by Bec McMaster
And whoever was pulling their strings had been working for the prince consort all those years ago.
But how the hell could she give the Rogues that information without revealing her treachery?
Malloryn would forbid her to ever see Obsidian again. He'd make sure she was watched.
How the hell could she protect Obsidian from what was inside his head if Malloryn learned the truth and locked her away? How could she protect the Queen or London if she didn't speak up?
Where the hell are you, Ava? Please find the implant in Jonathan Carlyle's head, so I can somehow lead this investigation in the right direction without betraying my interest in Obsidian.
Gemma squirmed as she chased the spoonful of coddled eggs across her plate. She didn't require food, but sometimes she liked the taste of it, and yet this morning her mouth tasted like ash.
"If you stare at it any longer, Gem, it's going to grow legs and crawl away," Charlie muttered beside her.
She looked up sharply.
"Sure you know what you're doing?" he murmured under his breath as Byrnes and Ingrid argued across the table over whether yesterday's events could be construed as the bride crying off or Malloryn reneging.
That stupid bet.
Nobody was paying them any attention.
"What do you mean?" she breathed.
"I know where you were last night," Charlie mouthed silently.
The heat drained out of her face.
His hand found hers under the table and squeezed.
"I'm not going to tell anyone," he whispered, leaning close to her ear so only she could hear the words.
Of all the Rogues, Charlie was probably the one she felt the most relaxed around. He was like the younger brother she'd never had, albeit the kind of brother who'd glue her shoes to the floor because he thought it was funny.
She hadn't realized how much a part of her needed to hear someone endorse her feelings. He wasn't trying to protect her like Malloryn; nor was he staring at her like she had two heads like Byrnes. Charlie knew what it felt like to be at the mercy of one's heart: While he hadn't given Gemma the girl's name, he'd told her about a long lost love on a dirigible flight to Brighton two months ago.
"It's never going to happen," he'd told her, with a bittersweet smile, when she'd pressed him to make a move. "She hates me."
"Love and hate are but two sides of the same coin, Charlie."
God, what a simplistic platitude.
"And it's none of my business," he pointed out now. "But I just hope you know what you're doing. I shouldn't like to see you hurt."
"I'm not going to get hurt."
Charlie winked. "Good. Because if you did then I would have to have a word with him, and after the other day, I'm fairly certain that's not going to end well for me."
"Oh, Charlie." She shoved his shoulder, but he barely moved.
Twenty-two and built like a tree.
"Nice try, Gem," he said, spearing a piece of egg off her plate. "But I'm going to be too big for you to thrash sometime soon."
She rolled her eyes. "The bigger they are, Charlie...."
He grinned.
And yet, her smile slid off her face.
"What's wrong?" he asked, turning deadly serious. "You look as grim as an undertaker this morning."
Gemma shook her head swiftly. Then paused. She and Charlie had a special connection. They'd both kept each other's secrets in the past. Gemma met the dangerous blue of his eyes and whispered, "I think I know why Jonathan Carlyle killed Lord Randall. I think I know how the Chameleon is never caught."
"How?"
"I can't say."
"You need to tell Malloryn."
She stole a glance toward Byrnes and Ingrid. The pair of them were looking at each other in that heated way they sometimes did, as if nobody else existed. It seemed the argument had drawn to a stalemate. "I can't."
She swiftly explained the situation with the Chameleon and Obsidian.
Charlie's face paled. "An implant in his head?"
"I think that's how the Chameleon is deployed."
"Then who would they be sending after the Queen?"
"I don't know. I don't even know how to look for signs of it."
Charlie's brows drew together thoughtfully. "You need to get the truth out of him."
Easier said than done. Obsidian had made it quite clear he didn't want her involved.
"I need Ava to find that implant," she breathed in his ear. "Then I can push the investigation without revealing Obsidian's role in it. You know Malloryn won't let me near him if he realizes the truth, and I can't watch him die. Please, Charlie. I need help."
