To Catch A Rogue (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy Book 4)

by Bec McMaster

  And there was nothing the others could do about it.

  Charlie's teeth ground together in frustration. His fingers flickered, "I can get past the Ravens—"

  "Go," she replied, for she wasn't the only one at risk right now. "Go and find Gemma. I will hold my own."

  "I'm not leaving you."

  "I love you," she replied, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Go!"

  As long as he was safe, then she wasn't afraid of dying.

  "Damn it, Lark!"

  Lark's breath came a little faster. The color was back in her world, but she needed it to vanish. She needed the darkness back, the craving. "Go!"

  "Let me through!" Charlie cursed as the wall of Ravens grew closer together.

  She could barely see him over their shoulders, but she could hear Blade muttering in his ear, warning him not to be impetuous.

  One of the Ravens wore a glittering steel mask over his mouth and nose, studded with spikes. He carried a flame-thrower. Another had a bio-mech arm grafted onto his left shoulder. It hung almost to his knees, the steel-plated fist glittering with menace, twice the size of his real hand. And the third flung both hands out beside him, a Carillion blade sliding through the steel knuckles and extending half a foot.

  All of them were armored, with heavy steel mech-suits around their waists. They dwarfed Charlie and Blade.

  "Seize them," Sergey repeated.

  Lark held her knife hopelessly. There was no way she could attack them from behind, and no way for the others to get past them.

  Then Charlie knelt and slid a handful of golden orbs across the floor, and she caught her breath, suddenly remembering what he'd said when he showed them to her on the airship.

  The orbs wavered as they rolled near the Ravens' feet, their magnetic insides sensing steel. Instantly, they split open, filigreed legs bursting out as they swarmed toward the guards. The circular sides of each orb transformed into the hard-bodied carapace of a little spider, and they scuttled up the sides of the mech-suits.

  "Your little toys won't save you," one of the Ravens sneered, as three little mechwork spiders clambered up his left leg. He crushed one with his enormous fist, but the other two attacked the joints of his knees, their pincers biting into the wires supporting the kneecap and sparking.

  He slammed to a halt as the entire left side of his mech-suit spasmed. His armored boot dragged across the floor, but the spiders weren't finished.

  Mechwork was driven by tiny filigreed wires and conductors. Without them....

  "It appears you're quite mistaken," Charlie replied calmly. "Have you ever heard the story of David and Goliath?"

  Another Raven fell with a clatter as his suit stopped working.

  "What sorcery is this?" demanded one of the courtiers.

  The crowd drew back as two of the spiders tumbled free of the suit and turned to face the crowd, their pincers clicking. A woman hauled her red velvet skirts away from the creatures with a look of utter horror on her face.

  "Sorry, Prince," Charlie said, peering past Lark with a hard look in his eyes. "But we decline your offer. Lark belongs to us."

  "The girl has admitted she is a Grigoriev. Hence, she does not belong to your party. Her ties to the Empire come first, and she will face my challenge," Sergey called.

  "Lark?"

  "He's speaking the truth," she whispered.

  Sergey stepped down from the dais, swinging his red cloak off his shoulder and discarding it on the floors. "Face me and die."

  Lark spun around before she could weaken, her palm flexing around the hilt of the knife. She'd taken Lady Kirinov down, but Kirinov had wielded a short sword, and Lark had two knives then, and the element of surprise. "I accept your challenge. On behalf of my family, I will face you. But I'm not ready to die. Not yet."

  She had no choice but to accept his challenge.

  In the eyes of this court, Sergey spoke the truth.

  With the marque on her back, she belonged to the Russian court, before she belonged to England. Not even the appearance of Lord Barrons right now could save her.

  "If she faces you, then she will not do it alone," Charlie called, drawing his own knife.

  "You have no sway here," Sergey said. "So put your knife away."

  "No, but I do." A colder, harder voice rang through the room.

  Another stir of whispers.

  Lark's heart began to flutter. Nikolai?

  "I offer challenge too." Her brother suddenly appeared between Charlie and Blade, lethal in black.

