Tethered

by Meljean Brook

  She removed her jacket, boots, and weapons, then settled into the cushions around the table and helped herself to the wine. Archimedes’ expression was still pensive when he let himself in.

  Yasmeen waited until he closed the door. “We’re no longer visiting Zenobia?”

  He eased down beside her, and Yasmeen automatically curled against his side, her head on his shoulder. His hand rested on her hip. His thumb stroked circles just above the edge of her sash, where only thin cotton separated him from her skin. A purr rumbled through her chest. God, but she couldn’t help it. That absent little touch was pure pleasure to her.

  And the touch wasn’t so absent now. Archimedes smiled, pulled her closer. “Bilson usually has a standby plan, in the event that his first doesn’t pull through.”

  Was that to warn her or to reassure her? “So he’ll ask another mercenary to help him?”

  “No, he’ll try to convince us again. He’ll have some reason for us to help him held in reserve.”

  And he would need time to deploy it. “Was that why he asked for passage, then?”

  “Probably.”

  “Will he try to lay more guilt on you?” Or, if he was clever, attempt to convince Archimedes that infiltrating New Eden would be the height of excitement, more dangerous than zombies. “Or will he try to entice you into it?”

  He slanted her an amused look. “Do you think I would be enticed so easily?”

  If Lady Nergüi wasn’t at risk? “Yes.”

  “Yes, perhaps I would be.” His sudden laugh shook through her. “You know me well.”

  So did Bilson. Perhaps he hadn’t anticipated that Archimedes’ love for Yasmeen would override his need to pursue a thrill—but surely he must have realized how protective Archimedes was of the people he cared for. After all, Bilson had known Zenobia.

  “Would he use your sister in some way?” She hoped Bilson wouldn’t be that stupid, but it would be an effective play. For Archimedes, there could be no more powerful incentive than protecting Zenobia—except, perhaps, protecting Yasmeen…but threatening her never seemed to work out well for anyone. “Is that why we’re making certain he travels to England?”

  “I don’t know if he would use her,” Archimedes said. He tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling, clearly troubled. “I didn’t think so…until he called my honor into question. He’s already gone further than I’d have expected.”

  “Would he hurt her?”

  “No. Not physically. But he might try to manipulate her, use her to persuade me—especially if he has guessed her feelings toward him.”

  His sister was too practical and too clever for that. “She wouldn’t let him.”

  “True. Still, it’s better to take him to England, then let Zenobia know what he wanted so that she’s prepared if he attempts to work on her. He’ll be at least two days traveling back to Fladstrand; we’ll have alerted her before then.”

  “Shall we send the express now?”

  He nuzzled beneath her ear, sending a shiver racing over her skin. “I’d rather do this.”

  So would she. But they’d both make Zenobia a priority.

  “I won’t kiss you until it’s done,” she said.

  Eyes narrowed, he lifted his head. “You’re sending me away so that you can begin reading her manuscript.”

  Yasmeen laughed. She’d forgotten about the story, in truth. Lady Lynx would never come before Archimedes Fox, not for her. “Perhaps,” she said. “But I’ll give you reason to hurry back.”

  She slipped her hand into the warmth between her thighs. Archimedes caught his breath and scrambled to his feet, dumping her face-first into the cushions.

  “Christ.” He raced across the cabin, followed by her laughter. At the desk, he stabbed a pen into ink, and spoke aloud as he scrawled:

  Zenobia—

  Bilson is aboard. His brother has been taken to New Eden. He wants us to mount a rescue. We refused. He might come to you, hoping that you’ll help him to persuade us. Remain steadfast, O! brilliant Zenobia. Neither my darling captain nor I wish to become praying gardeners.

  Yours,

  Archimedes

  He suddenly paused, frowning.

  “Lady Lynx and the Smuggler’s Secret Scheme?“Yasmeen suggested.

  “By God, that’s awful,” he said, even as he added it to the postscript. He tossed down the pen and lifted the paper, pursing his lips and blowing to dry the ink.