He nodded brusquely. "Keep an eye on Obsidian. I'll head to the Guild and see what Ava has found."
"What are the two of you up to?" said a sharp voice. "He's a little young to corrupt, isn't he, Gemma?"
Caught. Gemma stared over the top of her cup of bloodied tea, her vision finally focused on Isabella. The baroness looked terrible as she pushed her own coddled eggs across the plate.
"We were merely discussing how long Malloryn intends to keep me out of the field," Gemma murmured. "You should be getting some rest. Have you been sleeping?"
The baroness looked up, her eyes bloodshot. She stared at Gemma for such a long time, Gemma began to feel a little uncomfortable.
"Is everything all right?"
A faint, mocking twist of the baroness's mouth. Of course. She must have heard about the debacle at the wedding.
"Would you care to take a stroll?" Isabella finally murmured. "I feel the need for some fresh air."
"That sounds perfect."
She wasn't the only one suffering from heartbreak—though hers had an entirely different cause.
Gemma shot Charlie a significant look and he nodded.
"I'll go prompt Ava," he mouthed, and Gemma eased out a sigh of relief that at least she had one ally.
This afternoon, she intended to track down a certain elusive dhampir, but first she needed to discover if her suspicions were correct—and Jonathan Carlyle had a neural implant in his head.
They strolled arm in arm through the park nearby, though Isabella remained strangely quiet.
"The ceremony was canceled," Gemma murmured, squeezing Isabella's hand. "I'm so sorry I haven't been there for you in the past few days. Everything has been so hectic."
"I hear you rescued Miss Hamilton," Isabella said tonelessly.
Gemma hesitated. "Isabella, she's a young woman. She didn't deserve what happened to her."
"I know." Isabella's eye was twitching, as if she'd lost control of the muscle there. "I don't blame Miss Hamilton. She took her chance, and she captured her duke. But that duke had a choice. No. I don't particularly wish her well, but I don't blame Miss Hamilton."
An awkward silence descended.
A squirrel scampered across the grass in front of them, turning to watch them pass.
"Has he called off the wedding?"
It was the barest whisper.
Gemma hesitated. "I don't know. He's intent upon capturing this Chameleon at the moment. And Miss Hamilton will take several days to recover. There's still hope."
"No." Tendrils of Isabella's black hair ripped past her in the wind. "I am done with Malloryn." She pressed her lips firmly together, as if she wanted to say something more.
Gemma wrapped her arms around the baroness, squeezing her tight. "More fool Malloryn. He doesn't know what he's missing out on."
"Gemma, please don't." The baroness pushed away from her. "You're making this harder for me."
"Ingrid and Ava were there for me when I needed them. I can do no less for you." And Isabella was so cool and detached, she found it difficult to make friends.
Gemma was probably the only one who considered herself such.
"You've always been my true friend," Isabella whispered, drawing back from the embrace. "And yet, do you know how many times I've hated you?"
Gemma looked at her sharply. "What?"
<
br /> Isabella turned and stared across the gardens. "I wanted what you had so effortlessly. I wanted Malloryn's affections, even as I knew I would never own them. I knew, and still I forged ahead, trying to fool myself. And I hated you for the place you held in his heart."
"There's nothing between Malloryn and—"
"You look like Catherine," Isabella said sharply, turning those glittering green eyes upon her. "Eerily so. When you were sent to assassinate Malloryn, he couldn't kill you, and I didn't dare tell you why. It hurts him to look at your face. That's why he sent you away to be trained as a spy upon the Continent. He couldn't bear to look at you for such a long time. You could be her sister. He thinks of you as her sister, Gemma. He loves you, as much as Malloryn probably can, and he's gone out of his way to protect you over the years. He swore he'd never let you suffer the same fate."
Isabella's words took the ground out from under her. "But... I...."
She looked like Catherine?
Isabella would know. She'd been working with Malloryn before Gemma was sent to kill him.
