enough for a nation to want him killed?
“Where is your other man? The mean-looking one?” She inched up the bed.
“Dankyo? My head of security? I sent him away to help with the crash investigation. I’m sure, if he was here, he would have told me you were too dangerous to approach. Not that I would have heeded his advice. I’ve been looking forward to your company.” He smiled down at her.
How did she reply to such talk? Dankyo would’ve been right, in a way. If she let loose in the way her ability and training allowed, she was dangerous. She said nothing—it seemed the safest choice.
“And this,” he said, turning to the other man, “is the esteemed Dr. Eastway. Your name, agapi mou?”
He mocked her again. Sh
e shot a murderous look his way and was startled to see him grin back, as if they shared a joke. She tugged again, unsuccessfully, to pull her hands from his. Instead of letting go, he moved his thumb in soft circles at her wrist.
The feeling was disconcerting, awakening a tingle in strange places.
“Claire.” She frowned, finding the pace of her breathing had quickened. “My name is Claire.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Claire.” Theo raised her hands and kissed the backs of her fingers.
Shock rendered her speechless. Her face heated. The casual application of mouth to skin unnerved her, almost more than a kiss on her lips. Inkline had accustomed her to that. She’d grown the equivalent of calluses in her mind.
“Dr. Eastway is going to use galvanic electricity to help heal your wounds. It’s safe, though not yet a widespread device. We’ve tried it on many battle wounds. Doctor?” Theo gave her hand a squeeze, then stepped aside to let the doctor take his place by the bed. He went to lean against the wall between the chest of drawers and the bathroom.
“In case you’re wondering,” Theo continued, “the other survivors have been sent onward. I can’t do the same with you because of our ridiculous law regarding frankenstructs. If I send you on, you’ll be euthanized.” He watched her carefully. “You understand? It’s too dangerous to send you on.”
She nodded. Does he think I’ll faint or something?
She eyed him, then decided the doctor warranted more attention. Galvanic energy…electricity? Voltaic electricity she understood—it ran lights, small engines, powered some weapons. While she pondered this, she couldn’t help, every so often, flicking a look at Theo.
He bothered her. Threatening? Maybe. But not, she sensed, in the way she normally classified threats. Though hard muscles glided beneath the cloth of his shirt, his strength didn’t concern her as much as his aura of control.
Another glance and this time, she found him intent on looking at her. She fought down a blush, made herself look back at him for several seconds, before returning to the doctor. A mistake, there, perhaps, as left unchallenged, Theo’s regard seemed to sear the surface of her neck and face.
This, her training had not prepared her for—she was meant to obey commands, to kill as efficiently as possible, and not face down men who simply stared. She found herself having to fight off an urge to ask him what he wanted of her. Even knowing he was on the wrong side didn’t dispel this urge, though it made her more determined than ever to resist her impulse.
Although, really, which exactly was the wrong side? She’d never been asked which side she wanted to be on. In an offhand way, she’d been bred in a vat and created, like a vehicle made from spare parts—or as the other frankenstructs laughingly called the process, brewed and glued.
The doctor busied himself checking dials on the machine and setting switches. This man, doctor or not, bore a resemblance to Inkline—balding, cold in attitude. He made her want to sneak to the opposite side of the bed. Slowly, she forced herself to relax.
“Let’s see your leg.” Dr. Eastway grabbed the bottom of her dress and flipped it up, exposing the sutures on her thigh and the lower edge of her panties.
Damn him! She hissed and stiffened. Like all humans, he thought she was a thing. She sat up and grabbed his hand, bent back a finger to immobilize him. Almost…almost tempted into sharp time, so she could fracture that hand, and only stopping herself in the last second.
No. Mustn’t. That would be disastrous, to show them what she could do. “Take your hand off me!”
Chapter Two
The doctor froze. She’d snared his hand and looked likely to break it off at the wrist.
Striving not to smile at the man’s predicament, Theo pushed away from the wall. He’d hoped the doctor wouldn’t be quite so prickly.
“Dr. Eastway, Claire seems to be disconcerted by your bedside manner.” The wounds in her thigh are deep. This needs doing. “Perhaps, Doctor, if you could instruct me? Claire, release him, please.”
Claire stared at the doctor, anger evident in the rigid lines of her body. She glanced across at him, frowning. Slowly, she opened her fingers and let go of the doctor’s hand.
“Thank you for listening to me. The doctor is a treasured member of my staff. It would have been a pity to have to punish you over something so trivial.” He bowed his head a fraction and was glad to see the slight widening of her pupils.
Something stirred within. It was as if he’d been handed a gift all wrapped in pretty white paper. And this gift had such interesting skills—she’d immobilized the doctor very efficiently. Curious that. Why would a sexual companion have need of such skills?
