Iron Dominance

by Cari Silverwood

  The fall of the airship had plowed up the ground in great furrows. No rain had fallen to encourage new growth, and the brown earth, torn and raw, seemed to Claire as terrible as a bleeding wound. The stench of fire clung to the place. Sweat trickled down her back. Before this crash, she’d been a possession of the Pancontinental Mexican Empire, a thing to be ordered about by Inkline and others. Cold prickled among the sweat. She tugged off the gloves, then tucked them into a pocket.

  “This is where we found you,” Theo said in a low voice. He pointed at a sail of crumpled metal with the Mexican eagle emblazoned upon it. “Over there.”

  “How many…survived?” She faced the place of her rebirth—this womb of death. She knew none of the others on board, but she remembered the cries and screams that night. She pressed her hand to her stomach.

  Death was never pretty or easy. Yet she prayed that Inkline had died in the most horrible way. She shook her head. A lump of charred timber tumbled when she accidentally kicked it. Ash puffed into the air.

  “Six survived, including you.” He regarded her steadily, with a faint aura of concern.

  This is not the time or place to fall to pieces. She cleared her throat. “Do you know their identities?”

  “Why? Is there someone you’re particularly concerned about? I have the names from all the bodies—eight of those. Military or government diplomatic neck tags on all of them.”

  She suppressed a frown, kept her face still and unreadable. “Inkline. Was there an Inkline?”

  “Yes. One of the bodies.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Claire?” Fingers under her chin. She opened her eyes, looked into his narrowed gray ones. “What is it? A friend?”

  What should I say? How much can I—

  A crease marked his brow. His grip tightened. “The truth, Claire. I can see your mind churning.”

  That sent an alarming bolt of fear through her. She’d kept herself so close—sure nothing had shown.

  “Dankyo has suspicions, and we don’t need to feed them. Is there anything you’ve not told us about this crash? Who was this Inkline?” He released her.

  He’s dead. Inkline is dead. I’m free, aren’t I? Weather this interrogation, and it’s finished.

  “It was in the report I wrote, wasn’t it?” Oh. Wait. I left him out. Didn’t want to write about something so close to the assassination plot. What did I say?

  She made herself smile, in a twisted way. “He was my employer. In the Diplomatic Service. I hated him.” She looked at Theo square-on. He couldn’t know exactly what she thought. She’d skim the truth. “I hated him with every ounce of my body.” Her voice shook, and she let all the years of anguish, sadness, and fear flavor her words.

  “If he was here right now, alive, I’d be sorely tempted to put a knife in him. There. I’ve told you. But”—she slowly turned, surveying the crashed airship—“why I was here…I cannot remember. I’m sorry. I have no memory of why I was here.” She leaned into Theo, muffled her voice against his warm chest. “I’m so sorry.”

  He wrapped both arms about her, hugged her close. Kissed the top of her head. “It’s over. He can’t hurt you any longer. Is that all?”

  She nodded, her hair making rasping sounds against his jacket.

  They stood together for a while. Time flowed past like a languid river, washing away all her past, all the torment and pain. I’m free. She let Theo’s presence melt through her. For once, she didn’t mourn the loss of a family that had never been—an ache she’d always carried inside her. Theo was more than enough.

  “So,” Theo said. “You were Inkline’s bodyguard? He was a diplomat?”

  She nodded. If she could have hidden inside his jacket, she would have.

  “Then that’s all we have to tell Dankyo. I’ll let him continue his investigations. Maybe concentrate on this Inkline. Something must have stirred up the Brito-Gallic League, for them to attack this ship. There’s…only one other question I have to ask, because Dankyo will raise it, and I need him to believe in you as much as I do. So, here it is. You’d never do anything to hurt me, would you, Claire?” His embrace didn’t change in any way, yet he held his breath. Claire’s heart stuttered.

  “No! Of course not. I would never hurt you.”

  “And my men, the people who work for me? I am their protector as much as they are mine.”

  “No. Truly, if I could, I’d not hurt anyone, ever again. You do believe me?”

