Mission_Improper

by Bec McMaster

  creatures.

  " One problem at a time, Miller. Free

  Debney."

  Throwing all of her weight into the lever, she

  felt it hover on the verge of shifting, and then

  finally launch down, the last chain on Debney

  falling apart in two pieces as the guillotine sliced

  through it.

  Something exploded behind her. Blue bloods

  screamed, then three of them went down. Hemlock

  bombs. "Debney!"

  He was scrambling to get on his feet.

  "Ready!"

  Yanking him up by the arm, she dragged him

  through the crowd. Byrnes had detailed their

  escape route to avoid most of the hemlock bombs

  he'd planted. They ran, Ingrid barging through

  panicked blue bloods and shoving them out of the

  way with her verwulfen strength.

  Another bomb exploded. Fiery pain lashed

  her arm as two of the hemlock spikes drove into

  her flesh, and the flash-fire burn in her blood

  indicated the loupe virus was attacking the poison

  with prejudice. It was good to be verwulfen.

  Not so good to be a blue blood. Debney

  jolted, staggering as his right leg suddenly

  stiffened. "Hit," he gasped, and went down on one

  knee. "Leave... me...."

  Like hell.

  Straining under his sagging weight, Ingrid

  dragged him over her shoulder, and started running

  up the slope, her thighs burning. Every hair down

  the back of her neck rose, as if she could feel

  something hunting her.

  Screams broke out behind them. Then a

  strange fluting trill pierced the air. "Hunt, my pet!"

  Another low, eerie tone from the flute.

  "Byrnes!"

  " Coming! "

  A lithe black shadow broke out of the trees,

  and Byrnes caught her, wincing as one last hemlock

  bomb exploded behind them.

  "What are we going to do?"

  "Can you carry him?" Byrnes glanced over his

  shoulder, flicking his pistols into his hands.

  For a while. She ground her teeth together.

  "I'll manage."

  "Head for the folly. I've planted some more

  bombs there, on a remote detonating charge." He

  gave her a shove in the back and turned, both

  pistols lifting.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Double barrels spat

  bullets, the sound shearing through her eardrums.

  "There are two of them! I've got this one!"

  As if the odds could not get any worse.

  Panting, with sweat dripping down her face,

  Ingrid forced her way up the hill toward the marble

  folly. Something snarled behind her and she threw

  herself over the edge of berserkergang, letting the

  fury, the fierce rush of the loupe consume her. It

  fired through her veins, granting her an extra burst

  of speed, even as the fierce cold-hot rush bled

  through her veins.

  A heavy weight hit her and Debney squealed.

  Ingrid went to one knee, as a flash of something

  rocketed past. Dumping Debney off her shoulder,

  she spun just in time to face a nightmare. The

  vampire had overshot them, but now it loped

  toward her then paused, as if it sensed that she'd

  turned, and lifted its head to sniff. Crab-walking

  sideways, it made a series of high-pitched clicking

  noises that somehow helped it to see, considering

  the blind film covering its eyes.

  Ingrid moved with it, trying to force it back to

  the main entrance up the slope. "Come on," she

  whispered. "Back you go." There was no fear now,

  only a tempting lure of violence. Let's see if you

  bleed. "Back, you ugly bastard."

  Back where the glittering gold hemlock orbs

  waited, lying forlornly on the grass. In the distance,

  she could see flames flickering as if something was

  burning, but Byrnes was nowhere to be seen. The

  vampire took a single step forward, hopping on

  three limbs. Nearly there. Nearly.

  "Byrnes," she said softly, gaze locked on the

  vampire as it made one more step. "Anytime you're

  ready with those detonators."

  The golden orbs made a faint clicking noise,

  and the vampire looked down. Ingrid threw herself

  behind the folly wall as they exploded. Iron spikes

  flew past, embedding themselves in the marble,

  and the vampire gave a high-pitched scream.

  "Got you."

  Hemlock couldn't be entirely trusted; its

  effectiveness differed depending on the levels of

  craving virus in the blood, and a vampire's would

  be coming in at 100 percent. But it might slow it

  down, just for a few seconds anyway.

  Blades in hand, she launched herself down the

  slope. The creature was staggering, shaking off the

  effects of dozens of the iron spikes. Ingrid lashed

  out, raking her knife through its maggot-pale flesh.

  Black ichor splashed and it screamed, its claws

  lashing at her, just as a wave of putrid stench

  enveloped her. Forcing herself not to gag, Ingrid

  sank her second knife into its guts, and wrenched it

  upward, toward its sternum. Heart. Where was the

  heart?

  There. She felt it on the tip of her blade, and

  the vampire's efforts redoubled, its back claws

  hooking up between them and raking down her

  side. Hot blood burned her knuckles; somewhere

  in the back of her mind she was aware of the pain

  and the hurt, but the berserkergang had her in its

  grip now. Lashing out, she drove her main knife in

  deep to join the second one. Again. Again. Then it

  kicked out, and the force of the blow knocked her

  feet out from under her.

