by Bec McMaster
"Shall we postpone it then?" Gemma lifted her cup of tea to Isabella's. "The second I capture the Chameleon, we'll celebrate. No gentlemen allowed. Perhaps we could invite Ingrid and Ava?"
Instantly Isabella's face shuttered. "As much as I enjoy their company, they're both sickeningly happy at the moment. I don't think I could stand to hear any more talk of weddings right now, and if matters go the way I suspect they will, Miss McLaren will be wearing a ring on her finger in no time."
Most likely a correct assumption. Gemma deliberately chinked her porcelain cup against Isabella's. "Just you and me then. We'll drink to broken hearts and set out to break a few of our own. Now. Brief me on the Barrons situation."
She'd taken the bait.
Obsidian strolled through the misty shadows around the Duchess of Casavian's manor, watching as the curvaceous figure moved through the windows. He'd recognize Gemma anywhere; nobody else quite managed that seductive sway, with the flirtatious lift of her shoulder and the tilt of her chin.
He could vaguely remember seeing her for the first time across the ballroom of the Winter Palace seven years ago.
Blond curls draped elegantly over one of her pale shoulders, and her gown had been the color of blood on snow. She moved like a woman well aware of her body, all honeyed smiles and swaying hips as she rested her hand on the Duke of Malloryn's arm, surveying the ballroom before her. Elegant, graceful, and sensual. The cut of her gown hugged those rounded breasts, with a thin scrap of lace not quite hiding her cleavage. Everything about her was a tease. No man could resist. Even him.
And when their eyes met....
A breathtaking moment had shaken him, where the world had dropped away around him, his heart feeling like it stopped, quite literally, in his chest.
With the memory came the lash of pain. Obsidian sucked in a sharp breath, bracing himself for the harsh file over his nerves.
Do you still love her? Dr. Richter whispered in his ear as he connected the reconditioning machine to the steam-driven generator.
No, he'd replied, his body flinching as Richter flicked the switch and the generator began to hum. He knew this pain far too well, and his muscles clenched as he began to anticipate it.
Ghost took up the positive and negative clamps. The bitch betrayed you. She tried to burn you alive and then protested her innocence, thinking we'd fall for that. We shall burn her from your mind. By the time I'm done, you'll never willingly think of her again.
Please, he'd begged, needing to drive the ache of her from his heart.
The reconditioning had succeeded far better than he'd have ever hoped.
He couldn't think of Gemma without feeling the answering echo of pain anymore.
He could barely remember their time together.
Just the whisper of poison from her lips as she lied to him with her touch and her smile. The kiss of heat on his skin as he woke to find the bed hangings on fire and "Hollis" nowhere to be seen.
In the window before him, Gemma reached for the lantern on the stark outline of what he presumed was a chest of drawers. Second window from the end of the house, third floor.
Skoro moya yadovitaya lyubov....
Soon.
Gemma leaned forward to blow the lantern out, and light fled from the room, plunging it into merely another darkened square in the stucco brickwork.
Sensing a shadow moving on the rooftop next to Casavian manor, Obsidian faded into the overgrown hedge across the street like a wraith.
Moonlight refracted off pale hair on the rooftop. Just a brief flicker before the shadow vanished, but Obsidian knew who it was.
Caleb Byrnes, the COR agent who'd been transformed into a dhampir by Zero. Though newly made, Byrnes represented a threat, because he alone could potentially match Obsidian if it came down to a fight between them.
He'd gotten her out of the COR house.
Now he had to separate her from the rest of Malloryn's agents.
Two days later, the sensation of being watched was back.
Gemma gathered her skirts as she climbed the steps to the British Museum at Barrons's side, her gaze darting here and there, and the small briefcase she carried banging against the side of her leg.
This was where a pale man had tried to kill her almost two months ago, leaving her bleeding and begging on the floor.
This was where a second man had saved her, though she'd caught only a glimpse of him in the reflection of one of the glass cases.
