by Bec McMaster
The wild roused within her, prepared to go to war.
But Ingrid stifled the sensation. "Aye, aye, captain. But if you don't hurry, I'm going in."
Gemma was nothing if not practical.
After a restless afternoon spent tossing on the bed—the one she lay alone within—she used the basin of warm water Obsidian brought her to remove the scent of sex from her skin. It had been delivered to the door with a swift knock, but there'd been no sign of the actual man himself when she opened it. He'd remembered her earlier request for scented soap—God knew where he'd found it—and by the time she dragged the itchy woolen blankets around her nude body, she smelled like a lavender farm.
"I want to erase you from my life." The words had cut her deep, though she should not have felt them at all.
"I have no memories of you, Gemma, because I asked them to remove them...." A knife to the chest.
"I wanted to forget you."
Only fragments remained of her heart. Utter fragments.
He saved your life yesterday, she countered. And presumably twice more.
That didn't sound like someone who hated her.
And do you think he'd have found your favorite soap if there wasn't a part of him that cared?
And then, of course, there'd been that cataclysmic clash on the table. Heat flushed through her as she caught a glimpse of the marked wall. She'd intended to push him past the brink, but the intensity of the encounter made her breath catch.
No matter what had happened between them, this man was the only one who'd ever shattered the firm guards around her heart.
He'd decimated her, leaving her quivering in the aftermath. A brutal, hard fuck, their emotions clashing like a storm of fury that erupted over them. Everything she couldn't say to him spilling between them as he kissed her. Pleasure, so intense it stole her breath, and then the shuddering climax of his claiming. It was the barest of tastes, her aching heart needing something more from him. An empty pleasure, for though she’d intended to seduce him all along, all she’d gained was physical pleasure.
It vexed her.
For days she’d been thinking if she could only get him to kiss her, everything would change. Seduction had never failed her before.
But he doesn’t trust you, and he knows how you operate.
Gemma rubbed her chest. How else was she meant to reach him? Flirting was easy. Kissing and sex were but a brief foray into her arsenal, but they’d failed to even move him. What was she meant to do? Bare her heart to him?
Trust him?
She’d done that once, and look where it got her. Drowning on her own blood in an icy river.
A shudder swam through her. She didn’t even know what she wanted from him.
The truth was, she could have escaped a half dozen times if she’d wanted to.
She was lingering here for some reason unknown even to herself, and it had nothing to do with Malloryn, the Rogues, or even the dhampir.
It had to do with him.
What the hell are you doing, Gemma? Where does this end? Because you know it's going to end.
They couldn't stay locked away from the world forever.
There was a whole world out there trying to tear them apart. Malloryn and the Rogues. Obsidian's dhampir. All the secrets that swirled between them.
And two opposing missions.
The dhampir wished to destroy her London. But they would do so over her dead body.
You have to give him up. The last time you gave in to your heart, you nearly died. The Winter Palace was bombed.
And now London faced worse than that.
Gemma tugged the blanket around her naked body and paced to the window, feeling restless. It wasn't the first pain she'd felt in her life. She'd lost almost everything at various stages—her mother, her childhood friends, her heart, Dmitri.... This, too, could be overcome.
But none of this made any sense.
How did they even strip his memories from him?
What the hell was "conditioning?"
A sharp rap sounded at the door, heralding the very devil currently plaguing her thoughts. Gemma eased out a breath, her stomach suddenly filled with butterflies. "Come in."
Obsidian slipped inside, his hair still damp—presumably he'd washed elsewhere—and clothes in his arms. Every inch of him looked hard and merciless, as if he'd spent the day putting himself back together somewhere, but his fingers curled into the wool of the dress he was holding, just a faint sign he wasn't quite as composed as he seemed.
They stared at each other.
