You Only Love Twice (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy Book 3)

by Bec McMaster

  Obsidian slipped through the gap, his chest scraping the bars. "Coming? Your enemy's not going to come to you."

  Gemma took a shaky step. "Coming. The only problem is we're in Thorne Tower. This place is locked up tighter than a nun's drawers. How are we going to get out of here—without killing any more of the guards?"

  Obsidian smiled as he stepped back into the hallway, the shadows of the bars rippling over his face. "Trust me. I have exceptional skills at getting in and out of places undetected. Now I get to use them for good."

  "I want her head," the queen snarled as Malloryn staggered into the council chambers, his arm slung over Charlie's shoulders.

  Queen Alexandra stood at the head of the massive circular table in the center of the room. The original one had been deliberately burned when the queen regained her throne and overthrew her husband, and this replacement was made of polished mahogany and jokingly referred to by several of the councilors as the Round Table.

  "Hear me out first," he managed to gasp as Charlie directed him toward the table. "It wasn't her fault."

  The queen whirled on him. "Perhaps you can explain to me how I was almost assassinated in my own damned throne room by one of your agents!"

  He tugged the neural implant Ava had found during Jonathan Carlyle's autopsy out of his pocket and slammed it flat on the table.

  "This is how they did it," he replied. "This neural implant was discovered in the brain of Jonathan Carlyle, the man we thought was the Chameleon. One of my top agents has spent the past day trying to discover what it does, but all she could say was that the device was inert. Probably made so the second Carlyle was murdered.

  "However, I've managed to discover someone who does know what the neural implant is intended for. It uses complex bio-mechanics to fuse with a person's brain and override their impulses and wishes. Our enemy has discovered the means to circumvent a man’s—or woman's—true loyalty and turn them into a mindless killing automaton. The Chameleon was never one person. It's a code name passed from person to person. Project: Chameleon. The next Chameleon could be anyone." He tipped his head toward the queen. "It could be your dearest friend, the Lady Aramina. It could be a trusted housemaid, her intentions overridden by this bloody thing. It could be a guard who's spent thirty years in the service of your family. You'll never know. And you'll never see them coming, because they don't even seem to realize what's happened.

  "From what I can gather from events, Baroness Schröder"—even saying her name hurt—"was turned against my cause. There was an incident a few days ago where the baroness and my agent, Gemma, were the subject of a kidnapping. The baroness managed to escape with a mild concussion, though knowing what I know now, I suspect she led Gemma into a trap. Gemma vanished for the period of twenty-four hours and managed to escape the warehouse where she was being held. She and I thought it strange how lightly guarded the facility was, but...." He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. Always question the small things that don't add up. How had he forgotten? "There was no sign of any injury upon her. There wouldn't be, as she's a blue blood. Gemma could barely remember what happened. She was bludgeoned, hemlocked, and then kept drugged throughout the ordeal. Her head hurt her at first, but we thought it merely a side effect from being hit from behind. Now...."

  He could barely say it.

  His fists clenched.

  "They must have operated on her while she was drugged, and implanted the neural implant. The craving virus healed all signs of it, and she 'escaped.' This was set up from the start. A threat against you meant I'd get involved. I'd bring in my top agents and surround you with them. Gemma's the first one I'd look to in order to save your life. Her skillset is the perfect match to guard you, no matter who they sent against you."

  And she's the perfect one to try and take it too.

  Someone knew him so well, he'd managed to predict every damned move Malloryn made.

  You are what I made you, Auvry....

  Silence lingered in the chamber, like the air surrounding a funeral procession.

  "How do you know what this neural implant does?" Jasper Lynch, the Duke of Bleight mused, reaching for the device.

  "Because I've spent the past several weeks trying to lure one of the enemy's agents to our side. Or should I say, Gemma has." He tilted his head toward the queen. "The agent who went after you goes by the name of Gemma Townsend. She has a history with one of the dhampir arrayed against us. He has cast his allegiance with me. If you sentence her to death, we lose Obsidian too, and the one real chance we have of striking our enemy a blow. He knows everything about our enemy's cause, but he's only just starting to open up. I've barely had a chance to question him."