  Nikolai was always still, but now he seemed like a statue, his eyes boring right through Sergey. Several of his lieutenants appeared out of the crowd, eyes watchful. Chiyoh's fingers curled around the hilt of her sword as if she longed to unsheathe it.

  "You dare show your face here?" Sergey hissed.

  "You have a sword. We each have a knife." Nikolai's smile seemed a dangerous thing. "Are you afraid to face both of us? Or would you prefer to face a young woman alone?"

  "You're the Crippled King," Sergey spat, and suddenly Lark knew who'd coined that moniker. "You have no right to interfere."

  "Nyet." Nikolai tore his coat open, and Chiyoh began to tug the buttons of his shirt undone. She slid it from his shoulders as Nikolai rolled them, lean slabs of muscle gleaming beneath the chandelier. Tattoos darkened his chest, dark swirls that spun into racing wolves. "My name is Nikolai Konstantinovich Grigoriev. I have all the right to challenge you."

  A little thrill of hope went through her as the crowd gasped again when they saw his back.

  "Another Grigoriev," someone whispered.

  A woman sniggered. "It seems Sergey was somewhat lax with his knife."

  Nikolai had been distant with her from the start, conceding to help them only under sufferance. She had never expected him to stand at her side.

  Their eyes met.

  "You touch my sister," Nikolai said, in a chilling voice, as he nodded at her. "And you will face me too."

  "Then you will both die," Sergey snarled. "Clear the floor."

  Lark swallowed hard. Emotion choked her. For all that she'd lost, she couldn't help feeling as if wasn't alone right now. She could practically feel the ghosts of her murdered family standing behind them, but it was the brother at her side that undid her.

  "Thank you," she whispered to Nikolai, as she moved to cover his weak side, crouching low. It wasn't the first time she'd fought back to back with another, but never with this man.

  "Don't worry, little bird," Nikolai purred, "you won't have to protect me. That is my job now."

  Sergey swung, the flash of his sword darting like a flicker of lightning. It came at her, as if he'd picked her as the weak one.

  She tried to divert it, but Sergey was stronger than Lady Kirinov, and his sword had four inches on Kirinov's. A flare of pain shot through her arm as the tip of his sword slashed her sleeve. All of a sudden she could smell blood, and the craving slithered through her veins.

  Then Nikolai was there, a threat to Sergey's flank.

  They timed it poorly, unused to working in tandem, and she bit back a curse, wishing it was Charlie at her side—but in this court, he had no voice.

  The pommel of the sword slammed against her cheek as Sergey spun, driving his boot into Nikolai's chest. Lark's ears rang as she staggered back, and she saw Nikolai's knee go out from under him as he fought to gain his balance.

  "Pathetic," Sergey sneered, spitting on the ground at her feet. "You will die as gracelessly as your father did."

  Her eyes narrowed. "As I recall, you preferred to get others to attack my father, rather than facing him yourself. Who's pathetic now, Sergey? Were you afraid to face him? Did you think it easier to murder children and women? He always was your superior."

  That earned her an aggressive lunge.

  Lark was driven back, barely disengaging each blow. "Kolya!"

  "Coming."

  Lark tapped the tip of the sword out of the way, its edge shearing through the loose flap
of her shirt. Too close. Far too close. But it gave Nikolai time to drive his knife across Sergey's ribs. Sergey slammed an elbow into his nose, and Lark spun beneath the slash of the blade, her own dagger slicing through his thigh.

  Blood spattered on the marble, but her cousin reversed the cut of the sword. It was all she could do to throw herself into a roll beneath its deathly arc.

  He moved faster than she could imagine possible.

  She and Nikolai circled him from opposite sides, and Lark was forced to focus her entire concentration upon the fight. Blood wet her knuckles, and her heart raced. Tap. Tap. Deflecting the swing of the sword. Dodging and weaving, stepping back, foot by foot.

  Sergey was a true master of the blade.

  But Nikolai was just as dangerous.

  Without him, she'd have had no hope.

  The first opening came as her brother pressed his suit. Sergey was forced on the defensive, taking a step closer to her. Lark slid to her knees beneath his sword, the cut of her dagger biting across the back of his thigh as she brutally slashed his hamstring.

