Night of Fire: The Ether Chronicles

by Nico Rosso

Tom barked at them like they were shavetail privates. “You fuel it and water it?”

  “Sí,” her father answered. “Yes. Sí.”

  Her mother looked over Tom’s shoulder with worried eyes. “Where is she?”

  He couldn’t answer. The words caught in his throat. There was no explaining, no time at all. All he knew was that he had to find her. He mounted the charger, bringing it into the air as he fired up the engine. As soon as the turbine turned, he kicked the lever for the fastest speed.

  But the damn ether tank still struggled. The catalyst rattled like an old skeleton. As his velocity increased, the charger sank lower. It was agonizing, but he had to throttle back. Otherwise, he’d be digging a trench in the dirt trail, rather than skimming five feet above it.

  “Come on. Come on. Get me to her.” He leaned close to the charger’s head, letting the wind whip around him. The machine had no ears, but it didn’t matter. He even slapped the side of the metal neck with the reins.

  The town was long behind him but there was no sign of the coach or Rosa on the road. A hill rose ahead of him. He sped up the side, only two feet off the ground. When he reached the top, he used the momentum to soar higher into the air.

  Cold danger iced his back, replaced by the heat of purpose. He saw her. She stood on the top of the speeding coach. A tree branch rushed toward her and she dove to the roof just in time.

  His muscles tensed, as if he was there with her, as if he could just reach out and lift her away to safety. But he was more than one hundred yards away.

  Tom went into a dive on the charger, angling his descent so he’d catch the coach as it climbed the next hill. She had to hold on that long. She had to.

  Rosa stalked toward the driver.

  “That’s right,” Tom muttered between clenched teeth. “Get him. Throw that bastard from the top.”

  A soldier from inside the coach climbed onto the roof with her. Tom burned to go faster. If he could get his hands on that man, he’d crush the life out of him before he could touch Rosa. The danger escalated when the driver turned, seeing her and drawing his pistol.

  Thirty yards. The Rattler was steady in Tom’s hand, but it was too far a shot for the short barrel. If he missed the Hapsburgs, he could hit Rosa.

  The soldier on top with her launched into an attack. Tom always knew she was the devil of a woman. This day had proved that. She had fought with enough determination to stop a three- story mining machine. And now he got to witness her bring a living hell to the man in front of her.

  While the man swung his fists wildly, she sneered and kicked him on the inside of his knee. He buckled. She followed up with a hard punch to his face. It wasn’t enough to knock him out. The soldier pushed forward and tackled her onto the roof.

  Tom’s gut clenched. Twenty yards. Ten. Rosa rolled with the soldier. The son of a bitch tried to throw her from the roof, but she shifted her weight, taking them back to the middle.

  More speed meant less height, so Tom could only fly closer in agonizing increments. He was coming along the right side of the speeding coach when three shots rang out. The driver had spotted him.

  Weaving in the air, Tom felt the shots burn past. He also felt Rosa’s eyes on him. She and the soldier had frozen their fight for a moment. Great relief showed in her face, and Tom felt he could fly to her even without the charger. There was nothing sentimental in the look from the soldier. Pure hate.

  Tom shared the emotion.

  The driver seemed to hesitate, trying to figure out whether Rosa or Tom should be his next target. Tom wasn’t going to let him make the decision. Two quick shots from the Rattler found their mark in the driver’s body. The man pitched forward, firing his own gun into the coach’s controls. Metal shattered and ground—the sickly sounds of a machine that wasn’t going to work right anymore.

  Bellowing in outrage, the soldier redoubled his efforts to throw Rosa from the roof. The path was straight for a while ahead of the coach, but with a dead driver slumped over the controls, any hazard on the road would be a disaster for Rosa.

  She fought the soldier off, kicking him in the gut and the hip until the two of them separated. They got to their feet and circled, too close for Tom to get off a shot.

  He called to her, only about ten feet from the side of the coach. “Ain’t got time for you to be dancing with another man.”

  “I’d rather be dancing with you.”

