by Bec McMaster
He and Kincaid had escaped, but the others.... They would have been inside. Somewhere.
And the fuse must have been set in the center of the warehouse.
All those crates....
"Stay here," he told Kincaid. "Keep trying to contact them." Licking dry lips, he stared at the far end of the warehouse. "I'm going back in."
The front door burst open, and then Malloryn hauled Obsidian inside the safe house.
The tall dhampir's face was blistered and what remained of his shirt clung to him in charred strips. Raw, reddened skin peered through the gaping fabric, but it was the look on his face and the trembling in his hands that caused the most concern. Behind them, Gemma looked like she'd been in the same fire, half her hair singed, and her cheeks black with smoke.
Adele found her feet abruptly, her mouth falling open. "What happened?"
A swift glance assured her Malloryn was bloodied but otherwise unharmed, and she managed to suppress the sudden flurry of panic she felt.
"Byrnes?" Ingrid quivered beside her. She'd been left behind to help Herbert protect the safe house, while the others went to check on this Devoncourt lead.
"He's alive," Malloryn said curtly.
Ava hurried into the parlor, gasping as she saw the damage. "My surgery! Now!" She glanced over their shoulders. "Kincaid?"
"Safe," Kincaid growled, lumbering through the door with Byrnes's arm slung over his shoulder. Byrnes's other arm was tied in a makeshift sling around his neck. "We're all safe."
"Though it was touch and go there for a moment," Charlie corrected, as he and Lark shut the door behind them. Of them all, they appeared to be the least the worse for wear. "Malloryn managed to break the door down, so we could get Gemma and Obsidian out."
Malloryn helped Obsidian into the small room off the parlor, which Ava had claimed for her surgery.
"Blood and ashes," Ava exclaimed, as she used a set of tweezers to pry Obsidian's shirt from the slick burn down his side. "What's wrong with Byrnes?"
"Broken wrist," Byrnes replied, with a wince. "Maybe ribs."
The pretty young scientist glanced between both Obsidian and Byrnes, as if trying to work out who needed her the most.
"Treat the burns," Byrnes replied. "I'll manage."
"If I wait too long, I'll have to break that wrist again and set it," Ava warned. "You heal too fast now."
"If I may, Miss Ava?" Herbert asked, gesturing Ingrid and Charlie out of the way. "I have some experience with wartime injuries. I can set the wrist."
It was all happening so swiftly.
Adele didn't know what to do, or how to help. And from the look on several of the others' faces, neither did they.
Malloryn turned and almost walked directly through her.
"What happened?" Adele whispered.
His face shut down. Amazing, to think there'd been any hint of emotion on it before, but there must have been, for there wasn't now. "This way," he said, grabbing her arm, and leading her toward the parlor.
Clara appeared with a jug of steaming water, linens and bandages. "Do you think you can tend the duke?" she asked Adele bluntly, which was an abrupt change in the dynamics between them.
"Put it on the table there," Adele instructed, and then turned to examine her husband, momentarily at a loss as Clara vanished.
"I'm fine," Malloryn said.
Blood dripped sluggishly from a gash on his arm, and if it were still bleeding after all this time, then she'd hate to think what it had looked like earlier.
"Sit down," she said, "and let me look at it."
"I'm—"
"Only going to get in the way in the surgery," she retorted, picking at the mangled remains of his leather body armor. One of the metal buckles looked like it had almost melted into his flesh. "Does that hurt?"
Malloryn ground his teeth together and tore it free, sending dark blood flooding to the surface. Adele swore under her breath, and then hastily pressed a piece of clean linen to the bleeding. "Hold this."
He must have been tired, for he didn't bother to argue as she set about prying the other buckles loose, and then lifted the molded leather carapace of his chest-piece over his head.
Though this was entirely outside her experience, she focused on cleaning the blood and soot from his skin, her heart aching at every sign of injury.
"What happened?" she whispered.
And he told her of breaking into the warehouse and handling the guards.
"I'm glad you're all safe. At least no one died."
Malloryn seemed to take a deep breath. "Adele, there was a casualty."
The way he said it made tension slither through her. She looked up. "Who?"
"Your father was in the warehouse. He was the one who set off the explosion."
Adele staggered back a step, cold shock slamming through her.
"There's no way he could have survived it," Malloryn said quietly, capturing her fingers. "We barely did."
The world came back to her with a sucking pop of noise. "My father is dead." Strange, how coherent those words sounded.
"I'm sorry. I told him he was under arrest, and he must have decided dying was worth the risk of taking me down with him. It appears his hatred of me was stronger than his sense of self-preservation."
It didn't surprise her.
Her father had been twisted up with hate and bitterness for years.
But what did surprise her was the loss she felt.
Sir George had never been a kindly man. Or a father. He'd dismissed her, ignored her, used her, and abused her.
But his death somehow felt as though her nice, safe world was imploding. She shouldn't shed a single tear for the bastard. She shouldn't. But there was one sliding down her cheek all the same, though she didn't know if it was sadness, hatred or rage at her father that fuelled it.
Hattie.... Good God, she'd have to tell her sister.
