Iron Kin: A Novel of the Half-Light City

by M. J. Scott

  Fen leaned closer, his lips almost touching mine. I wanted his kiss, wanted the taste of him again, but instead he moved to my ear.

  “I want you kneeling on the bed. Hands and knees.”

  I didn’t know if my legs were even capable of holding me up, but I did as he asked, part of my mind still wondering why. The rest of me knew all too well. I would do whatever it took to get him to touch me, to take me. To ease this hunger he’d ignited and chase away everything else that was tumbling through my head.

  The mattress gave beneath me as I climbed onto the bed, the velvet soft against my skin, the combination both welcoming and intimidating. There was no hiding from the truth of what I wanted and what I was going to do here. My arms trembled as I arranged myself as he wanted, tiny tremors that echoed the shivers of sensation that traveled across my skin.

  It was tempting to bend my arms, drop my head to the mattress. But that would be hiding. And not what he’d asked of me. Instead I bowed my body sideways so I could look back at Fen.

  He hadn’t moved from where he stood. But as I watched he pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it.

  Then he moved. Stalked across the room so fluidly that it was clear that he wasn’t entirely human. Something about the way his bones and muscles moved was too swift. Too sleek.

  Too wild.

  It made me want him even more.

  I could feel the pulse of it, beating between my legs, could feel my nipples hard and tight against the confines of my corset. Wanted to rip every scrap of clothing from my body so that there was nothing to stop him from touching me.

  I’d never felt this before. The sheer wanting of it.

  Madness.

  I was happy to lose my sanity if that was the case.

  Fen stopped at the foot of the bed, his eyes locked with mine.

  “Look away,” he said.

  I moved my head, gazed straight ahead, feeling the loss of eye contact like a wound. I held myself there, feeling as though I might just come apart entirely if he didn’t touch me soon.

  One heartbeat. Two. Three. Four. My nerves tightened, stretched, quivered. I fought to stay still, not to turn around or roll over and scream, “Take me.”

  And then it came. The flat of his hand stroked the length of my spine, caressing me from nape to hip. Then both hands seized my chemise, clenched, ripped, let the ruined cotton and lace fall off me. Then they returned, stroking my skin, circling restlessly, yet carefully. Coming near all the places I wanted to be touched, dipping toward the slide of my buttocks and drifting down my sides a little but never quite touching me.

  I bit my lip, trying not to moan. I managed to stay silent, but I couldn’t quite still the impatient arches and dips of my body as it responded to his touch.

  “Like that, do you?” His voice sounded rough, hungry. “Good.”

  His hands slid up my back again, slowly this time, so I could feel the small pauses as his palms slid over the small obstacles of the lacing of my corset. I held my breath, sure that he would free them. I wanted him to. My breasts ached, nipples screaming to be released, to feel his fingers and his mouth. But he didn’t. Instead he tracked the curves of my corset, the places where it drew my waist in, contouring the lines of my body. His hands slid down, then around, and then, finally, finally up to my breasts, cupping them through the satin and cotton, the pressure of his hands only deepening the longing to be able to really feel him.

  His hands pulled the fabric tighter against my skin, so it scraped the too sensitive buds of my nipples and I moaned and pushed into him.

  “Gods.” The word was soft but urgent. His hands moved again, sweeping around to my back, sliding down, down, until he was gripping my thighs, pulling me back against him, so I finally—finally—felt the hard length of him against me. I moaned again and he moved away, his hands repeating their tearing act with my drawers this time.

  I went still as he pulled them free. Gods indeed. I was bare to him now, nowhere to hide or go or pretend. He could, no doubt, see the evidence that I wanted him.

  “A little farther up the bed,” he said, and I could hear the fierceness of him in his voice. Knew suddenly that he was struggling for control just as I was.

  Gloried in the knowledge.

  I made my movements slow, deliberate, as I eased myself a little farther up the mattress. Took the stance he wanted again. Held myself there against every instinct I had to beg him to come close again. I closed my eyes, not willing to look.

  I heard the rustle of cotton, then felt the mattress dip as he climbed up behind me.

  Felt him slide against me, his cock slipping between my legs, rubbing against me as he put his thighs either side of mine. “Gods,” he muttered again as for a few seconds I couldn’t help arching against him, easing the ache between my legs against him, feeling pinwheels and starbursts of pleasure with each slippery contact.

  I didn’t have long to tease him. His control was slipping as fast as mine. His hands tightened on my hips and he pulled himself back and then took me with one hard thrust that felt so good I almost came.

  But that would be too easy.

  “Not yet,” he said roughly, and he eased back, then thrust again. Long and slow and fierce, setting a rhythm that wiped every thought from my head. I didn’t know if he was taking me or I was taking him as he drove me higher and higher.

  Slow became faster, then faster again. His breath was fast and rough and mingled with my gasps. I felt myself begin to quiver around him and one of his hands slid around and pressed once, hard and sharp, and I came with a shuddering moan, sliding forward in a boneless heap of pleasure.

  “Oh no,” he said. “We’re not done yet.”