  "Ingrid! Clear!"

  Ingrid threw herself aside, relief flooding

  through her, as Byrnes suddenly appeared, pistols

  raised.

  THERE WERE a few moments in his life that had

  branded themselves on Byrnes's brain; the moment

  when his mother had fallen that last time, her head

  striking the edge of the fireplace and making that

  sound, that horrible sound; the memory of cold rain

  drizzling down his face as he stared impassively at

  his father's casket and hoped the bastard was

  rotting in hell; and now Ingrid, backlit against the

  blaze below, runnels of sweat marking her face.

  Blood. And pain in her eyes. And a white

  blur, moving toward him with impossible speed.

  Byrnes stepped back, his heel catching on

  something, his eyes going wide as he fell....

  Tumbling onto his back, he jerked the trigger

  as the vampire launched itself at him. Acid blood

  sprayed across his face as the pistol retorted, the

  creature falling heavily across him. Byrnes

  scrambled backwards, still fighting, still wrestling,

  until he realized that he was fighting a dead weight.

  It was over.

  Half of the vampire's head was simply... gone.

  The firebolt bullets in his pistol had exploded upon

  impact, and its chest was a mess from where Ingrid

  had cut it.

  "I killed it."
>
  A vampire. He'd killed a vampire. Pure

  bloody luck, that was what it was; the pistol in the

  right place at the right time, his finger already on

  the trigger. His heart wouldn't stop racing.

  Then the pain of the blood burns washed over

  him. Vampire blood was like acid. That, and the

  recollection that he hadn't been alone.

  "Ingrid!" Byrnes wiped it off, scoring his

  sensitive skin and ignoring the flash of pain as he

  searched for her. Ingrid watched him warily, those

  amber eyes flaring bronze-hot. She was kneeling,

  one hand pressed gently to her side.

  "Are you hurt?" he demanded.

  Ingrid shook her head, staring again at the

  vampire's body. "Just... shaken."

  And she was so rarely shaken. Those long,

  dexterous hands trembled and blood marred her

  bodice. She'd never looked so bloody beautiful.

  Nor so vulnerable.

  "And Debney?"

  "Alive." She pressed her hands over Debney's

  chest. Sharp slashes gouged a bloody ruin in his

  brother's skin.

  "Oh, God. I'm dying, aren't I? Caleb? Caleb?"

  There was a note of panic in Debney's voice as he

  searched for Byrnes.

  "Not dying, Debney. Not today." Byrnes knelt

  at his brother's side, assessing the damage. "You

  probably won't even have a scar, courtesy of the

  craving virus."

  "Not dying?" The words gurgled in Debney's

  throat; an incredulous laugh.

  "Not dying."

  For some reason, Debney caught his hand.

  "You came for me."

  "Well, you were squealing like a stuck pig in

  my ear. I couldn't just leave you there." Though he

  tried to sound disgusted, their eyes met. Byrnes

  looked away. "No more debt, Francis," he said

  softly. "You were very brave. If you hadn't lied

  about my presence, we probably wouldn't have had

  a chance."

  Sitting up with a wince, Debney nodded,

  looking quite overcome. "What happened to the

  other vampire? Did you kill them both?"

  "She recalled it with her flute." Byrnes ran a

  hand through his hair.

  "Bloody hell." Staggering to his feet, Debney

  nearly took a swan-dive into a stand of bushes.

  "Just let me... get my feet under me." He headed off

  in a slow circle around the folly, shaking off the

  hemlock.

  And then they were alone, the feral need in

  Ingrid's eyes matching the sensation in his chest.

  Nearly dead. Both of them.

  Want kindled in his veins, fanned to hot

  flames by the exhilaration of what had just

  happened. The blaze of post-battle fury brought

  with it the need for physical release, or simply

  even the touch of her skin.

  Fuck it. He gave in to the urge, closing the

  distance between them, cupping her face and tilting

  it up toward him, his thumbs wiping the blood from

  her cheek. Ingrid made a growling sound in her

  throat, but he didn't think it was denial. An echo of

  the lust slamming through him, perhaps.

  "Think I've earned that kiss yet?" It came out

  rougher than he'd intended. Hell. He wasn't feeling

  at all himself. Shaky perhaps, in ways that he didn't

  understand.

  Sliding a hand behind his nape, Ingrid yanked

  his face down, her lips brushing against his and

  sending an electric shock through him. "I think

  you've more than earned it."

  Then she claimed his mouth in a kiss that lit

  the very soles of his feet on fire.

  A year. An entire year in which he'd yearned

  for this, dreaming of that last time she'd kissed him

  and ridden his hips with only her breeches

  between them and the hot scent of her need

  dampening the air. Byrnes had locked it all away—

  every last memory—but he hadn't been able to

  forget. Not completely. It all surged to the surface,

  but the sensation of this, the realness of it, blew his

  memories and his expectations out of the water.