The doctor snorted, massaging his fingers. “Yes, I can show you how it works. I must admit ministering to this particular patient holds little allure for me. The dials are set. It only requires placement of the electrodes around the wound.”
On the other side of the bed was a dressing table with a delicate chair. He’d look less threatening if he sat, so Theo went around and snared the chair, deposited it next to the bed after swinging the galvanic machine out at an angle. The whole time, Claire observed, as if he were a snake about to strike.
He held up his hands, palm outward. “Are you agreeable, Claire? I’ll place these electrodes. I promise you, this is for the best, though it will hurt.”
She didn’t react when he mentioned pain. Instead she looked at his hands, then at June, who’d sat impassively in her chair throughout the commotion.
“Would you rather June do this?”
When she shook her head, choosing him, it pleased him. She was, after all, a young and beautiful woman. But it was more than that—the differences between her and the women from his social circle intrigued him.
The facts in the senate report he’d read had added up to frankenstructs being human. Yet someone had messed up the final summary, and the law had been passed declaring them inhuman. It reeked of legal shenanigans or bribery. Whatever the reasons, the law was wrong. Claire was human. He’d stake his life on it.
What the report hadn’t said was that frankenstructs were feisty and likely to bite your nose off if you looked at them the wrong way, or that they knew Greek as well as English, or indeed, that they were beautiful.
The chair withstood his weight, only creaking as he sat. He’d put it midway down the bed. Her thigh stretched before him, her dress again covering her modestly—though the thin white material left little to be imagined, the way it flowed over every contour and into every crevice.
He’d have to get more clothes sent up for her. Which brought to his mind the vision of her taking off the dress, then her underwear. Claire, naked, would be a wondrous sight, especially with some vivid red stripes to set off the alabaster skin of her luscious bottom. The curves of her breasts showing at the low V-neck of the dress hinted at tantalizing ripeness. From what he’d felt while carrying her, beneath the clothes was a toned yet well-rounded body.
She’d not been immune to his touch. The little signs of her body had betrayed her excitement—the widening of pupils, the fast pulse, the tensing of muscles. Perhaps, though, some of it had been fear? Not that he’d been unmoved himself. No perfume or makeup, yet she smelled and looked like a delectable woman. With his arms under her, he’d wanted to lean down and kiss that full mouth, to feel her whimper beneath him.
“Are you done looking?” A blonde lock fell across her eye, and she tossed her head, switching it away. “I think I can manage this placement of electrodes. Show me.”
That she’d try, he didn’t doubt.
The doctor stepped up and spoke. “No. You can’t. The cuts aren’t where you can see them properly. Here, sir.” He handed one electrode to Theo. “A row along each cut, please. Five a side should do it. Make sure each goes in full depth.”
The electrode tip was a tiny pin; from there the wire trailed to the machine.
Theo showed the tip to Claire. If he let her try to do this, the chances were she’d mess
up the placement, and it wasn’t worth the risk. Her cuffed hands hovered at her waist, ready, he felt sure, to lunge and grab the electrode if he did something she disliked.
He sighed. “The parts on this machine aren’t easily replaced. I’m going to secure your hands to the headboard until this is done.”
Anger flared in her eyes. “No.”
“Think. I have several men out there who take my orders. I could have them hold you down. Or we can simply give up, and you’ll have to heal at your own pace and maybe risk infection. Galvanic healing works, but it will be painful this first time. I’ve seen the doctor have to restrain men, veteran soldiers, to get this done. Choose.”
He banked on that intelligence he’d seen in her. She wouldn’t want his men holding her, and that left—
“Very well.” Slowly she put her hands above her head.
So tempting, to watch the rise and shift of her breasts. No. This wasn’t easy for her. It had to be done and he’d do it without sidetracking. A pity though. When hadn’t he thrilled at the idea of a woman restrained to the headboard by cuffs? Mentally, he shook his head at himself.
He stood. “June, the key, please.” He caught the tossed key, unlocked the cuffs, and relocked them with the joining chain threaded behind the metal lattice of the headboard, feeling the trembling of Claire’s muscles as he did so.
“I’ll be as quick as I can.”
He carefully folded back the dress, just enough to see the three sutured wounds. Puffy, red, maybe some infection starting, and fresh blood leaked where falling had jarred the edges. The cuts were about six inches long. He’d forgotten the extent of the injury. Still, one treatment would do wonders.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
The first electrode pierced her skin, and she grunted at the pain, jerked on the cuffs. He watched her expression, waiting a moment until he saw her nod.
“Good girl.” That drew a glare. Touchy. Jabbing her infected wound with a pin was okay, but calling her “girl” made her look as if she wanted to stick something sharp into him? Curiouser and curiouser.
Iron Dominance Page 2