He with his back to the door, barely daring to enter, and she by the window, watching as evening encroached. The faint spill of sunset lit his pale skin and pinkened his white shirt. It strained over the bulk of his chest, drawing her attention to the corded muscle in his forearms. Once again his shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing a sprinkling of fine silvery hairs, like spider silk. A dark knot of tattoos swirled down the inside of his forearm.
"Well." A flush of heat worked its way down her throat. One would think her the veriest maid. "Hullo again."
It was as if her words broke the stalemate. "This will help to warm you," he said, crossing to the bed and dumping the pile of clothes he'd fetched upon it. "You slept well?"
"Tolerably." How polite they were this evening. Oh, no, neither of them was affected by what had happened earlier that morning at all. Gemma's eyes narrowed. "You've brought me warm clothes."
Because he'd known how cold she was.
Keeping any hint of her turmoil off her face, she crossed to the bed, rubbing the thick wool of the skirt. Her eyebrows rose. "I suppose 'warm' is definitely one word we could use to describe this dress."
Along with hideous.
And what was he doing? Raiding lady’s wardrobes throughout the city? Or stealing them from washing lines? She had a brief image of him stalking the London night, in pursuit of female undergarments. Despite her circumstances, Gemma couldn’t retain her laugh.
"What's so amusing?" Obsidian asked suspiciously.
Gemma couldn't help herself. She gave into the urge, a choked giggle escaping her. "Nothing."
"You don't like the dress."
"No, I appreciate it, I do." She captured his wrist, squeezing softly, trying to thank him for the considerate thought. "I just... I'm not certain if you intend to dress me like a nun." Gemma turned and held up the heavy brown wool gown, shaking it out. "After what happened this morning, one would think you wanted to cover every inch of me."
Obsidian turned away from her, scraping a hand over his face. "It's not as though I can escape you. There was little else that looked to fit you."
"Kind of difficult to forget, is it not?"
He crossed his arms over his chest. "Incredibly difficult. But then I keep telling myself this will end. I might as well enjoy the pleasures to be found in the meantime."
I see.
"And how does it end?" She asked the question that had been plaguing her all morning. "Your fellow dhampir wish to kill me. Are you going to keep me locked away forever? I suspect they'll eventually notice you're missing."
"They already know I'm involved." He paced a little. "They must have followed me to Mably House."
Gemma froze. She hadn't considered the implications when he cut the tracking device from his skin, but he'd been giving up one of the ties of his allegiance as he did it. "What does that mean for you?"
He turned those stark gray eyes upon her, hands clasped behind his back. "Ghost needs me. He cannot afford to punish me too severely, and if... if it comes down to the pair of us, I'm probably the only one who could strike him down. He knows that. He'll be wary."
"How does he need you?"
His expression shuttered. "I cannot tell you the answer to that."
"Cannot? Or will not?" She held the blanket together as she reached for her shift. Damn him.
Turning around, he gave her his back. "Will not. We're not allies, Gemma. I don’t even know if I can trust you. We
share an immediate, short-term goal."
"Keeping me alive."
"Indeed."
She stared at the broad planes of his back. "This is ridiculous. It's not as though you've not seen every inch of me," she said dryly, tossing the blanket aside and hauling the shift over her head, and then the scratchy wool gown. It was precisely as wretched as she'd expected.
"I knew this morning was a mistake," he growled. "You're not going to let me forget it, are you?"
Gemma laughed. "What do you think? Button me up?"
"I swear you're trying to torture me."
"Every. Day," she promised with a faint smile, gathering her hair into a knot and presenting her back to him. Obsidian tugged her gown together and swiftly did the buttons up. "But I think you're not as innocent as you claim to be."
"No?"
His hands came to rest on her waist. Gemma stilled, her heart beating a ragged little tattoo in her chest.
"Are you trying to tell me you suffer too?" His breath whispered across the back of her neck. Then soft, dangerous lips trailed along the line of her shoulder.
Gemma closed her eyes and shivered.
"I think you know the answer to that," she breathed.