  Oh, his mouth was beautiful. Watching him, Yasmeen slid her hands beneath her shirt, and gave her imagination full sail—his hot tongue on her skin, the gentle suction of his lips. Her nipples hardened between her fingers.

  Her back arched. “Hurry, Archimedes.”

  With a tortured groan, he shoved the letter into an envelope and ran for the door. He stopped before opening it, abruptly faced her.

  “Don’t move,” he commanded, and turned to lift the latch—then spun around again. “Unless it’s to take off your clothes. And prepare a cigarillo for afterward.”

  Yasmeen grinned. “Is that an order, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  He rushed into the corridor, slammed the door. With her muscles warmed by anticipation and desire, Yasmeen stretched luxuriously, then dipped her fingers beneath her red sash.

  She paused. The shape and feel of her cigarillo case had changed…but both were still so familiar.

  A heavy lump formed in her throat even before she saw the silver case, its decorative engraving almost rubbed away from years of constant use. Oh, Archimedes. He’d said that he’d chosen a gift for her at the silversmith’s, but she’d never dreamed he would know to buy this—one of the few items to survive the explosion that had destroyed Lady Corsair. Yasmeen had lost everything else, and she’d been forced to sell the case just to have money enough to pursue her revenge.

  She’d never said anything about it, but Archimedes must have known what she’d done—and he must have known that she would never return to the silversmith’s, afraid that her case would already be gone. It was easier to tell herself she didn’t want it than to know she’d lost it forever.

  So he’d gone for it. She’d never said anything, but he’d gone for it, and slipped the case into her sash without her noticing.

  She looked up when Archimedes came into the cabin. His warm gaze lifted from the case in her hands to search her features. She blinked away the burning in her eyes, swallowing hard.

  “You,” she said. It was all that she could manage. Incredible man.

  “And you’re still dressed,” he said softly.

  She rose from the cushions and met him halfway. His lips parted against hers, yet a kiss wasn’t enough. Through the swelling in her chest, the ache in her throat, she said, “I love you.”

  “Of course you do.” Despite the teasing reply, his voice was rough with emotion. “I’m far too manly to resist.”

  So he was. And he was the only man she’d ever allow to sweep her up into his arms. She brought his mouth to hers as he crossed the cabin, loving his easy strength. He shouldered through the heavy curtains surrounding their bed, laying her in the center and following her down.

  He pulled her shirt from her breeches, found bare skin beneath. His touch sent fire racing across her nerves, searing her senses, taking her breath. Panting, Yasmeen rolled him over, straddling his lean hips.

  “Let me, Mr. Fox,” she said against his lips.

  He smiled. “I’m all yours, Captain.”

  He was, thank the lady. Her fingers made quick work of his waistcoat buckles, but as she spread the emerald silk to reveal the white linen beneath, memory of their conversation with Bilson intruded. She met his eyes. “What happened that summer?”

  “I picked a flower, brought it home to my mother, and put it in her hair.” He untied the silk tails of Yasmeen’s kerchief, and coiled one of her narrow braids around his hand. “She blushed and smiled—her smiles came rarely then. When we were children, they came more frequently. But this was the first I’d
seen in some time.”

  “Your father ruined it?” Yasmeen guessed.

  “Adornments are for sodomites and whores. And when he was done with me, he started in on her. Not with his fists,” he added. “He didn’t usually need them.”

  With words, then. “But you finally had enough?” When he nodded, Yasmeen stroked her fingers down the green silk. “So you told him with this.”

  “Well, it matched my eyes—and I’d always been fond of adornments, anyway.”

  His grin wrecked her. She buried her face against his neck, breathed in his warm scent. “I’d kill him again for you.”

  “I hope you’d let me have a turn,” he said, running his palms along her spine.

  “If you ask nicely.”

  “I would.”

  “Then let me be nice to you, first,” she said, sliding down.

  His groan was the perfect answer. She bared his stomach to her mouth, tracing the ridges of muscle with her tongue. Anticipation pounded through her, was echoed in the thud of his heart. Oh, beautiful man—every morning, an hour spent sparring with a pugilist’s automaton in the cargo hold kept him strong, always ready to run, ready to fight. The life-sized windup machine had cost them a hefty amount, but was worth every denier. His body was a wiry sculpted marvel, taut and aroused beneath her hands, her lips.