  The soldier split his attention between Rosa and Tom. He bled from his lip, his eyebrow. Didn’t look like he wanted to take another beating from Rosa. Instead he slid to the side of the coach and swung down through the open side door.

  Rosa rushed to the controls, pushing the driver aside to take his seat. But nothing worked. She jammed the pedals and levers, and still the coach bounced at a breakneck pace along the path.

  “He shot the controls,” Tom explained.

  “Well how the hell am I . . . ?”

  He extended his hand toward her from the charger. They were only about eight feet apart.

  “Jump it.”

  She shook her head. “Fly up here and get me.”

  “No lift. Keeping this pace, this is as high as I get.”

  Movement inside the coach tightened his clock springs. The soldier shifted the Gatling gun’s mount. The barrels receded from the front firing slot. Holy hell, he could aim the gun out the side door, right at Tom.

  And then Rosa would die, too. Either falling off the coach or crushed in a terrible wreck.

  He waved her toward him with one hand, forcing the words out as he felt the tension like a noose. “Rosa. Rosa, I love you.”

  She stood stunned. “Why are you telling me that now?”

  The stick of dynamite in his other hand was the answer. He pulled a match from a pouch on his belt and lit the fuse.

  Two quick steps took her to the edge of the coach, then she leapt. Tom caught her with one arm. She wrapped herself around him. It felt like he took the first breath of his life, having her back with him.

  She eyed the lit dynamite in his hand. “A romantic man would’ve brought flowers.”

  “Well he ain’t gonna start shooting chocolate bonbons at us.”

  The nose of the Gatling gun poked out of the side door. Tom swung the charger close for a second and tossed the TNT into the coach. Rosa tightened her grip on him and he yanked on the reins. As the charger slowed, the coach sped away.

  A flash of light burst within the iron coach. The metal bulged and split, pushed out by the explosion. The wheels sprang free and sped ahead as the twisted body of the coach tumbled forward in a rooster tail of smoke and fire. A final screech and the iron carcass came to a stop, smoldering on the dirt trail.

  Tom brought the charger to rest on the ground, and he and Rosa dismounted to catch their breath. A fresh quiet surrounded them. No gunshots or explosions. Just the wind in the oak leaves.

  And Rosa in his arms to tell him the world was still worth living in. He gripped her tight, and she did the same. They were both battered from the fight. A bruise darkened the corner of her cheek. Hot iron seared at his shoulder, and he remembered that he’d been grazed there by an ether bullet.

  But hell if all that didn’t matter.

  She gave his hip a little shove. “You owe me a bottle of good tequila. I got more soldiers than you did.”

  “I got more. And I want my bottle of applejack.”

  “How about we buy each other a bottle and call it even?”

  “That’s a deal.”

  Sunlight showed all the rich brown of her eyes. Their depth was unimaginable. He wanted to dive in. Her mouth moved, but she didn’t speak. A little smile, and then she did speak.

  “I love you, too.”

  More than any ether tank, more than any modern invention, he was lifted up by the words and the strength of this woman before him. “But we’re out of dynamite.”

  The kiss drew him tighter to her. He felt every pulse of his blood through his body, and every place where she
was pressed close. They pulled apart and stood holding each other. He unwound his hands from her and tugged at the hammered shell casing around his left ring finger. It slipped over his knuckles, and he didn’t miss it. The ring clinked dully into one of the leather pouches on his belt.

  She kissed him again, quick, then licked her lips like a hungry predator. “There’s plenty of dynamite.”

  Chapter Ten

  THE HONEST SOUND of hammer against nails rang through Thornville. Fresh-cut wood smelled like progress and healing. With Parker as gang boss, the half-eaten telegraph office had been finished in record time. Now every able body worked on repairing the blacksmith’s and farrier’s buildings. The stable could wait, and a temporary corral held the horses, who watched the work with passing interest.

  Rosa stood in the middle of the street, watching the town come back to life. Behind her, the corner of the canning building that had been damaged was getting a new coat of paint. The blackened wood of the mining machine had been cleared out as soon as it had stopped burning. But there were still genuine Crandall men sifting through the area for anything salvageable.