  The queen paced, her gold skirts sweeping behind her like the sails of a warship leaning into an abrupt turn. "You're skating on thin ice, Malloryn."

  "Gemma Townsend? Why do I know that name?" said Rosalind Lynch, the Duchess of Bleight, who'd managed to earn a place on this council of her own means and not merely as adjutant to her husband.

  "She's my right hand. A former Falcon I managed to seduce from Lord Balfour's side many, many years ago. She was just a girl when they sent her to assassinate me."

  "And you trust a former Falcon?" The queen sounded shocked.

  "One could say all of us sitting here at this table have trusted less reputable people," he replied.

  Malloryn's right knee shook and suddenly gave, leaving him staggering against the back of his empty chair. Blade caught him, kicking the chair out as he managed to seat Malloryn within it.

  "'Ere, princess. Take a seat." Blade started stripping out of his coat and tore his waistcoat off.

  "Thank you." Malloryn pressed it to his chest. The room was swaying, but he simply couldn't afford to let himself faint.

  Not without assuring Gemma's safety.

  "You should be in a bloody bed." The queen's lips pressed tightly together as her gaze raked him from head to toe. "Where's the tower physician?"

  "I will be," he ground out, locking eyes with her, "once I see to the safety of my queen. And my agents."

  Gauntlet thrown.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  "How can we trust her?" the queen demanded. "How do you know that... thing in her head isn't going to transform her again."

  "Obsidian assures me Gemma's neural implant is defunct. Electricity destroys the circuit." He suddenly felt so fucking weary, he barely had the strength to lift his head. "The problem is, I think you have to trust Gemma. And Obsidian. Because I've barely even begun to delve into the issues we're currently facing. Project: Chameleon is the tip of the iceberg. There's more. And it's worse."

  "What could be worse than a device being used to take over people's free will?" Rosalind Lynch demanded.

  "It seems an old enemy isn't quite as dead as I'd hoped. And he's behind everything that's happened with the dhampir and the vampires and the SOG, and now this assassination attempt...."

  "Who?" The queen's voice tightened.

  Malloryn pressed Blade's waistcoat against the worst wound in his side. "Before she died, Baroness Schröder was taunting me with the fact this is all a game designed to wound me. She used... specific statements only one man has ever used. She said our enemy wanted me to see London burn. My queen killed. My friends murdered. And each and every thing I love destroyed."

  "And I thought I pissed people off, beggin' your pardon, Madam Queen," Blade said. "Ain't anybody ever wanted to burn the entire bloody city to the ground because of me."

  "It's a gift Malloryn has," Leo drawled. "Along with the ability to keep everyone in suspense. And technically, the Duke of Morioch was trying to burn you out of Whitechapel."

  "It's not deliberate," Malloryn shot back. "I have no proof my old enemy is even still alive."

  He didn't need proof. The truth burned within him, leaving him in absolutely no doubt.

  "Who?" the queen whispered.

  "Lord Balfour," he said, and watched the queen reel back as if slapped. "And
while I understand your trepidation, I need Gemma, Your Highness. For if we're truly facing Balfour, then this changes everything."

  Chapter 26

  Obsidian took her to the tower ruins overlooking Malloryn's secret townhouse. It was their little world, safe from prying eyes and whispers. Safe from the impact of Lord Balfour, and Malloryn, and every bloody thing striving to keep them apart. They could pretend here and lose themselves in each other without giving a damn about the outside world.

  Nobody would be looking for them here, and with the Ivory Tower still in turmoil she'd be safe until they could discover what had happened.

  Moving around the room with a small taper, Obsidian lit each candle and then latched the windows against the night and prying eyes before turning back to Gemma.

  She stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around her middle and her hair hanging in tangled snarls around her heart-shaped face. Strips of skirt clung to her legs, and for once she didn't seem to give a damn about her bloody Madame Lefoux's, or whoever designed it.