For a moment she'd thought she'd seen a ghost from the past, but it had to have been her mind playing tricks on her.
Dmitri had died in Russia, according to all Malloryn's reports.
And yet, what were the chances that two "pale men" had been sighted right when the city seemed overrun with these cursed dhampir.
Gemma couldn't suppress her nerves. Barrons had been invited to a lecture on the White Court. The Imperial Family of the White Court were considered the world's first blue bloods, and she and Malloryn had bandied about theories they were actually dhampir, for Dr. Cremorne's research indicated as such when he had discovered how to create the elixir vitae from some ancient Tibetan documents.
A lecture on dhampir origins in the exact place where one had attacked her?
Surely it had to be mere coincidence.
Either that, or the Chameleon was amusing himself at her expense.
"This way," Barrons said, catching sight of the group of tweed lingering in the foyer.
"I wasn't aware you had an interest in the origins of the craving virus," she murmured.
Barrons strode at her side like a leonine creature stalking his own personal savannah. "It's a recent interest of mine. Malloryn asked me to do a little research."
He had? Gemma hurried along at Barrons's side, reverting to her meek secretary persona.
"What do you want me to do?" Barrons asked.
"Nothing out of the usual. Attend the lecture, talk with the other scientists. I'll be in the background, keeping an eye out for any unusual activity. As soon as we arrive, I'll take a brief tour of the museum to check the security."
Also to make a survey of anyone loitering. She disliked Barrons being so openly public, but he'd refused to stay at home. Her life would be so much easier if men just listened to her.
But then, Barrons was allegedly Charlie's half-brother according to some juicy rumors she'd once heard. Of course he was going to be reckless, risk seeking and stubborn. It ran in the family.
As they walked up to the group of scientists standing in the lecture hall, a dozen sets of eyes locked on her in astonishment, as if they'd never seen a woman before.
One of the scientists took off his half-moon spectacles and began to polish them, as if he simply couldn't believe his eyes.
"Egad," Barrons whispered to her, "I have brought a specimen of the rare female variety of homo sapiens to attend. Some of these gentlemen have never seen one in its natural environment before. This shall set the cat among the pigeons."
"Very droll, my lord. This would be my cue to take a tour of the museum," she murmured under her breath. "Happy researching, Barrons. I do hope they don't bore you to tears. I'll see you when the lecture ends."
Barrons gave her an amused smile, and then turned to greet his fellow enthusiasts.
Gemma pressed her fingers to the aural communicator tucked within her ear. "Subject's arrived at his destination. I'm going to make a sweep of the building. Have you got eyes on the main entrance?"
"Aye," Charlie replied, his voice giving a tinny echo through her earpiece. "Nothing's going to get past me."
"Thanks."
Malloryn hadn't been very happy about being forced to split the group's focus, but he'd conceded they couldn't take the threat to Barrons lightly.
She moved through the exhibits, her skirts swishing about her ankles. Light streamed into the pale marble rooms, and the air was dry and still. Gemma couldn't help feeling a pinch of nerves as she found herself in rooms filled with glass cases and exotic ite
ms on display.
She entered the Egyptian room, her heart starting to pick up its pace.
The museum remained still and musty around her. This was where she'd first felt Dmitri's ghost; the day the mysterious pale man stabbed her and she'd expected to die.
She hadn't died.
Instead, she'd woken up with her wound already pink and healing, and her craving virus levels skyrocketing in her blood.
A chill ran down her spine as she heard the swish of a light footstep behind her.
Just nerves, you fool. There's no one here.
And yet, she could feel all the hairs on her spine lifting.
Gemma took a breath. "Hullo?" she called, taking a cautious step forward. "Is anybody there?"
Silence.
Something happened to her that day at the museum. And she needed to find out what.
The faintest shift of leather on the marble floors caught her ear. Gemma froze. She'd thought she was imagining things, but that was definitely the sound of someone else here.