  They cast furtive glances at Rosa, gun-shy of approaching lest they got another tongue-lashing like the one she gave them when they’d first shown up. Idiot corporate men who couldn’t keep their equipment properly guarded during a war. They insisted it would never happen again. Tom explained that if it did, every Crandall man would be considered a traitor to his country and dealt with appropriately. Looking from the stripes on his uniform to the star on her vest, the mining men shrank away.

  And then Tom had to go away. It hadn’t even taken twenty-four hours after he’d returned as a soldier for him to make himself indispensable in her life. Not just in the battle with the Hapsburg saboteurs. But he fit just right next to her. They’d both grown to the point where they complemented each other’s strengths. She could never question his loyalty again. His dedication to her was like a campfire and a blanket over her shoulders on a cold night. And a Winchester across her lap.

  The chill had crept into her nights after he left this time. It was only a couple of days after the fight with the Hapsburgs, shorter than his leave should’ve been. But he said the Army had to know. The enemy might try the same thing somewhere else. This was no excuse to run. She saw in his eyes how much he wanted to stay. He didn’t sneak away like before. Instead, he flew boldly off on his Sky Charger in broad daylight.

  A shadow skimmed along the ground, and she shaded her eyes to look in the sky. Tom rode down from forty feet above her, relaxed in the saddle and looking crisp in a new uniform. But she knew polished buttons and a stripe down the side of his thigh couldn’t completely tame him. Dios, his wild side was all hers. His arrival breathed new life into her. It felt like she could soar into the air to meet him twenty feet over the ground.

  “Howdy, Sheriff,” he called down, pinching his brim, a wicked little smile on his face.

  “Sergeant.”

  Shaking his head, he pointed to the new patches on his shoulder. “Second Lieutenant.”

  As he flew closer the smell of roasting carrots reminded her of when they flew back to Thornville after her wild iron coach ride. It seemed then as if her heart would never stop pounding. But that might’ve been Tom’s doing, not the crashing death she’d avoided.

  Coming in high, they had seen the burning ruin of the mining machine and the splintered remains of the buildings it had destroyed. Her parents and some others had surrounded the surviving Hapsburg soldiers, containing them with their own guns. Parker had saddled the fastest horse to ride to the closest authorities.

  Once the fires had been put out and the soldiers had been tied up and secured in a barn, she and Tom had walked together to Francis’s saloon. The bottle of tequila was on the house.

  She was brought back to the present as Tom landed near her and dismounted, stretching his legs. He untied his saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder. But as he walked toward her, a new worry tightened her ribs.

  “A promotion,” she said. “Does that mean they’re giving you a platoon of men to command at the front?”

  “Nope.” He took off his hat and ran his hand through his short blond hair. “It means they’re giving me a territory.”

  The smile grew on his face. Bold in broad daylight, he wound his arms around her waist. No doubt the town was watching. Including her parents. Rosa was the sheriff. She did what she wanted.

  She kissed Tom, and he kissed her back.

  When they pulled apart, he indicated a small metal insignia pinned on his collar. “You’re looking at the very first Upland Ranger in the Home Guard division. Top brass started it up on my recommendation.” He gazed over the town and the hills that surrounded it. “It’s my duty to keep the home front safe from any more enemy attacks. And . . .” His hand gripped hers. “I get to work closely with local authorities in my territory.”

  She hoped the top brass knew what was good for them. “Which includes Thornville.”

  “Bet your ass it does. I made sure of that. No way I’m fighting the enemies of our country without you at my side.”

  It sounded right, the two of them protecting the land. “They have you barracked in San Luis?” They started walking down the street, toward her sheriff’s office.

  “I’m a platoon of one. Barracked wherever I hang my pistol.” He still held her hand. “Was hoping there might be a place for me in Thornville.”

  “There’s a little house that’ll be perfect for you. It’s got only one other resident.”

  “But she’s a wildcat.”

  “As untamed as you.”