  He freed himself, rolled me over and settled himself against me once more, not yet sliding home. The feel of him made all the nerves that were still pulsing with delight shiver and tremble all over again. I lifted my arms above my head, lazy with satisfaction. Fen’s eyes were dark, wild almost. He reached up to grip my wrists and his chain brushed my skin, the iron a sudden shock.

  “Take it off,” I said.

  He froze. His pupils flared wider as he studied me. I didn’t know why I was asking what I was. Only knew that I wanted him as naked as he had me.

  “Just us,” I said.

  He nodded once then, slowly eased back a little so he could undo the chain. He unwound it carefully, hissing at one point as though it hurt, then dropped it over the side of the bed.

  “You can’t stop touching me now,” he said. “I want you against me.”

  A smile stretched my lips. “I can do that.” I settled myself, draped my legs around him, arching to invite him back in.

  Then it began again. Not so fast or wild this time. Instead, we moved together, a sliding, twisting dance that moved us across each other and the bed, bodies straining, skin touching.

  His mouth came down on mine and the kiss was dark and deep, almost desperate. We followed each other over the bed, at no point breaking contact altogether, always lips or hands or bodies joined, drowning in the pool of pleasure we created, our own moment of escape.

  I lost count during the night of just how many times I came or he came or which of us started each new round. It was only Fen and I and, at the end, all I knew was his body curled around mine as I finally surrendered to sleep.

  * * *

  I woke when the mattress dipped beside me, the warmth of Fen’s body suddenly gone. I rolled over, intending to coax him back to my side once more.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, twining the iron around his wrist.

  My stomach chilled. “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t meet my gaze. “It’s past seven. You need to go home.”

  The chill in my stomach stole outward, making my arms and legs feel strangely numb. I reached for the velvet counterpane, dragged it around my body. “You want me to leave?”

  That brought his eyes to mine. “I think it’s best. Don’t you?”

  I blinked. “I tho
ught—”

  “Don’t.” He cut me off as he stood and started dressing. “This was just one night, Saskia. Don’t start weaving any stories of happy endings around me.”

  My jaw clenched even as my stomach twisted. “You enjoyed it.”

  He nodded. “Yes. I did. So did you. But that’s all there is. Now, you need to get home before your brothers find out you’re not there already.”

  “My brothers? Is that what this is about? You’re worried about what Simon and Guy will think?”

  “No. I’m just trying to be clear. I’m not—” He broke off, ran his hands through his hair. “There’s no future in this.”

  “What if I’m not looking for a future?”

  “Girls like you always want a future.”

  That finally tipped me over. The curl of anger I felt was stronger than the humiliation of being tossed out of his bed. “I told you last night. I’m not the girl you think I am.”

  “Oh really? You just want someone to fuck when the urge takes you?” One dark eyebrow arched, skeptical as the tone that turned his voice to a knife’s edge.

  “What if I do?”

  “The answer’s still no.”

  “I see.” I spoke the words carefully, feeling as though they might shatter in my mouth. The anger was still there, but beyond it was a lurking pool of hurt that wanted to rise up and wash over me. Obviously I had been wrong about him. I thought we had connected last night. Thought there had been something more to it than just satisfying the roar of want we shared.

  I pulled the counterpane tighter, climbed out of bed and found my dress and my corset. I didn’t bother with the shreds of my drawers or my chemise. After a moment’s hesitation I dropped the corset as well. My dress would fit well enough without it, thanks to its practical cut. And I’d be damned if I was going to ask Fen to help me.

  I pulled the dress on over my head, did up the buttons with jerky motions. My boots—where were my boots?

  Then I remembered. By the armchair. I straightened my spine and crossed the room to fetch them. I avoided looking at Fen until I had the shoes on and had found my purse.

  Then I turned to face him. “It seems I was right about one thing,” I said with a snap in my tone that would hopefully hide anything else that might be lurking beneath the surface.

  “Oh?” His voice was as edged as mine.

  “Yes. The women who kiss you are idiots.”

  There were far less polite things I could think of to say, but I was trying to keep the last shreds of my dignity. Hard to do when a large part of me was desperately hoping he would reach out to me. Say “Stop. Don’t go.” Apparently I was as much an idiot as any woman when it came to Fen. Still, I didn’t have to be a complete fool and let him know that. “Good-bye, Fen.”

  I wasn’t going to ask him if I’d see him again. If he was going to still be part of our delegation. He could make up his mind himself and the lords of the seven hells could damn him if he turned his back on our bargain.

  We could do just fine without him, I was sure.

  I turned to leave. I could feel his gaze boring into my back, feel the temper and other things sparking between us, but he didn’t speak.

  And if he didn’t, then I wasn’t going to either.

  I made it all the way back to my mother’s house and into the safety and seclusion of my bedroom before I let the tears come.

  * * *

  Much later the same morning I woke in a foul temper and far too early given how late—or early, rather—it had been when I’d finally slept. I crept down to the garden, carrying my tea, so that I could stand on bare earth for a while and let the power fill me and chase away some of my fatigue. Pity that it could do nothing about my mood.

  The day was clear and warm, the powdery blue sky promising heat later. The late-summer sunshine was preposterously cheerful, making everything in the garden shiny and bright. Birds sang and bees buzzed around the flowers, which were blooming riotously, filling the air with scent.