The softest of kisses painted itself across her neck. The gentle press of his tongue lashed against her pulse. Gemma bit her lip. She could handle what happened this morning. That had been pure frustration. A storm of lust. But this? This sought to ruin her.
His hands stilled on her waist, his lips lifting from her neck.
"Don't you dare stop," she protested, but the second the words spilled from her lips, she knew something was wrong.
Obsidian looked up, a chill expression sliding over his face and his eyes tracking some invisible movement. "There's someone on the roof."
Instantly Gemma stepped out of his reach, danger dampening the sudden flush of heat through her body. "Dhampir? How did they find us?"
"They couldn't have tracked us," he replied, drawing the knife from the sheath at his hip.
No. Not us. But there was someone who could have tracked her. Gemma froze. Oh, shit. She couldn't feel the tracking beacon in the back of her scalp, but every hair along her spine lifted.
COR had come for her.
Her gaze focused, locking on the lethal figure in front of her, her heart turning into a ball of lead.
She stood within a nightmare. All she'd wanted was her freedom, but now she stood on the verge of it. The people she loved would be closing in, and the man she held feelings for would face them.
This didn't end well, no matter which way she looked.
As he'd pointed out, they weren't allies.
And if Malloryn caught a glimpse of him, he wouldn't hesitate to cut Obsidian down.
Gemma's heart started pounding. "We should go out the back."
"I can hear a couple of voices. We don't know how many of them there are." Obsidian strode toward the window on cat-silent feet, bracing his knife along his forearm. "There was no one following us last night, I swear," he murmured, glancing out into the dying sunset.
She had to get him out of here before this confrontation turned deadly. Gemma hauled her boots on, lacing them swiftly as her mind raced. "Either way, I think it best to flee. You don't know how many people you face, and you cannot handle them all at once."
"Here," he said, tossing her one of his knives, and she froze as she caught it, her hand locking with familiarity around the grip. "Now there are two of us. I've seen you in action."
Oh, no. He thought they were working together. She opened her hand around the leather grip, the scent of oiled steel kicking her impulses into overdrive.
He had trusted her enough to give her one of his knives. She felt ill.
A whistle pierced the air. Charlie, from the low fluting sound of it.
"Obsidian," she breathed, trying to catch his attention.
He pressed a gloved finger to his lips, setting his back against the wall beside the window.
"Don't come in!" she screamed, just as a figure swung through the window, spraying glass across the room.
Everything burst into motion.
Obsidian shot her a sharp look, and then he lunged toward the intruder. Charlie rolled across the floor in a tight ball, finding his feet and lashing back with a cutthroat razor.
It nicked Obsidian's forearm, but she could see his own knife lifting—
Gemma threw herself into him, slamming him back against the wall before he could bring it down into Charlie's unprotected back. A shadow rippled at the edge of her vision. Byrnes flipping into the room right on Charlie's heels.
"Gemma." Obsidian sounded shocked as she slammed his knife hand against the wall.
"They're my friends!"
She saw the realization creep over his face, as if he knew what she was saying. You're choosing them. His gray eyes shuttered, locking down tight on the swift gleam of betrayal.
But that was not what she was saying at all.
Obsidian shoved her away from him, and Gemma went down, sprawling across the mattress in a spill of skirts.
Charlie yelled, and Gemma arched her spine, then flipped to her feet, catching her heel under the bloody hem of her skirt. Damn her skirts. She needed her leather working breeches right now.
Working in unison, Charlie and Byrnes circled Obsidian, darting in at the same time to force him to split his attention. Byrnes's blade lashed out, and dark blood spattered across the white walls. She saw the frustration on Obsidian's face as he jumped back, Charlie's razor whistling through the air where his abdomen had been. He slammed a hand down on Charlie's wrist, and then spun shockingly fast, his boot driving Charlie into the wall with a crack of plaster.
"Oof." Charlie fell to his knees.
Gemma's ears were ringing. He hadn't used the knife. She didn't know what that meant.
But her side had no such compunctions.