  “Sounds all right by me.” He took his eyes from her to glance up the street. “What’ll they think about it?”

  Her parents stood in front of their leather shop, watching Tom and Rosa’s approach. But she didn’t feel any hesitation in his step. He stood tall and close to her.

  “They haven’t stopped talking about how you came back a mighty fine hombre.”

  “We’ll all have to sit down for a talk sometime soon. Some serious matters to work out.”

  With Tom, it didn’t sound like shackles. He wanted her for who she was. Being with him was freedom.

  “I’ll make sure there’s plenty of tequila.”

  “Still haven’t had my applejack.”

  It was true. After the fight, they went straight from the saloon to her house. To sleep. To make love. To eat and make love again until he had to leave.

  “I’m buying,” she said.

  He hesitated and she pulled out of his hand.

  “Brought you a gift.” He rummaged in his saddlebag and handed her a small cardboard box.

  It was heavy. “Jewelry?”

  “Well, it is pretty.”

  The box slid open, revealing a gleaming two-barrel derringer.

  He watched her face. “But not as pretty as you. Or as dangerous.”

  “The perfect accessory for any fancy lady.” Heat flushed over her skin. Not only did he know her body, but he understood her deeper than anyone else. “Better than any jewelry.”

  There was a surprising gravity in his eyes. “You already knew I’m not a romantic man.”

  “You’re a lot of things.” She took all of him in, amazed that he was real and complete in front of her. “But you’re not the Tom who left.”

  “Hell no. And you ain’t the Rosa who stayed.”

  “Good thing.” She tucked the derringer into the top of her boot and pulled him into another kiss. “Everything fell into place.”

  “Like the cylinder turning to a fresh chamber as the hammer falls.”

  They kissed again, their bodies pressed close. Her star clinked against one of his brass buttons. “If I was still the old me,” she said, “I wouldn’t have been ready for who you are now.”

  “I’m yours.” She felt the ferocious truth in his words. “Soldier, roughneck, hell of a dancer, lover, straight shot.”

  All of that and more.

>   “You’re the man who came back.”

  If you loved NIGHT OF FIRE

  don’t miss novellas from Zoë Archer,

  the other half of the smart, sexy Ether Chronicles collaboration

  SKIES OF FIRE

  Man-made of metal and flesh

  Captain Christopher Redmond has just one weakness: the alluring spy who loved and left him years before . . . when he was still just a man. Now superhuman, a Man O’ War, made as part of the British Navy’s weapons program, his responsibility is to protect the skies of Europe. If only he could forget Louisa Shaw.

  A most inconvenient desire

  Louisa, a British naval intelligence agent, has never left a job undone. But when her assignment is compromised, the one man who can help her complete her mission is also the only man ever to tempt her body and heart. As burning skies loom and passion ignites, Louisa and Christopher must slip behind enemy lines if they are to deliver a devastating strike against their foe . . . and still get out alive.

  Available Now

  Wherever E-books Are Sold

  Coming in October 2012

  Daphne Carlisle must journey into perilous territory to free her parents from a warlord’s clutches.

  Her only hope of reaching them is Captain Mikhail Denisov, a rogue Man O’ War as seductive as he is untrustworthy.

  Yet she needs Mikhail and the airship he both commands and powers through the technological enhancements implanted in his body.

  Mikhail thinks he has the mission and Daphne figured out:

  a simple job and a beautiful, sheltered woman.

  But this jaded mercenary is about to learn that in the world of the Ether Chronicles, appearances can be deceptive.

  About the Author

  NICO ROSSO was a writer in search of a genre until his wife, Zoë Archer, brought romance into his life in more ways than one. Through her he learned the romance genre was filled with vast opportunities for storytelling. He created the sci-fi romance Limit War series, sweeping readers off Earth to an interstellar conflict. Closer to home, he set off the apocalypse with The Last Night. And starting with The Ether Chronicles, he gets to write closer than ever with his wife. They created the steampunk world together and trade off telling romance tales that span the globe. You can find him on the web at www.nicorosso.com.