  Muscling her backwards, he felt the jolt as

  her back came up against the marble column of the

  folly. Kissing each other, their mouths warring, no

  finesse, only hunger... it burned through him.

  Sliding his hands down her hips, he rocked against

  her. Tongues clashed, hers faintly teasing—

  "Ahem." Debney made a faint coughing sound

  behind them.

  Byrnes froze. He was going to kill his brother.

  Slowly and painfully. A thousand ways to do so

  sprang to mind, even as tension slid through

  Ingrid's lithe body.

  But this wouldn't be his only chance. No. He'd

  won a precious step toward earning her trust today

  and this contest of wills between them. He would

  have her. All he had to do was remain patient.

  With a sigh, Byrnes lifted his face, reluctantly

  releasing her. It hurt to let her go. Darkness

  slithered through his vision, the hunger—the

  predator

  within—asserting

  itself.

  Mine,

  it

  whispered, and Byrnes actually blinked.

  Then it was gone, his vision sliding through

  shades of black and gray, until color flooded back

  into his world and he had to wonder if he'd

  imagined that.

  Because, if he wasn't mistaken, the darker

  side of his nature had just stamped its claim on the

  most frustrating woman he knew.

  "Let's go." Ingrid's voice was sharper than

  expected. He could almost hear the sound of her

  putting up those guarded walls around herself so

  that he could never, ever get in. "That woman had

  four vampires. I shouldn't like to wait around to

  discover if there are any more out there in the dark,

  hunting us."

  "Agreed," he said softly, and shook off the

  unusual sense of connection that he'd momentarily

  felt.

  That way lay danger.

  And Ingrid wasn't the only one who guarded

  her heart.

  TEN

  "HOW'S DEBNEY?" Ingrid asked, rapping her

  knuckles against the door of the passenger cabin

  that Byrnes occupied.

  She paused awkwardly as Byrnes looked up

  from beneath those thick, indecent black lashes, his

  blue eyes locking on her with that intensity with

  which he viewed everything. Something heated lit

  his gaze, then he returned his attention to his bare

  arm, which he was wiping the blood from.

  Bare arm. Bare chest... rippled abdomen.

  Ingrid looked away, her gaze locking on his

  discarded shirt and valet's coat and staying there.

  Far safer than letting it wander back to the man

  himself as he tended various wounds. The blood

  burns from the vampire had long faded, leaving

  only a reddened mark on his skin, but there were

  various cuts and bruises. Much like her own,

  though she hadn't had a chance to tend them. The

  one along her side burned as the loupe virus fired

  through her
blood.

  "Most likely in some sort of alcoholic stupor

  in the main cabin," Byrnes replied, and she could

  hear fabric rustling as he dragged his shirt off the

  chair and slid into it. "I had to force half a bottle of

  blud-wein into him before he'd even start to make

  sense." Byrnes suddenly sounded disgusted. "He

  kept telling me how brave I was to come back for

  him. And he's in awe of you."

  "You were brave," she said, deciding to tease

  him a little. A glance revealed that he was decently

  covered and struggling impatiently with the buttons

  on his shirt. "Sweeping in to rescue your brother

  like that."

  Byrnes's eyes narrowed to thin slits and

  Ingrid crossed toward him, brushing his hands out

  of the way and doing the buttons up beneath his

  chin.

  "Thank you," he murmured, and their eyes

  met.

  She lowered her hands. "You came back for

  me too."

  Odd words. She felt like she stood on the

  edge of a precipice with that sentence, and from

  the uncertain look on his face, he knew it too. This

  truce was new to both of them.

  "Well, I couldn't have you stealing all of the

  glory," he finally said, as if to settle them safely

  back within the familiar realms of their

  relationship. "Single-handedly defying Ulbricht

  and his cronies; dashing headlong into the reach of

  four vampires to pull Debney out, and then

  carrying him over your shoulder. It's almost

  embarrassing. Had to do something."

  "Maybe Debney's been rubbing off on you.

  You sound half in awe too."

  "Well, I did have the other half of the bottle of

  blud-wein. Garrett's personal stock."

  "Why do you enjoy pulling on Garrett's

  whiskers so much?" she asked, sinking into one of

  the chairs. She'd met the guild master a year ago

  when he'd first commissioned her help during the

  Vampire of Drury Lane case.

  "Because I can." Byrnes shrugged and

  dragged his coat up his arms and over his broad

  shoulders.

  Which wasn't quite the entire truth, she

  suspected.

  "You're bleeding," he declared. "I can smell it

  on you somewhere."

  The wound along her side was painful, but not

  overwhelming. "I've bandaged it up. Just an idle

  claw mark or two. Not going to bother you too

  much?"

  Blue bloods, after all, liked blood. A great

  deal. But Byrnes had always seemed in control of

  his darker half. Brutally so.

  "I can manage it." At that his expression