  He took a breath. “Yes. I do. That’s all I needed to hear.”

  He patted her hair for a while longer. She cuddled in and let the tension in her muscles soften. Safe. I’m safe.

  Theo opened his arms and let her loose. “Come. Back to the gyrocopter, and let’s do something cheerful. I’ll go downriver toward the coast. There’s a good private spot I know of.”

  Having restarted the gyrocopter, they boarded it. The land fell away from them. On the eastern horizon a great line of steel gray clouds hunched like a monstrous beast. Claire watched the airship’s remains dwindle. With Inkline dead, surely any assassination plot would fail. It couldn’t have been this Theo. He was important, but not that important. Even if it was him, she’d never let anyone near. Never. She’d know another frankenstruct in an instant.

  The alternative was revealing everything to Theo—what she could do and what they’d wanted her to do. It had the potential to destroy this fragile little world she’d found. The gyrocopter whirred on, blades whistling, cutting the air into a million turbulent pieces a few feet above.

  Visions flickered in her head—of the airship from above and the fig tree with the tangle of exposed roots. Of roots snaking along the ground, clawing aside dirt, flinging papers into the air that fluttered back to earth in a burning rain. Her dream. She’d seen this one every night. Smoke and fire and falling and…

  She remembered the crash. The aftermath, lying under a weight of hot metal and debris. Cold ground by her side. Blood in her mouth. At the base of the fig tree, Inkline furtively carrying something yellow…something yellow. Her assignment folder.

  The purr and whistle of the gyrocopter yanked her back to the present.

  Sweet heavens. She’d seen him after the crash, alive. Inkline was alive. Claire sank her face into her palms, peering through blurred fingers at the back of Theo’s seat. What can I do? Inkline never gives up. He’ll return and find me and make sure my assignment is carried out. He’ll drag me back to the PME.

  It was that simple. The tipping point that drove her into the flesh-numbing air of a black reality. She remembered Theo’s last question and replayed his response. He hadn’t quite believed her. No matter what he’d said, she was sure he doubted her, and now it seemed he might be right. For if Inkline gave her a direct order, standing in front of her, she didn’t really know what she’d do. Disobeying him seemed incomprehensible.

  She crunched her fists until the fingernails bit deep into her palms. When she opened her hands, on each palm was an irregular line of bloodred crescents.

  No. Stop. Hadn’t she learned anything these last days? She was stronger than she’d once thought. She could do this. She could refuse Inkline if he turned up. Just because she never had, didn’t mean she couldn’t.

  How ridiculous—to cave in when she’d not seen Inkline for days. But she had been living inside a fantasy. She’d wanted so much to be somebody, she’d blinded herself. Only now she could see through the cracks in her bubble of glass. Something would go wrong, eventually.

  She lifted the goggles and wiped at her eyes. She needed to be vigilant, in case everything disintegrated around her.

  Curls of Theo’s black hair stuck out at odd angles where the goggle strap mussed it up. Hand trembling, she stretched and touched it, letting a curl run fluttering in the wind across her skin. A plan? Should she assemble one? Maybe tomorrow. Right now she wanted to live, to enjoy the moments she had.

  Theo reached back over his shoulder and found her fingers. “Everything good
back there?” he yelled over the engine noise.

  She swallowed, clearing away the obstruction in her throat. “Sure! There’s nothing wrong!” She held on tight to his gloved fingers an extra few seconds, memorizing the feel of them, before letting go.

  Chapter Twelve

  Theo watched the landscape slowly change. The windswept high plateau sloped down to the river. The water tumbled through a ravine, then emerged onto the plain, widened, and slowed. Farther west, past a lake of blue-green depths, the river slithered to a sunlit archipelago at the edges of the sea.

  “Down there!” He pointed at a clearing, reducing speed to steer the gyrocopter in to a gentle landing on the northern bank of the river. The coughing engine frightened some long-legged cranes. They flapped skyward, legs scraping a line of turbulence in the water. Forest crowded the opposite bank and surrounded the clearing they’d landed in.