  A gentle nip low on his abdomen made him shake, hands fisting against the sheets. He shuddered when her mouth closed around him—rigid and thick, hot against her tongue. His moan seemed torn from his chest…then he quieted, as if the sensation overwhelmed even that response.

  His erection softened in her mouth.

  After a moment of shock, Yasmeen choked on her laugh. Had she finally scared the arousal out of him? She glanced up, ready to tease.

  Archimedes wasn’t laughing. A slightly puzzled expression settled over his features as he looked at her.

  That was all she saw. No love in his eyes—not even lust.

  Pain stabbed her heart. She fought against the instinctive need to curl away from him, to protect herself from that empty gaze. By the lady, what had she done? What had happened?

  Had she lost him already?

  An uncontrollable ache bloomed through her chest. With effort, she battled the panic threatening to overwhelm her sense. He’d never not been responsive. He’d never not wanted her. Something had to be wrong.

  “Archimedes,” she said softly. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Realization slipped over his expression…but not in the way that she was accustomed to seeing it. Rather than lively and mobile, his features seemed wooden, his attitude disinterested. “I’m not feeling much.”

  His flaccid cock attested to that. She attempted a smile. “Do you need me to do something else?”

  “No. I don’t want you now.”

  So blandly stated, his words hurt more than a vehement rejection might have. The ache became teeth that ripped at her throat. She stared at him, trying to see beyond the pain, beyond the terrible feeling of helplessness. What was happening?

  “Archimedes?”

  His gaze locked with hers—and she finally saw an emotion, faint though it was. Fear. “It’s the tower, Yasmeen.”

  The tower? She sat up, heart pounding. Bilson had compared the effect of its signal to a lamp burning out…but Yasmeen had never been this afraid of the dark.

  “I don’t want this,” he said, and there was no color in his voice, no life…nothing that was Archimedes. Nothing of the man he was.

  And he knew. He knew. Even with his emotions muffled, she could see his faint horror bleeding through.

  God. How could she help him? Closing her eyes, she forced away the terror, forced herself to think.

  “Not the tower,” she said. It had been destroyed in Morocco—but something was broadcasting a signal that affected his nanoagents, stripping away his emotions. Yasmeen had seen a small device like that before: a twelve-inch obelisk atop a heavy base. “I know of something similar to it, though—and I’ll find it. By the lady, I swear I’ll find it.”

  She kissed him, and his lack of response tore her heart out all over again. Feet bare and throat aching, she paused only long enough to tuck a pistol into her sash. She wouldn’t have to go far; the device didn’t have a wide range. She would search every person between her airship and the end of the south docks—and search twice, if they appeared wealthy. The device was difficult to obtain, and had to be smuggled in from Horde territories. It wouldn’t have come cheaply.

  She glanced back at Archimedes, now sitting at the edge of their bed. He regarded her without a hint of fire, without a hint of laughter. Who the hell had taken that from him? Anger swelled, replacing the pain and fear.

  Perhaps the person who’d activated the device hadn’t meant to affect him. Yasmeen would tear them apart anyway.

  She hauled the door open, stepped into the corridor—where Bilson waited, sorrow etching deep lines beside his mouth.

  Bilson, who’d once smuggled Horde weapons, who would know how to procure such a device…and who would know exactly which signal would affect Archimedes.

  Goddamned Bilson, who always had a plan on standby.

  He only had enough time to open his mouth. Then her fingers were around his throat, slamming him back against the wooden bulkhead. His hands clamped on her wrist, desperately tried to force her to release him. He froze when her claws dug into tender flesh, drawing blood.

  “Three seconds,” she hissed. “Tell me where the device is.”

  “I’m not alone.” It emerged on a wheeze. “Kill me and he’ll die—and you won’t ever know who did it.”