  It seemed ridiculous to think that the City outside our garden walls had any troubles at all, let alone that it might stand on the brink of disaster. Surely disasters didn’t happen in perfect weather? Surely there should be clouds and storms and a slinking darkness, like the end of the twilight, the half-light the City got her ancient name from?

  But no. It seemed not. Reality didn’t work that way. Bad things happened regardless of weather or place or rank or if the person they happened to deserved any pain or suffering. The world wasn’t a safe, sunny fairy tale.

  I needed to remember that. The next few weeks were going to be dangerous. Outward appearances weren’t to be believed. Everything needed to be watched and weighed and balanced, and any actions taken carefully. Time to be the adult I was always telling my brothers to believe I was.

  I sighed and swallowed the last of the tea, before shaking the few stray leaves at the bottom of the cup onto one of the flower beds. Fen could probably tell my fortune from the tea leaves, I thought, and then cursed myself for bringing him to mind. I gritted my teeth, determined not to cry again. So, I’d been an idiot. I’d slept with a man and had my feelings bruised.

  It had happened before.

  But never quite like last night.

  I heard his voice again then and felt his touch, felt my body pulse in remembrance of the things we’d done.

  The things we would not be doing again.

  Any more than I would be remembering the sweetness of his kisses and the way he looked at me as he touched me for all those hours we’d shared.

  It had been more than just sex.

  For me, at least.

  Which meant nothing, if Fen was of a different opinion. My fingers curled around the teacup, wanting to fling it at the brick wall just for the satisfaction of hearing it shatter.

  No.

  Giving in to a tantrum wouldn’t make me feel any better. I walked back toward the house, my steps dragging even though I did feel the tiniest bit better for the time I’d spent outside. Part of me wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed and pretend there was nothing to worry about.

  This was what I had wanted, I reminded myself. To be let in on the inner secret. To know the truth about what was happening. And I’d wanted Fen too.

  It seemed the old saying about being careful what you wished for was true indeed.

  As I passed through the back door, Ian, one of the footmen, handed me a letter. “Message for you, Miss Saskia,” he said.

  I took it cautiously, wondering who was writing to me. Master Aquinas, to tell me I was expelled from the Guild?

  Don’t be melodramatic. I thanked Ian and headed for the stairs, turning the envelope over to see if the seal might give any clue. But no—it was an unmarked blob of red wax, unrevealing as a mummer’s mask.

  I was half tempted to leave it unread, but it could well be something important. I tore it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

  Prentice DuCaine, it read in a carefully elegant hand.

  You were wrong. I am the idiot.

  If you would come to see me, I’ll let you say I told you so.

  Please come.

  The signature was nothing more than an F slashed in three bold strokes.

  I stared at the note, not knowing whether to be happy or even more outraged.

  So he thought I would come if he called, did he? Well, that was just . . . perfectly correct, I realized with a sigh as I reached my room.

  I would go.

  I couldn’t help myself.

  Which, as far as I could tell, made me an idiot beyond any reasonable meaning of the word.

  * * *

  It was well past one o’clock before I got to the Swallow. I had taken time to bathe and dress, carefully choosing something that was flattering but simple. I didn’t want Fen thinking I’d made any particular effort, after all. Even if it had taken me twenty minutes to decide on a pair of earrings and longer still to determine how I wanted to wear my hair.

 
Idiot, indeed.

  I hadn’t actually expected the Swallow to be open this early, but there were two men at the door as usual, though not the same men as had been there when I’d left the night before.

  But like those two, the new bouncers looked somewhat surprised at my appearance. I didn’t blame them. I would imagine that men brought the majority of any business that the Swallow did so early.

  Still, they let me pass without too much comment. I should have sent a reply, I thought as I scanned the tavern. Should have made him come to me.

  But that would have meant having this meeting with the entirety of Mother’s household plus Simon, Guy, Lily, and Holly present.

  No thank you to that particular scenario.

  It took a moment or two for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, so different from the blaze of the chandeliers that had illuminated the place previously.

  Then I saw Fen. At the bar, a place he looked far too comfortable in. I hesitated. This was stupidity. Nothing more or less. But I couldn’t make myself turn around and walk away.

  Instead, I just watched. The room was nearly empty, maybe twenty people in total, a number that would only fill half the stools along the massive wooden bar, let alone make any sort of impact on the small tables scattered around the place. They were all men—I’d been right about that. Half of them wore evening clothes, so presumably they had been out all night. The others, more plainly dressed, were mostly eating or reading newspapers. Perhaps they were staff rather than patrons. I didn’t know or care. They weren’t the ones I had come to see, after all.

  Fen was alone at the bar, talking amiably to the barman. The green stone dangling from his ear glinted in the low light thrown by the flickering gaslights. There was a glass in front of him—brandy, judging by its color—but it was still mostly full and he didn’t reach for it in the long moments while I watched.

  Then he turned, saw me. The smile he shot me had me stepping forward before I could think any more. Nerves bloomed with each step.

  Silly little girl.

  Silly, foolish, stupid little girl.