  He swung out and dropped to the ground. Claire slid off her goggles, then took his offered hand. Once her boots touched ground, he reeled her in, wrapped her in his embrace, enjoying the curve of her ass against his gloved hand. His other hand held the back of her neck in the V of thumb and fingers, his ring finger lightly playing with her nape hair. Her neck stiffened at first, then softened. Her rich amber irises widened, and her hips angled against him. Her acceptance of this act of possession pleased him.

  Back at the airship crash, he’d sensed she wasn’t revealing everything. When he demanded truth, she still held back. Maybe not a straight-out lie, but close. The important answer, that she’d not hurt him, he believed. Now he just had to coax it all out of her, and he would, else the only alternative would be sending her away. God, he didn’t want that. Once he pinned down whatever she hadn’t told him, he’d get to take it out on her ass, and that made it all the more enticing—figuring out the almost lie.

  For now, he had to soothe her. She was wound up tighter than a clock spring.

  He leaned in and kissed her fiercely, snuggling his hand farther down her firm bottom, pressing in along the crotch seam of the leggings, as his tongue penetrated between her lips. She relaxed into his arms, a satisfied hum sounding deep in her throat.

  He pulled away, casually undoing the ivory hair clip and shaking loose her shoulder-length hair. “Let’s get this picnic organized.” He tapped the tip of her nose.

  Claire’s gaze took a moment to focus. “Oh. Yes.” Clearly his kiss had done more than stir her a little. He wondered how far he would be able to entice her today.

  The soft grass near the bank was a good spot for the picnic rug and cushions. He twisted open the catch on the basket, folded back the lid, removed the strawberries and cool yogurt, the honey, pastries wrapped in a cloth, and more. Underneath the food lay a flask of wine. Claire hovered nervously. Picnics were obviously another novelty for her.

  Even better. He liked the idea of drawing her out, introducing her to new things. His servants were always doing things for him, and doing this for Claire was pleasant—no, more than that, it satisfied something inside he’d not known was there.

  “Now…” he announced with relish. “First some food. Then we are going to talk and learn about each other.” He sat down, legs crossed.

  “Why?”

  “Because we know next to nothing about each other. I’ve read what you wrote, but that’s dry stuff. I want to hear it from your mouth. You like the idea of there being a place for you here. Well, this is one of my requirements.”

  She raised one eyebrow in that cute way she had, but she joined him. At first she sat like he did, with her legs crossed—a position you could rise from easily, if need be. She surveyed the surroundings, going from the butter and bread knives to the pistol at his belt—all the potential weapons. He didn’t doubt she knew exactly how many steps it took to reach the gyrocopter or the forest line. Battle ready, Dankyo would call it. If she was guarding him, he’d approve, but in a consort—

  Then she saw him watching her, as she watched everything else. He shook his head, slowly, in dismay. She shrugged and moved those long legs around until she sat with them tucked up and angled together to the side. He inclined his head.

  That she’d understood him was nice, but even better was the trust implied in the way she’d relaxed. A fierce satisfaction overcame him. Re gamoto. He could get used to having a woman on hand who could swap from personal bodyguard to sexual submissive in the blink of an eye.

  “Have you tried these before?” He took up a small platter. “Baklava. Almonds, honey and crushed walnuts layered in fine pastry. Delicious.” He offered them to her. While Claire picked up a piece, he uncorked the bottle and poured them both a glass of retsina. The surprise on her face when she bit down made him grin.

  “Good?”

  “Mm-hmm. Yes!”

  The retsina was made on his own lands. Not the most revered of wine varieties, but this year’s had turned out nicely. From the way she sipped, screwing up her mouth a little when she thought he wasn’t looking, Claire hadn’t tried much wine before. Slowly the retsina and the food did their job, and the tension left her face and shoulders.

  “You must be curious about me. I know I am about you, about your life before this. Unless, that is, you already know who I am?”

  She shook her head. “No. We—I wasn’t told much about your country.”