"You all right, Charlie?" With his back to her, Byrnes feinted in, spinning in a whirl to avoid Obsidian's counterstrike, light gleaming off his blade—
Leaping off the bed, Gemma caught the heavy beam of the rafter, and swung her legs up, hammering her heels into Byrnes's back. He slammed against the wall, pushing off it in surprise when he saw her drop to the floor with the knife clutched in her hand.
"Don't kill him!" she yelled, but footsteps were pounding up the stairs. Reinforcements.
Obsidian shot her one last unreadable look, and then he bolted toward the window and leaped through it.
"Gem?" Charlie panted, pushing to his feet. "You okay?"
She was fine. But she knew how Malloryn worked.
He of all people knew what he faced. Charlie and Byrnes were the distraction.
Sprinting toward the window, Gemma slammed her boot on the sill, and jumped through the open hole, her fist clenching around Obsidian's knife.
Gravity caught her in its hold, and her skirts whistled up around her breasts as she plunged toward the sharply sloping rooftop below her. Gemma landed with a jolt that nearly flipped her forward, but she adjusted swiftly, skating down the slick tiles. A pair of gargoyles leered at the bottom of the gutter, and Obsidian paused there, his head whipping toward her, and then turning to lock on one of the gargoyles.
Time slowed down, almost as if she moved through thick treacle.
Malloryn ducked out from behind the statue, lifting an electrode-stimulating gun. She barely had a chance to cry warning. The arrowhead hissed from it as he pulled the trigger, the sharp prong sinking into Obsidian's chest.
Current arced along the thin metal chain attached to the end of the arrowhead, and Obsidian's body jerked as Malloryn ruthlessly shocked him. Obsidian's feet went out from under him, his back slamming to the tiles and a spark flashing as his knife flew from his hand. Moving lethally, Malloryn reached into his coat to draw his second pistol, and Gemma could see it all unfold in a flash.
He'd be packing the armor-piercing bullets the Falcons had used, or one of the chemical Firebolt bu
llets that exploded on impact.
"No!" Gemma screamed, flipping the perfectly balanced blade of Obsidian's knife into her fingers, and then flinging it with all her might as she rode the tiles toward them.
Silver flashed, winking in the gaslight from the streets.
As Malloryn drew the pistol in one smooth motion, her knife slammed into it, flinging it from his grip.
And then she was there, crouched over Obsidian protectively as Malloryn whipped his second pistol out.
It locked upon her, the duke's mouth falling open in shock. "Gemma?"
She flung her arms up around her head. "Don't shoot!"
Malloryn froze, breathing hard. The whine of the current down the thin chain evaporated as he took his finger off the pulse. "What the hell are you doing?"
She bent and tore the inert prong from Obsidian's chest, flinging it away from him. His chest heaved erratically, the leather glove on his right hand seared where he'd been holding the knife. Glazed gray eyes met hers, widening in shock. Gemma squeezed his left hand.
"Thank you," she whispered, "for not killing Charlie and Byrnes."
Because she knew he could have.
Obsidian's gaze slid past her, and Gemma turned, shielding him with her body. Malloryn's pistol never wavered.
"Gemma, get out of the way." Malloryn's entire expression hardened.
"No." Her heart beat wildly as she stared the duke in the eye. Lightning lashed over the city in the distance, highlighting the sharp slope of his cheekbones.
She'd failed him once.
She'd vowed never to do it again.
Behind her she could hear Obsidian groaning as he rolled to his side. Still far too vulnerable.
Wind whipped through her hair as she slowly straightened, tearing tendrils of it from her messy chignon. Her skirts rose to cover him. "He didn't hurt me. He never intended to hurt me."
Malloryn's jaw locked tight and he took a step toward her, his finger twitching on the trigger. "Get out of the way. I won't ask you again. This man is responsible for a threat against the queen."
"No." She stared defiantly back, and the look on Malloryn's face nearly broke her. "I cannot allow you to hurt him."