"Gemma?" Charlie muttered in her ear. "What's wrong? I'm getting some... static interference...."
"Keep your eyes on the target," she whispered, taking several more steps. Stillness radiated through the darkened room.
This was ridiculous.
You took a fright. It doesn't mean anything. The Chameleon isn't after you, after all.
But what if it wasn't the Chameleon?
Someone had been following her.
Someone had saved her life in this very room.
As if to prove her wrong, something small and round rolled across the floor. Gemma drew her pistol, spinning in that direction, her heart hammering in her chest. A child's marble bumped against the side of a case, and spun to a halt.
"Curse you, I know you're here. You healed me," she whispered, turning in slow circles, hunting for him. "I should have died but I didn't, and I couldn't understand why...."
A listening sense of silence this time.
"I know you're following me. What do you want from me?"
Nothing.
Nothing but silence.
"I want to see you," she suddenly demanded, her voice ringing out loud and sharp. Gemma stepped forward, her fists clenched. "Damn you, show yourself!"
"Gem...sha..." Charlie's voice gave a high-pitched whine in her ear, and then shirred into unintelligible static.
Gemma whipped her earpiece free, wincing at the sound. What on earth was wrong with her communicator?
Movement shifted out of the corner of her eye. She spun around, her skirts whisking against her ankles.
Something sharp bit into her neck. Gemma slapped a hand there, feeling the tiny dart that stuck out of her skin.
A man stepped out of the shadows. Gemma's breath caught in her throat as he took a step toward the light. First his shoe appeared, and then his slacks, and then hands gloved in black leather.
Broad shoulders. Pale, brown hair that brushed against his collar. And that breathtaking, oh-so-familiar face. A face that mimicked those she'd once seen on a painting of Lucifer's fall.
"Dmitri," she breathed, heat flooding from her extremities and centering in on her heart like some sort of protective mechanism. Her body was stiffening up, her legs losing all feeling. Hemlock. He'd used hemlock on her.
Everything flashed before her eyes. Saint Petersburg. Dancing under gilded lights. The taste of his mouth the first time she kissed him, her gloved hands sliding over his roughened cheeks. The shock of the bullet ripping through her chest, and the icy plunge she'd taken into the river that literally stole her breath.
"You survived," she slurred, as her knees went out from under her.
The floor pitched toward her, but he was there. Strong hands caught her before she hit the floor, and he slung her up into his arms as her pistol clattered to the ground.
"Dmitri died," the man said in a toneless voice. "All that's left now is Obsidian."
And then the world vanished around her as everything went dark.
6
Seven years ago...
* * *
The first thing Dmitri knew was the dry, pasty taste in his mouth.
Heat warmed his skin.
Light bloomed in the room.
His body felt heavy and hot, and as he couldn't sweat, his breath was coming in short, sharp pants as if he had to dispel the heat somehow.
Rising up to a level of full awareness was difficult. His bones felt like lead. Dmitri finally managed to open his eyes, and what he saw made his heart stop dead in his chest.
The curtains on the bed were on fire, flames licking at a blanket thrown haphazardly across the end of the bed. Smoke choked the air, and he could see flames eating at the doorframe. His bed was empty, only the vague indentation of a woman's body lingering in the sheets revealing his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. He hadn't been alone when he fell asleep.
"Hollis?" he yelled.
Nothing. No sign of her.
Panic roused him as nothing else could. Dmitri coughed and spluttered as he dragged himself off the bed, his heavy body still fighting him.
He staggered toward the wall, the muscles in his thighs shaking, as if they could barely handle the weight of him.
Smoke thickened the air, driving him low. Dmitri choked as his lungs found no oxygen. He had no clue where the window was. Fire bloomed between him and the door.
How the hell was he supposed to get out?
Where was Hollis?
The last he knew she'd been in his arms, her naked skin pressed against his as they lay there content. A single stolen moment with his Master's enemy before they could be found. They'd both known the risks, but he hadn't been able to stop himself from capturing her mouth for a kiss that night. Hadn't been able to turn her away as the long-suppressed passion that burned between them flared to life.