He thought of her as a sister?
It hurts him to look at your face.
For the first time in her life, she didn't know what to say. There was a horrible mix of emotions within her. She’d always wondered why he’d saved her life the night she tried to take his.
I hated you....
"I thought you should know," Isabella murmured, drawing her cape jacket tightly around her shoulders. "You shouldn't hug me. I don't deserve it."
"Everybody deserves a hug," she whispered, but she couldn't find it in herself to resume the embrace. Shock rampaged through her.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said such a thing."
"No, I'm... I'm fine."
She wasn't fine at all. So many things suddenly fell into place. She felt like crying.
"And he's not angry at you for the way you feel about Dmitri," Isabella said quietly. "You never failed him. He never, ever thought you failed him in Russia. Indeed, perhaps it was quite the opposite."
If she could shed tears, she was fairly certain she would be right now. Gemma scrubbed at her face. "Oh, heck." She felt all flushed and hot, and knew her cheeks would be a blotchy mess. "Here I am trying to comfort you, and you're destroying me. I'm supposed to be able to hold myself together better than this."
"I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not," Isabella murmured, turning toward the gate. "I just wanted you to know. I hope you'll forgive me one day."
Gemma trailed after her, feeling all puffy and horrid. "There is nothing to forgive."
"I've done terrible things, Gemma, and I don't know how to take them back." Isabella's voice grew very small as they slipped through the park gate and started making their way back to the safe house. "I don't know if there's any hope for me. There's so much anger inside me. I wanted to hurt him back. And now it's too late."
"What are you talking about?"
Isabella's eyes gleamed as they slipped down the back lane toward the walled garden behind the safe house. "I don't deserve your friendship. Promise me you won't hate me when all is said and done."
"Oh, tosh. You're not in charge of my feelings for you. If I say you're a friend, then you're a friend." She squeezed Isabella's arm. "And I couldn't hate you. I honestly couldn't. We'll sort this... this Malloryn thing out."
He thought of her as a sister?
It was still so incredulous she had no clue what to think about it all.
"Gemma!" Isabella's eyes widened, the first sign Gemma had of something wrong.
"Hello, Miss Townsend."
A voice right behind her.
She spun around, lashing out with the knife that slid so easily to hand, but it was too late. Something smashed across her temples, and Gemma barely had a chance to stagger before her body went out from under her....
The candle flickered in the breeze as Obsidian waited in the tower overlooking Malloryn's safe house.
He'd left a note on Gemma's bed again, but that had been hours ago. Long enough for the candle to eat its way halfway down its length.
He couldn't afford to linger much longer.
Ghost wished to meet with him, according to a message from Silas. He wasn't certain if he returned the sentiment. The more he thought about it, the more he longed for the nights he spent with Gemma.
But Ghost would never let him go.
Not willingly.
The brotherhood of dhampir had been forged in loyalty, all those years ago, but loyalty cut both ways.
Would Ghost accept his offer? Gemma's life in exchange for Obsidian's?
The thought of surrendering his will to that of the other dhampir made his stomach crawl, but what choice did he have?
He couldn't run—she wouldn't go. And one press of the control device that Ghost kept in his breast pocket would obliterate the device in his head, ending his life. If Ghost didn't need his "Wraith" so badly, he had the feeling it would have ended already.
This is not loyalty.
This is not brotherhood.
It was only now, when he had no choice, he saw the truth.
You could kill him, whispered a dark part of himself that always lingered beneath the surface.
Kill Ghost and the threat to Gemma dissipated.
Except he'd always wondered what Richter had programmed into him during his conditioning sessions. A single word might resurrect the Wraith, stopping him in his tracks and turning him into a weapon—for their own use.
How he hated the fucking implant in his head.
Pacing in front of the window in the tower, Obsidian peered into the still night as the sudden hiss of a steam carriage barreling down the street caught his attention. The Duke of Malloryn leapt down from it before it had even finished moving, and launched himself up the steps to the door of the safe house and through it.