  No, her eyes flamed hot with intent when she looked at him. Clearly determined to forget her troubles, no matter what she had to do.

  Obsidian slowly blew out the flame on the end of the taper, and smoke curled from its tip. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

  She needed him.

  It was that simple.

  He'd never had anything to fight for before. Weapons simply did as they were told, and with his fractured memories he'd never had a reason to rebel. He couldn't even bloody recall if he'd ever tried.

  But the second she'd walked back into his life, he'd seen a chance for him to break free—to be seen as something more than a tool. Nobody had ever risked their life for his, until she threw herself between him and Malloryn.

  Nobody had ever cared.

  But now it was his turn to look after her.

  "There's a storm brewing in your eyes," Obsidian murmured, as he stalked around her in narrowing circles.

  He could see the edge in her eyes. Neither of them were made for soft words or gentle touches.

  Or heartfelt confessions.

  He was willing to give her whatever she needed.

  "There's a storm brewing in my heart." Gemma turned her head to follow his movements. "But I'm afraid if I let it out, I'll destroy the world. Ever since we left the tower, all I can think about is how to kill Balfour. I've managed to map out at least four ways to get to him, but they all involve casualties. And there's a part of me that doesn't care. I feel like I should care. I want to care. But all I feel is empty. No. All I feel is fury. Have you ever been frightened of what exists inside you?"

  Circling her slowly, he reached out to let his fingertips trail across the muscular flex of her spine. Gemma shivered.

  "Yes," he whispered.

  He turned her to face him, resting his fingertips on her lips.

  "Make me forget today," she begged, sliding the charred edges of his coat off his broad shoulders.

  Make me forget. He saw again the pistol smoking. The empty bridge coming into focus. And the world rushing back in upon him. Obsidian shook his head as he captured her face in both hands. "You cannot forget your pain without forgetting all the goodness that comes with it," he whispered. Trust me. I know. "Pain is what makes the pleasures of life seem so vibrant. If you didn't know pain or loss, then you would take for granted what had been gifted to you."

  He breathed her in, pressing his face to her hair, one hand curled around the back of her neck.

  Mine. All mine.

  "Then make it hurt," Gemma said, before she stretched up on her toes and captured his lips in a demanding kiss.

  He tore his mouth from hers with a shudder. "Nyet."

  Capturing her hands, he held her there, fingers linked. Pain flashed through his synapses, but it was a dull ache now. A distant warning of the aversion therapy. The line between pleasure and pain was thin enough it could go either way; kissing her was torture in the most excruciatingly delicious sense.

  But he didn't want her to know such a sensation. Not tonight.

  "Please."

  "Gemma." Obsidian shook his head, swallowing hard. "Let me love you. Just this once."

  Stillness spread through her as she tilted her head. "Love you?"

  And there they were. The two words that had the ability to cut his heart right out of his chest.

  "What would you call it?" He tried to make sense of the sudden riot in his mind. His heart was pounding, a physical response he couldn't seem to quell, despite his control.

  But then, he'd never been able to control that recalcitrant organ when it came to her.

  "Do you speak of taking me to bed? Or... something else?"

  Obsidian laced his fingers through hers. When he felt like he had control over his facial features, he slowly looked up. "Something else. Perhaps. I have never felt rationally when it comes to you. I don't.... I don't know what I feel. But it is overwhelming. You are the beginning and the end of everything. You are all I see. You are mine.

  "They tried to lock it all away inside me. To bind it with chains of hate, but even when I wanted to kill you, a part of me could not raise a hand. I've killed to protect you. I would die for you. And you alone have the power to bring me to my knees with a single kiss. Is this love?"

  Gemma curled her fingers through his. She tried to laugh, and failed. "You're asking me? According to Malloryn my perception of the word is skewed."

  "And you think the Duke of Malloryn knows what love is? He's a fool."

  A laugh burst out of her.

  Then the shadows came back as the day's events clearly returned.

  "You make me believe," he added swiftly, "there is a place where I belong. And that place is in your arms. It doesn't matter where we are, or what we're fighting for. You are the only thing that matters to me."