"Obsidian?" someone yelled.
Silas. His head turned in the direction of his brother-by-blood's voice. "Here!"
A dark shape loomed out of the shadows, Silas emerging from under a sodden blanket. "Rutting hell." He draped the blanket over Dmitri. "What in the blazes happened here?"
A sudden roaring whoosh burst over them, a fireball blooming in the air as the flickering flames found the overhanging canopy of the bed.
"We need to get out of here now!"
His head still swam, mouth sticky. All he could see was smoke swimming around him, burning down his throat. His lungs felt hot and dry, and it was all he could do to grab on to the pale arm of his brother.
"This way!" A hard body shoved him toward the right.
The steaming blanket Silas wore draped over his shoulders felt far too hot, but at least it provided some protection from the flames.
A chill guided him toward the window, the cold air outside. He tried to get the latch open, but Silas grabbed his arm.
"No time," Silas gasped.
They both went through the glass, Dmitri propelled by his brother. Slamming into the snow outside, he rolled onto his back and gasped. The shock of intense cold on his naked flesh, following so swiftly on the heels of the raging heat, broke the last vestiges of the drugged hold on his body.
"What the hell happened?" Silas shoved to his feet, throwing the blanket at Dmitri to sling around his waist.
He didn't know.
Dmitri glanced up at the burning room, pushing to his feet. Why was his mouth so dry? What was that taste? The last thing he could recall was Hollis giving him the glass of blooded wine before she smiled at him and began to tug at the laces tying her nightgown together.
He'd drained the cup dry.
You lay with her....
You drank the wine.
And then you slept....
A sleep so deep, he'd barely felt the bed catch fire.
Horror sent him reeling. Ghost had warned him not to compromise himself when it became clear the game he'd been playing with her was deeper than they'd both intended.
Dmitri had been working for Lord Balfo
ur to form the prospects of an alliance between the Russian Blood Court and the English prince consort, and she'd been working for the Duke of Malloryn to destroy it. He'd never been entirely certain if she'd known of his loyalties. With his Russian heritage and his accent, he could pass for one of the court, and nobody knew he worked for Balfour.
But she'd been pointed out to him as a target by Ghost.
"Malloryn's 'cousin,'" Ghost had laughed. "Or at least, that's what he's telling everybody. Ostensibly here to assist in the diplomatic efforts by pursuing an English-Russian marriage alliance, though Balfour's warned us Malloryn wants to destroy any prospect of a treaty and the girl's his spy. A former Falcon of Balfour's, if you can believe it. Malloryn's hinted he'd like to marry the girl off, and half the court is salivating. Not for marriage, of course. It would dilute their precious bloodlines. But she's got them exactly where she wants them. She's a beauty. They're all baying after her, but for some reason she seems to have singled out Sergey Grigoriev, which means Malloryn wants something from Sergey. Your mission is to distract her. Keep her away from Sergey. And find out what she's after."
"How, precisely, would you like me to do that?"
The question was not without merit.
"Seduce her. Become her friend. I don't care. Just keep her away from Sergey, and keep it quiet. We don't want to draw Malloryn's attention. Balfour considers him a pup, bested by his betters, but I'm not convinced. There's a certain kind of rage in his eyes whenever he looks at Balfour. I've seen hate like that before, and it's dangerous."
"Seduction's not my style," he'd said coolly. No. For him, the kiss of a knife to a throat was as close as he got. They all had their skills.
"She's already rebuffed Silas. So you'll have to learn."
But with Hollis, it had been easier than he'd ever expected. The second he laid eyes upon her, he'd known he'd wanted her. He'd done his duty; intercepting her for a dance before she could make her way across the ballroom to Sergey. She'd glanced over his shoulder the entire time, eyes tracking Sergey, until he made her laugh and she'd finally looked at him as if she saw him.