  He’ll die? Yasmeen snarled. It wouldn’t be Archimedes who died here. She’d rip through Bilson’s neck…except he didn’t have the device with him. A quick look confirmed it. And he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to just leave it in the stateroom. Someone else had to have it.

  She drew more blood. “Who is it?”

  Bilson looked to the side. Yasmeen followed his gaze. Archimedes stood at the entrance to the cabin, watching them without expression.

  Beneath her hand, Bilson’s throat worked. “I’m so sorry, my friend. But my brother needs your help.”

  Archimedes gave no response. Not concealing his reaction—not even having one.

  A scream ripped through Yasmeen’s chest. She refused to voice it. Archimedes had made his way into her heart, but it was still made of steel. Maybe she couldn’t kill Bilson right now. She could give him a reason to tell her where the device was.

  Bilson’s body tensed when she pulled her pistol from her sash. Ah, yes. He’d probably read that Lady Lynx never drew her gun unless she intended to use it.

  That was one thing Zenobia had gotten perfectly right.

  Yasmeen placed the muzzle against his left shoulder and fired. Bilson howled, then clamped his mouth shut. His feet stomped the boards as he attempted to manage the pain.

  Gunpowder smoke stung her eyes, her nose. Over the ringing in her ears, she heard the shouts of her crew. Ginger popped her head out of the cabin-girls’ berth, saw Yasmeen, and waved the other girls away from the door. Longcock’s heavy step sounded on the deck, with Vashon’s quick behind him.

  Yasmeen glanced at the quartermaster. “See that the aviators on watch hold their positions, mademoiselle. Tell the others to stand down.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Vashon disappeared up the companionway. The first mate didn’t move, his augmented bulk filling up the corridor.

  “Mr. Longcock?”

  His pale gaze moved from Archimedes to Bilson, pinned against the bulkhead and breathing shallowly through clenched teeth. “I’m not on watch, ma’am.”

  All right, then. He wasn’t needed on deck, and was also Archimedes’ friend. Obviously, a much better one than Archimedes’ stinking rat partner. She focused on Bilson again. “Is the device on my ship?”

  Bilson didn’t answer—but he didn’t need to. It would have to be aboard Lady Nergüi
to pose any real threat. The device had such a short range that they could fly out of danger within minutes.

  But that also meant his associate was a member of her crew. They hadn’t taken on any other passengers in Port Fallow…only Vashon, the new quartermaster.

  No. That was a dangerous route for a captain to take; an airship couldn’t function if she couldn’t rely on her aviators. So she would trust each member of her crew, until one of them proved untrustworthy.

  Or until Bilson gave up a name. She pressed the muzzle harder against his shoulder. “Who has it?”

  Bilson’s face whitened, but he shook his head.

  In a flat voice, Archimedes said, “That won’t work, Yasmeen. He won’t break.”

  Perhaps not, but as the minutes passed and Archimedes remained smothered by that device, Yasmeen thought that she would enjoy trying.

  “Go on,” Bilson rasped. “Torture me, and my associate will realize that you won’t help me—and use the device to kill him for that, too. You have no choice, Captain. Help us, or Archimedes will pay for your refusal.”

  Idiot. If the device was on her ship, it was only a matter of time before she found it.

  She smiled, and Bilson tensed again. Good enough. She released him, stepping back. “If your associate stops the signal, I’ll see that a surgeon is brought to you. If it remains on, you’d best pray that wound doesn’t turn gangrenous before we rescue your brother.”

  Bilson hunched over, holding his shoulder. “If you take us to New Eden, we won’t activate it again—and won’t kill him. Do we have an agreement, Captain?”

  “We do, Mr. Bilson.”

  The lie came easily. Yasmeen only intended to discover who held the device—and then destroy them both.

  He nodded and turned toward the third deck companionway. Would he be foolish enough to lead them straight to his associate?

  Farther down the passageway, Longcock met Yasmeen’s gaze, his blond brows lifted in query. She nodded. The first mate would keep an eye on Bilson, then, and let her know who the man spoke with. She would stay with Archimedes until this horror had passed. While under the device’s influence, perhaps he didn’t care enough to need her with him—but by the lady, she needed to be with him.