  He screamed, staggering out of the way as Nikolai lunged forward.

  "You little bitch!"

  Nikolai was forced to retreat against a flurry of blows, and then Sergey turned on her.

  Lark threw herself onto her back and slid, as the sword bit deep into the marble between her calves. Another opening. She slammed her boots together, trapping the sword between them and twisting. All she needed was a second. Just a second....

  "Now!" she screamed at Nikolai.

  Sergey wouldn't let the sword go.

  A fatal mistake, for Nikolai grabbed his lapels and hauled him directly into the path of his own knife.

  It happened as if time slowed.

  Sergey jerked, coughing blood as Nikolai stabbed him directly in the heart. He went down to his knees, mortally injured, but not yet finished.

  Lark scrambled to her feet, taking his sword with her, and staggering as the enormity of what had just happened hit her.

  Vengeance.

  Finally.

  Her hands shook as kicked the sword far out of reach.

  Was it... over?

  "I never wanted to be the Prince of Tsaritsyn," Nikolai whispered, advancing upon the fallen man at his feet. "I never wanted the responsibility. All I could see was my father sitting in that chair, and my father was gone. Because of you."

  "Please!" Sergey gasped, as Nikolai set the knife to his throat.

  "When you suggested that I 'died' in the riot, I allowed it, because I wanted to die. The boy that I was did die. That boy would never have hurt you. He was weak. He was frightened. He thought himself crippled. But now, all that is left is me. Beg me for your life."

  The words spilled from Sergey's lips, along with a spray of spittle as he sobbed.

  "I will grant you mercy," Nikolai finally said, and Sergey slumped in relief.

  What? Lark shot him a sharp look, but he was not done yet.

  "I will give you the same mercy you granted Natasha when she begged you to spare her children. I will give you the same mercy you bestowed upon her. You cut her. Here." Nikolai made a sharp slashing stroke across Sergey's brow, his other hand clamped around Sergey's throat. "And here." Taking the tip of his nose as Sergey screamed. "And here."

  Lark couldn't look anymore.

  All she could see was her mother screaming.

  She turned, and then there were arms around her, Charlie hauling her into his embrace. The familiar scent of his shirt hauled her back out of the past, as her bloodied knife dropped from her fingers. She didn't want revenge. Not anymore. She just wanted him.

  "You're safe," he breathed, kissing her forehead. "I've got you. Don't look."

  Lark shuddered. "You came for me."

  "Always." Another kiss to her temples. "Though I was expecting to have to slaughter half the Blood court myself. Didn't realize your brother was going to take that upon himself."

  Sergey's scream cut off abruptly, sending a shiver down her spine.

  "He's dead," Charlie told her. "You're safe."

  Lark slowly looked up into his eyes. How could she even believe it? It seemed surreal after all these years...

  But when she turned, Sergey lay still upon the floor.

  Nikolai was breathing hard, his shoulders heaving as he crouched over the body with a bloodied knife. For a second she saw the darkness of his eyes. Not human. Not in this moment.

  Her vicious, dangerous brother.

  He would never accept her love, but he had stood at her side and for once.... It was enough.

  The entire crowd stood silent, breathless even.

  "Long live the new Prince of Tsaritsyn," Valentin Kosova called, reaching down to offer Nikolai his hand, and haul him to his feet.

  Lark tried not to look at the remains of the previous one, smeared across the floor.

  Nikolai slowly tilted his head toward her, then turned and limped onto the dais and seated himself in Sergey's chair. "Does anyone care to challenge me?" he demanded, blood spattered across his face and bare chest.

  Nobody did.

  He smiled, and gestured to Valentin Kosova. "Captain, take command of the remaining Imperial Ravens. And send for the English delegation. It seems I have something that belongs to them."

  Chapter 31

  Goodbyes were always hard.

  Especially when she'd only just found him again.

  Nikolai had to come. Surely he would see her off, despite the events of the day.

  Lark watched the servant's race around the base of the airship as they inflated the balloon. She was running out of time to wait. Her fingers drummed against the marble bannister of the terrace, until she heard the familiar click of that cane behind her and released the breath she'd been half-holding.

