by Bec McMaster
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.
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."
"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 items 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.
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.
"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. "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.
Chapter 6
Five 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. Pain screamed along his back as the heat burned him.
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.
"Holl-is?" he tried to yell.
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. His arms were blistered, and the pain nearly drove him to his knees.
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. "Ruttin' 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.
"This way!" A hard body shoved him toward the right.
The steaming blanket Silas draped over his shoulders tore the blistered skin from his arm and back, 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. 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 drank the wine.
You lay with her....
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 Balfour 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. Kill her. 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.
"See something you like?" he'd asked.
"I don't know," she'd responded, as she swayed in his arms. "I haven't yet made up my mind."
The smoke in his lungs still choked him as he stared up at the burning manor. People were streaming from the main doors, spilling out onto the snow in alarm.
"What happened?" Silas asked, lifting his head and spitting on the snow.
Dmitri couldn't find the words to answer.
There was no other explanation he could imagine.
The woman he'd given his heart to had tried to kill him.
Now....
The warm bundle in his arms stirred.
Obsidian strode up the circular staircase within the abandoned manor he'd found on the outskirts of London, heading for the observatory. His head ached, driven into the past by Gemma's presence, though all he could truly remember were flames.
Flames and treachery.
She tried to kill you. Now you can return the favor.
A hand brushed against his chest, Gemma's head lolling to the side as she groaned. He needed to get her locked away before she could awaken completely.
Mably House had once been home to the Dukes of Vickers before the previous duke betrayed the prince consort, his entire line blighted and stripped of everything but the clothes on their back. Someone had tried to burn the manor, but it had been crafted of solid stone and though most of the house lay in ruins, the east wing had fared a little better.
Nobody came here anymore.
The gates were painted black and soldered shut.
Mably House represented the death of a Great House, and nobody dared stir the ghosts that lurked within.Any trespassers knew they invited harsh penalties, and so most tended to avoid the place.
Except for him.
"Dmitri?" Gemma whispered, in his arms.
He could just make out the pillow-shape of her lips and see the faint rise of the lush curves spilling out of her bodice. Fingertips grazed his shirt as if to test if it were really him as her dark lashes fluttered against her pale cheeks.
"Dmitri is dead," he whispered, pausing to juggle her in his arms as he drew another syringe from his belt. "You killed him, you lying little bitch. Do you remember?"
Eyes the color of a field of cornflowers tried to focus upon him, her pupils forming tiny little pinpricks. "You... shot me."
For a second he almost saw something else. Smoke curling from a pistol as Hollis's eyes widened and she tumbled backward off a bridge.
"I have no recollection of that."
Sharp nails dug into his forearm. "Well, I do."
She began to struggle, and he injected her with enough of the laudanum-hemlock injection to send her blissfully under again.
The observatory loomed ahead of him, lit by a single glass pane in the roof. Starlight gilded the slate floor in a silvery glow.
Laying her to rest on the heavy marble slab in the middle of the room, he brushed a strand of dyed black hair off her cheek, unable to help himself. Her fingers lay curled into her palms, her head splayed to the side and the faint cleft in her chin shadowed beneath her lush mouth. For a second, Obsidian's heart gave a pulsing twist in his chest, the darker half of his nature whispering through his veins, urging him to kiss her.
He reared back, his hand going to the knife at his side. He should never have brought her here. He should have simply put the blade through her black heart; and yet the second she'd slumped into his arms, he'd wanted more.
He'd wanted to look into her eyes as he asked her, "Why?"
This was madness.
But his knuckles strained white on the knife, and he turned and took two swift steps away from her, cursing his resolve under his breath. Obsidian paced the observatory, scrubbing at his mouth.
Killing her would be only too kind for what she'd done to him.
But again he saw that smoking pistol and her accusing eyes. "You shot me."
A sharp stabbing pain sliced through his brain, like a pickax to the skull. He'd never remembered that before, but it felt as though her words brought a shiver of memory to the surface, like a leviathan surfacing from the depths of the ocean.
All he'd ever had of her was the sight of her laughing and fluttering her eyelashes at Sergey.
The teasing glin
t in her blue eyes as she played suitor against suitor, smiling mockingly at him the entire time she wove her way through the Russian court.
The kiss of flames against his skin.
The rasp of smoke in his throat.
And the taste of betrayal.
She was an enemy spy.
"She was an enemy spy," he whispered.
She deliberately seduced you, seeking to use you.
"She deliberately seduced you...." He couldn't say the rest.
She tried to kill you.
"She...."
He pressed the heel of his palm to his aching forehead. The fugue was coming, sweeping over him like a black tide. He had to get out of here before it overwhelmed him.
But...
Moonlight fell across her fallen figure, caressing the soft curve of her cheek. Gemma looked like a fairy-tale version of Sleeping Beauty, goose bumps pebbling her skin from the chill of the room.
She looked innocent.
And what had that flash of vision meant? Her words had unlocked something he'd not known was buried within him.
He needed to know what she meant about shooting her.
But not now. Not now.
Swinging his cloak off his shoulders, Obsidian draped it over her like a blanket. A blinding white light floated through his vision, blurring her face. The tingling started in his fingers.
He needed to get out of there before he fell.
Pushing away from her, Obsidian strode toward the scrolled gate that guarded the observatory and clanged it shut, the lock slamming into place.
It was only when he staggered down the stairs that the pain eased up a fraction.
And then the world vanished as he slammed to the floor.
Chapter 7
Gemma woke to darkness.
For a second her heart pounded as she tried to gain her bearings. What had happened? Where was she? The last thing she remembered was—
She sat bolt upright as memory returned, her hands tangling in fur.