And worse. Treachery. The sentence would destroy her family, and her sister's prospects.
"Adele?" There were rough hands on her shoulders, holding her upright. Thumbs stroking her skin. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." She managed to press her hand to his bare chest, noting again the bloody slashes and marks that marked his skin. "You're hurt. He tried to hurt you. He deserved to die."
"I'm fine." Malloryn captured her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I have the power to suppress word of his involvement. Several of the council members owe me a favor. Nobody has to know he was a traitor. It doesn't have to affect your sister."
That he understood exactly what bothered her eased the burden.
"Thank you."
Relief flooded through her and she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her tearstained cheek to his chest. He tensed, but then his arms wrapped slowly around her, and it felt like she could finally catch her balance again.
"Thank you," she repeated.
For everything.
"What the hell are you doing?" Lady Hamilton demanded, as Malloryn and his Rogues splayed out through the foyer of her home. "You cannot simply shove your way in here! Richards! Richards! Remove them at once."
Adele paused on the lintel, silently steeling herself for this encounter.
"I'm afraid it's not that simple, Lady Hamilton." Malloryn held up a piece of paper. "The queen has signed a warrant to have your house searched. Your husband, Sir George, has been accused of treason against the crown, and there is enough evidence to suggest he kept vital documents of a plot against the queen in his study. I've been authorized to search it."
Lady Hamilton snatched the warrant, and then swiftly tore it into shreds. "My husband is not a traitor. You have no proof! Get out!"
"Was not," Malloryn said coolly.
"What?"
"Was not a traitor. Your husband is dead. He set off an explosion with himself inside the building."
All the color drained out of her mother's face.
"Get out, you son of a bitch!" Lady Hamilton hissed. "Get out of my—"
Lady Hamilton lashed out, her hand slapping Adele's cheek. "You treacherous snake!"
The shock of the blow sent her reeling, but then Malloryn was there, capturing her mother's wrists.
"I would urge you to think of yourself and your other daughter, Lady Hamilton," he warned, in a cold, deadly voice. "The only reason your house isn't swarming with Coldrush Guards and journalists, is because your eldest daughter has convinced me to keep word of Sir George's treachery quiet. Thank all the gods she has some familial affection for you and her sister. But if you ever lift a hand against Adele again, I may not be so inclined to protect you."
Adele pushed past Lady Hamilton and crossed to Hattie's side. Her sister's wide eyes darted back and forth, and she trembled. "Adele?"
"Are you all right?" Adele asked.
"What's going on?" Hattie whispered, as Adele hugged her.
"You're safe. You're finally safe." She closed her eyes as Hattie's slender form molded to hers. Then she looked up, locking eyes with her mother. "My husband is now your official guardian, and all thrall or consort offers must be officially signed by him. Nobody can force you into any match you do not willingly accept. And once this mess is all sorted, you'll be coming to live with me."
Lady Hamilton's lips pressed thinly together, but as she took in all the movement in the foyer, she finally seemed to concede, her shoulders shrinking in upon herself.
It was as if she aged twenty years in a single second.
"Search the house," Malloryn barked, granting Adele a nod, before he turned and followed Charlie up the stairs toward her father's study.
Chapter 26
The scent of brandy filled the air as Adele made her way down to the library that night.
The second Malloryn saw her, he stiffened.A nearly empty glass hung from lax fingers, and his cravat was undone and draped down his chest. It was as close to disheveled as she'd ever seen him.
"How are you feeling after your nap?" he asked.
Lonely. She hugged herself. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and it will all have been a dream. But then I pinch myself, and I'm not asleep."
"Your sister is well settled with your aunt," he murmured. "She'll be safe there."
"I know." Adele crossed toward him. "How are you feeling?"
It had been an eventful day, and he'd only just returned from the Ivory Tower. She'd seen the carriage from her window.
Malloryn scraped a hand across his jaw. "Frustrated. The queen is on edge and there's nothing incriminating in your father's study anymore. He must have burned everything, for the grate is full of ashes. And now he's dead—"
He suddenly stopped as if realizing what he was about to say.
"And you cannot question him," she whispered.
"Forgive me." Malloryn reached forward to capture her fingers. "That was unforgivably rude."
Adele squeezed his hand. "It feels strange. I should be grieving, but I'm not. I just feel... so empty."
They stared at each other, fingers linked.
Try as he might, he'd never convince her he didn't want her—every time their gazes met, she could feel the spark igniting between them. Malloryn looked like he wanted to haul her into his lap.
Even as he denied himself.
So be it.
This stalemate had gone on long enough. Perhaps it was time to take matters into her own hands?
"Why don't you come up to bed?" she whispered. "You look tired."
"And you look like you have no intentions of luring me to bed to sleep."
"I could stay with you," Adele murmured, the hem of her robe draping over the chair as she knelt on it. "We could grant each other sweet dreams."
Malloryn brushed his knuckles up her thigh and then slowly looked up, his lashes stained copper in the lantern-light. "I don't think I would be very good company tonight."
"That's nothing new," she said, with a smile and a twitch of her brow.
"Adele."
"You've barely slept in days."