  "Your friends are eager to leave," Nikolai said, pausing at her side.

  "We have injured."

  And Balfour was still out there.

  "Probably just as well. Questions are starting to be asked. Certain people are displeased. The Blood court just lost two of its most powerful members at the hands of your party."

  "I'm sure the rest of the court is weeping."

  "Or sharpening their knives," he said. A smile almost touched his lips.

  Lark eyed the red velvet cloak someone had draped over his bare shoulders. "Couldn't find a shirt?"

  "I need to present myself before the tsarina as the new Prince of Tsaritsyn," he replied. "She will wish to see my back."

  And no doubt want to know why her favored Master of Ravens was dead.

  "You'll be safe?" Lark asked, the breeze stirring a strand of dark hair across her face.

  "Don't worry about me. I am very good at surviving."

  "Thank you," she blurted. "For everything."

  Instantly, the smile disappeared, his eyes hardening as he surveyed the Rogues who were gathered on the lawn. "You should not thank me. It was not entirely noble in cause. I am a Prince of the Blood now. It benefited me to help you."

  Of course it did. She'd seen the look on his face as Sergey drove the sword between her legs. Sometimes you had to look in a man's eyes and not listen to what his mouth said.

  It was eerie how well she could read him, but then they'd always been alike. She could recognize the faint walls he held between them, even now.

  "I think there's someone waiting for you," he murmured, tilting his head toward the left.

  Charlie rested his shoulder against the base of the stairs, his arms crossed nonchalantly over his broad chest. The wind fluttered his blond hair, and the weak afternoon sunlight gilded it. No doubt he sought to give her a moment with her brother. He was always thoughtful like that.

  "He loves you," Nikolai murmured.

  "And I love him," she replied, a smile breaking over her lips.

  Time to let all her walls down.

  Let them crumble, let them fade.

  She had no need of them anymore.

  "I am glad he was there f
or you." When I could not be, went unspoken.

  "I wish you had someone like Charlie for yourself."

  Nikolai breathed a laugh. "Your time in England has turned you soft. I have my loyal Wolves. That is enough."

  That's what I thought too.

  "Go to him. They will be boarding soon."

  She drew back, glancing at Charlie once more. He was her future. Time to leave the past behind her.

  "Irina."

  She turned.

  Nikolai tipped his head toward her in a slow salute. "Goodbye."

  "Goodbye," she breathed, taking the moment to remember what he looked like.

  And then she turned and slipped down the stairs into Charlie's arms before she could do something foolish. Like beg her brother to hug her.

  Nikolai watched his sister climb the gangplank, unable to leave until she was aboard for some damned reason.

  Footsteps echoed behind him, and the creak of wheels.

  He turned, and there was the man they called Obsidian, resting in a wheeled chair, with his pretty fiancée pushing it.

  "I can walk," Obsidian was insisting.

  "Oh, go ahead," Lady Hollis replied with a shrug. "When I watch you fall flat on your face at the foot of the gangplank, I'm not going to help you up. It's not as though you were poisoned and nearly died a couple of hours ago. It's not as though I had to hold your hand and beg you not to leave me. It's...."

  The pair of them paused, as they realized Nikolai was standing between them and the long ramp that led to the gardens.

  He stared at Obsidian.

  There was no shock of memory in the other man's eyes. No look of understanding. They'd said he'd lost his memories, but Nikolai tensed as if waiting—hoping—for something.

  They stared at each other, and then Obsidian arched his brow. "I understand you're Lark's brother."

  His fingers tightened around the hilt of his own cane, just a fraction. "I am the new Prince of Tsaritsyn."

  "Thank you for your assistance," said Lady Hollis. "We owe you a debt of gratitude."

  "I didn't do it for you," he replied coldly, but he looked at Obsidian, and there were words hovering on the tip of his tongue. So many unspoken words.

  Memories filled him of a boy who would race him to every tree, and wrestle with him when the weather was hot. A boy who'd always roll his eyes when Nikolai was scared of the thunder, but who would come and find him whenever lightning flashed, because he knew....