  Those luminous eyes were shuttered by the flicker of her lashes, but then she met his gaze, and all the pain and fear and anger washed out of her. "That's what I felt in Russia. I had a job to do, but for the first time in my life I wanted to run away with you. I wanted to leave behind all my burdens, all my duties. I wanted something I'd never wanted before. Love," she said, in a wondering tone.

  If Malloryn lived, Obsidian was going to kill him for putting that doubt into her mind.

  "Do you trust me, lyubov moya?"

  "With my life."

  Obsidian bent and caught her up beneath her thighs, lifting her easily. Gemma's arms slid around his broad shoulders and her thick black hair cascaded around his face.

  They'd never had a moment in which to surrender to each other. There'd always been tension between them. Lies. Hot, hard kisses. Teeth in skin, as both of them sought to overwhelm the other. In Russia they'd both been playing a game, from what he could recall. Passion was easy to ignite. Sex, a means to communicate without saying a damned thing.

  But this....

  He lowered her onto the rough bed he'd created in the corner, and Gemma lay back like a bride surrendering to her husband on their wedding night as he knelt between her thighs.

  He kissed her palm, lips skating up the inside of her wrist. Pain stabbed through his head, but he ignored it in favor of the sensation of her smooth skin beneath his lips.

  Gemma arched her head back with a soft moan as he caressed the hollow of her collarbone. The thick heady rush of her pulse captured his attention, and he paused as his vision plunged into shadows, the hunger awakening within him with hungry teeth.

  Obsidian hadn't been naive enough to think this could remain a gentle, teasing seduction—not when both of them had their demons—but he'd hoped he could control himself long enough to make this perfect for her.

  "Kiss me," she said, pushing at his chest and rising to her elbows.

  "You're so demanding."

  Sliding his hand behind her neck, he captured the roughened exhale of her breath on her lips. Gemma's mouth opened under his, hot and eager. Every kiss they'd previously shared seem
ed to twist him into tighter knots, but this was no seduction she planned. She simply let him take, their tongues writhing against each other in abandon, her fingers curling into the lengths of his hair until a flare of pain ran through his scalp. Hungry. Rough. A little demanding....

  His heart pounded in his chest as he grabbed her by the hips and dragged her against his erection. Alive. He felt alive and whole, as if a single kiss from Gemma could put all the pieces of his fractured psyche back together.

  The hand against his chest grew insistent.

  He spilled onto his back, and Gemma clambered astride in a cascade of skirts. Then they were kissing again, his fingers sinking into the rich, luxurious length of her hair, until she broke from his mouth and ventured lower. Soft lips grazed his jaw, his pulse. The sting of her teeth against his throat made him hiss as she bit him hard enough to bruise the skin. But it was the caress of her tongue against that mark that sent tingles shooting down his spine.

  Obsidian captured her mouth again, hands cupping her face as he poured everything he had of him into the kiss. How had he ever thought he could deny what he felt for her? He might as well try and pull the moon from the sky as withstand the power Gemma had over him.

  Gemma moaned, her thighs squeezing his hips as she rocked against him. "Sweet mercy, I want you naked. I want to lick every inch of your skin." Fingernails suddenly dug into his shoulders, leaving eight hard little half-moons imprinted there as she sucked in a stolen breath. "I want to bite you."

  So do I. He drew her lower lip between his teeth and sucked. His shirt fell prey to her clever fingers, and Obsidian broke the kiss just long enough for her to push it from his shoulders.

  Then it was her turn.

  Hauling her hips against him, he ground her against his erection as he dragged her hair forward over one shoulder, just enough to catch a glimpse of the top button of her gown.

  Gemma gasped, throwing her head back. Obsidian captured the curve of her breast in his mouth, the rasp of the lace scraping his mouth. He tugged at the buttons down her spine, one by one, cursing them under his breath. Small, fabric-coated buttons, each one catching in the eyelet as if they'd been devised specifically to frustrate a man's larger fingers.