Please. Tell me why.
His head lolled back in the chair, roughened stubble darkening his cheeks. "Not tonight. It's… the anniversary of Catherine's death tomorrow."
Adele's hand froze on his cheek. "Oh. I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," he said with a sigh, turning his face into her hand. "It's been years. I barely remember her sometimes. But I cannot help thinking it an ominous occasion. Balfour's going to do something, strike out somehow. I can just feel it."
"You're as prepared as you're going to be. You'll defeat him, I know it."
Malloryn kissed the back of her hand. "Go back to bed. One of us should get some rest."
"And you?"
Malloryn lifted the glass. "Maybe I'll come up in an hour or so."
Push him.
Adele slid into his lap.
Malloryn shot her a challenging look.
"You owe me a kiss," she murmured, sliding her hands up his chest. "You cannot simply kiss me on a rooftop and then pretend nothing more is going to come of it. You cannot simply wash my back, and then not touch me again."
"We shouldn't."
"I don't care what we should or shouldn't do. I want you. I want your kiss."
There was a long, slow pause, as if he fought some inner battle.
And then finally conceded.
"Then take it," he whispered.
Night marked his eyes with shadows, and she traced her fingers over the thin curve of his upper lip, ignoring the way he watched her. Ignoring the questions in those eyes.
Instead she leaned down and replaced her finger with her mouth.
The kiss was softer than anything they'd previously shared.
The faint teasing caress of his tongue against hers. The startled intake of his breath, closely followed by the dart of her own tongue. Every time she kissed him, she grew a little more intoxicated with the taste of his mouth and the way he threw himself into each kiss with a passion that defied his cold reputation.
Sweetness turned to hunger. Adele shivered as his hand slid up the back of her neck, fingers tangling in the fine hairs there.
He reached for the ties of her robe, but she batted his hand away, captured his wrist.
And then placed it, quite firmly, upon the arm of the chair.
"My turn," she whispered.
And he let her.
Malloryn's gray eyes heated as she reached for his cravat.
And then she was dragging it free from his neck with slow, sensuous tugs, their eyes meeting as the cravat fell free.
Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his throat. His pulse kicked, and Adele slid her tongue out of her mouth to lick him there. A tug of her fingers and his top button was undone. Then the next, and so forth, until the hard, muscled planes of his pectorals gaped through the linen. She slid her hands beneath his parted shirt, pushing it wide. Cool skin met her palms, the thump of his heartbeat an intimate drum against the fleshy pad of her hand.
But it was the hollow groove of his collarbone that drew her lips.
And then the satiny skin at the base of his throat as he arched his head back to give her access.
Sweet gods, but she liked this.
And he did too, judging by the corded tension in his powerful thighs.
"Adele."
One word.
Tight with need.
She'd never wanted to hear him say her name like that before, but now that she'd heard it once, she wanted to hear nothing else.
Forever.
Adele let herself suckle at his throat, her thighs clenching slightly in need. He hadn't made a single move to touch her, but her body ached, as if merely being in control of him wielded some sort of pleasure inside her.
She felt powerful.
Glorious.
And completely in control.
"Just what are you planning?" Malloryn murmured, turni
ng his face to hers as she came up for air. The coarse rasp of the stubble on his jaw sent a shiver through her.
Adele captured his face in both hands. "I thought I'd ruin you."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes." She breathed the word into his mouth. "It's always been my intention. Hadn't you realized?"
And then her tongue was stroking against his, her newfound confidence blooming within her as she pressed her breasts to his chest, her thighs straddling his lean hips.
If not for the faint tightening of his fingers over the ends of the armchair, she'd have thought him unmoved.
But that was the challenge, wasn't it?
To break through Malloryn's hard steel walls.
To shatter his almost insurmountable control.
One hand came up, almost hesitantly, to cup her backside.
And then he was urging her against him, the firm length of his erection grinding right between her thighs.
Adele gasped. Only two pieces of fabric separated them.
Malloryn's teeth nipped at her jaw, his other fist clenching in her silken nightgown as the tides between them began to shift.
Oh, no.
No, that wouldn't do at all.
Adele drew back, breathing hard.
The cravat. She needed the cravat. She'd had plans for it, after all.
Malloryn palmed her breasts through her bodice, brushing his lips against—
"Don't even think about it," she growled, grabbing a fistful of his hair and denying him.
He responded with a self-satisfied, utterly masculine smile that made her want to kiss him again. And then his thumbs traced teasing circles over her nipples.
"You seem to be losing control of the situation, my dear."
Capturing both wrists, she set his hands firmly on the arms of the chair again.
"I told you once," she said, sliding the tie of her robe free with a slow, stealthy glide, "that this wasn't over. Tonight, you're mine."
"And tomorrow?"
"We deal with tomorrow when it comes," she whispered. "As long as you remember not to fall in love with me, we should be safe. All I want is your body."
A startled laugh escaped him.
This bloody woman.
She defied all of his expectations of her, constantly forcing him to reassess. Adele was both a force to be reckoned with, and a siren who lured him down reckless paths. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to resist her, and now he knew why.