Something was wrong.
A chill ran down his spine. No one emerged. Lights flickered in the windows, and he could hear raised voices.
A whisper of dread curled through his veins.
He had no reason to believe Gemma lay at the heart of this sudden disturbance, but she hadn't come.
Stepping up onto the window ledge, Obsidian launched himself into the night, the tails of his coat whistling up around his arms. He landed, knees braced, on the roof below him, and then sprinted across the edge of it and leaped onto the roof beside it.
Three seconds later, he was hovering on Malloryn's roof, squatting down by the man's study window to listen.
Sharp words echoed within. Three, four voices perhaps. Despite his exceptional hearing, there was a faint undercurrent of static vibration that squealed through his ears. One of those high-pitched devices that made it difficult to listen to conversations, no doubt.
Nothing to be learned here.
He strode along the gutter, grabbing the edge of it just over Gemma's room, and then swinging down onto her open windowsill. The room within was dark, but he froze there for a second, listening.
Nothing moved within. The argument in Malloryn's study obliterated all other noise, but when his gaze shot to her bed, he saw the faint indentation where his letter had lain.
It was gone.
Slipping through the window, he paused again, the hairs prickling along the back of his neck at the risk he took. Are you trying to get yourself killed? Gemma's voice echoed in his ears. Drawing the pistol from its holster, he laid it flat along his thigh as he scanned the room.
Everything lay exactly as he'd last seen it when he'd been delivering his note. The note that was now missing.
"Looking for this?" said a voice behind him.
Obsidian spun, pistol raised upon the man who stepped out of the shadows behind the immense wardrobe.
Malloryn.
Dressed strictly in an unadorned black leather outfit he'd never seen the duke wear before, Malloryn glared at him menacingly over the top of what appeared to be a dartgun. Obsidian stilled. His pistol was trained right between the duke's eyes, but
it didn't matter where Malloryn hit him if those darts contained the Black Vein serum.
The duke held something up between two fingers. A note written in Russian. He was possibly the only one in the house who could read it, besides Gemma.
"Same time," the duke murmured, disapproval stark in his voice. "'Same place.' She's been meeting with you again."
And keeping it secret.
The pair of them stared at each other over the length of their weapons in silence, and he knew some part of this man itched to pull the trigger.
"Where is she?" Obsidian asked softly.
A muscle ticked in the duke's jaw. "Give me one damned good reason to tell you anything."
He'd spent months studying this man.
Watching his every movement, helping to plan his downfall.
He had no love of Malloryn—no true emotion, either way—but he'd heard Gemma's voice soften when she spoke of the duke. Family, she'd called him. He couldn't imagine the icy duke returning the sentiment, but that wasn't merely rage blanking the duke's expression. Obsidian saw the reflection of his own concern in the man's eyes.
And Malloryn was the one who'd saved her life in Russia when he nearly ended it.
It was a simple equation. Gemma was clearly missing. Both he and Malloryn wanted her back. Ghost wanted her dead.
The question he'd been asking himself for days finally had an answer.
Just whose side will you choose?
Gemma's.
Not Ghost's. Not Malloryn's. Only Gemma had the ability to sway him.
And he needed Malloryn alive if he was going to be able to find her.
Obsidian raised his pistol in the air, uncocking it. Staring into the duke's eyes, he holstered it within his coat and held his hands up in surrender. "Where is she? What's happened?"
Malloryn eased the dartgun lower, but he didn't take his finger off the trigger. "If you so much as breathe in my direction, I will shoot you. You know what this does?"
"I know what it does."
"Good." Malloryn tossed the note aside, and it fluttered to the floor like a dying moth. "There was an attack upon the baroness and Gemma. When Isabella came to in an alley, Gemma was missing. She's still missing. We don't where she is, though I've sent Byrnes and Ingrid out with the tracking device. You were my prime suspect until I found your note."