  “Well, I own many many acres of land, different properties. I am a rich man—purely by virtue of my birth.” He grimaced. “I try not to abuse my power. And truly, being rich does give me power. I plan to do more than simply live on the surplus. I have a right to a seat in our House of Lords. You understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “But, also a part of who I am is that I like to be the dominant partner in any sexual relationship. This you must understand too, by now?”

  “Uh, yes.” She took a measured swallow of retsina, looking at him from under her eyelashes. Her hand didn’t visibly tremble, but the surface of the retsina did.

  “From what I’ve seen, you’re happy with that?”

  She said nothing.

  “You’re very red, Claire. A beetroot would be put to shame.”

  “I’m, uh, happy with that.” On one side, she curled her hair back behind her ear. He waited until she stopped fussing and put her hands in her lap.

  “Good.” He let his own pleasure show through in his tone and noted her blush fading. “Because, this isn’t about me only. If you’re not happy, then I’m not. I may like holding you down when we have sex…or restraining you in other ways”— ahhh, good; that made her breathe even faster—“or sometimes even turning your bottom red with a paddle, but I want you to find joy in this.” He made himself sit still, despite wanting to reach out and fondle her.

  “Um”—she swallowed—“I’m not keen on the restraining, or the, uh, paddle, and you know ropes are out.”

  “No? I think perhaps it’s too early to decide that. When the moment arrives, yes? Then we’ll see if you feel the same way. And that is one of my rules. I get to decide how far we try to go, because I don’t think, Claire, that you really know yourself.”

  At that, he picked up the cloth that had held the pastries, reached across, and slowly looped it around the hand she leaned on. Then he kept her hand pinned there to the ground, with the cloth wound tight, while he cupped his other hand beneath her chin. He watched her for a long moment. Her eyes were on his, her nostrils flaring. He moved in and kissed her thoroughly. When he pulled away and dragged the cloth from around her wrist, her lips were parted, and she looked like she’d fall over on her back if he pushed the slightest amount. Superb.

  “Your lips are swollen, Claire. And I know that if I touched you between your legs, I’d find you wetter than that river behind you.” He narrowed his eyes but kept the warmth of approval in his tone. “That was restraint. You liked it. I had thought we’d already established this.”

  After a second, she gulped. “I did…like it. But that was different. I could have gotten myself free.”


  “I don’t doubt you could have tried and maybe succeeded. But you didn’t. You enjoyed being held down. It’s not necessarily about being overpowered; it’s about relinquishing control. There’s always an out. For me, there’s a thrill in knowing you’re giving me that power.”

  He made his voice stay utterly steady, imprinting on her that this was fact. “The greater the restraint, Claire, the greater the enjoyment will be for you. When you trust me enough to hand me complete control, I’m going to tie you up in rope. I love the stark beauty of rope on a woman’s skin. I’m going to tie you up so thoroughly that you won’t be able to stop me from making you come, over and over.”

  She froze, and he could see that both fascinated and shocked her, as her throat and mouth worked with little movements.

  He smiled. “This is not meant to be algebra. If you’ll let me, I’ll take you on a journey, one you won’t easily forget.”

  She shut her eyes, opened them, and fixed him with those golden irises. “Mmm.” She steepled her fingers together. “But what if I want to stop or take a different path to the one you’re on?”

  “I’ll always take into account what you want done to you.”

  “Done to me?” The words twisted into a squeak. She shook her head as if perturbed at the betrayal of nerves, then cleared her throat.

  His gorgeous bodyguard was unsettled, if aroused. Good.

  “Just remember, I’m the one with the ultimate say. And I guarantee, you won’t always, one hundred percent, like what I do. But that adds to the fun.”

  She shot him a suspicious look at that. “A last thing to remember, and this is important. I have rules. I have to. It’s not just you and me—there’re hundreds who rely on me, look to me for leadership. I can’t have you questioning me in public. If I give an order, I expect to see it obeyed. I’m speaking specifically of last night when you walked away from me. Do that again and there will be consequences. On the other hand, if you want out of this, I’ll endeavor to find somewhere you can live without the PME coming after you. Is that all clear?”