by Meg LaTorre
Gwen didn’t bother digging around her tool kit for a new glove. Instead, she studied Rora’s hand as she held it between her own, one gloved, one bare. Even though it wasn’t Rora’s flesh—and she likely couldn’t process the touch the same as skin to skin—Gwen’s stomach fluttered at their nearness. Her mind drifted to the moments when they’d held each other on the dance floor, ignoring the dance and dancers alike as Rora moved Gwen in sweeping steps through the song.
Why didn’t I kiss her?
As Gwen peeled back the panel, she thought of her secret project and how Rora was in desperate need of an upgrade or better yet, a replacement. If Gwen had seen machinery on a ship in the shape Rora’s arm was in, she would have pulled it out and sold it as scrap metal long ago. The battery was in good condition. In fact, the battery was one of the more recent models—the kind that recharges itself with motion. But the implant had been refurbished too many times and could no longer function at full capacity.
As it was, Gwen could do little to help Rora besides replace a few parts and wires and clean it up.
“Has your hand been malfunctioning or performing strangely since—” Gwen began but was cut off.
“Since you played me like a fool at the ball?” Pursing her lips, Rora studied the wall behind Gwen. “The response time is slower, and the movements are stiffer. But the sparking has remained the same.”
Gwen stopped working and looked up at Rora. “What are you talking about? You were the one who asked me to go to that ball. Shouldn’t I be pissed at you for flirting with me only when you needed a date and then ignoring me?”
“Needed a date?” Rora’s eyes snapped to her then, her cheeks flushed. “I’ve gone to plenty of balls without dates and had a good time with my friends. People who wouldn’t lie to me.”
“How did I lie to you?” Gwen grit her teeth.
“You knew the competition was happening,” Rora said. “That’s why you didn’t want to come to the ball. Why didn’t you just warn me? I would’ve worn my performance gear underneath my dress. I could have been better prepared, I…”
When she trailed off, Rora’s eyes skirted up to Gwen, who stared at her, slack-jawed.
“You think I knew about that? Bastian only told me what was happening after you were all brought into the other room.”
Shifting her shoulders, Rora averted her gaze to the nearby changing screen. “Then why didn’t you want to go to the ball? You weren’t trying to avoid the competition?”
“I’m a terrible dancer, and I don’t play nicely with other children.”
Rora sniffed. “What changed your mind?”
Gwen exhaled slowly. “Isn’t it obvious? A beautiful woman asked me to go.” Finally, Rora’s eyes found hers. Although her gaze had softened from its former granite state, it was clear the woman still hadn’t put her guard down.
“I want to help you,” Gwen continued. “What the show management team is doing to the performers is barbaric. Dissecting cyborgs like they are worthless investments...” She shook her head.
Rora’s teeth sank into her rosebud lips. “I heard the performers from the fourteen losing acts all survived with the exception of those who died during the competition. Is that true?”
Gwen nodded.
Rora’s gaze slid back to the shelves. “It might have been a mercy to let them die.”
“Everyone deserves a chance to live,” Gwen said, surprised. “Even if it’s a hard life.”
Sighing, Rora softened. “I know.”
Reaching out, Gwen took Rora’s human hand in hers. “I want to help you. I can fix up your hand as best as I can, but until you get a new implant, it’s going to be damage control. Let me help you achieve your dream of performing for the emperor. But I can’t unless you let me.”
Although Rora didn’t hold Gwen’s hand in return, she hadn’t pulled away either.
“You really didn’t know?” Rora asked.
Gwen shook her head. “I had no idea the competition was happening that night… or the consequences for the losing performers. If I had, I would have warned you.”
Perhaps I could have convinced you to run away with me.
The thought came unbidden. As it faded to the back of Gwen’s thoughts, it left a trail of warmth behind.
Rora nodded. “I believe you.”
Well, hot dandy. It’s about time.
“What do we do now?”
Scratching her head, Gwen studied the mess that was Rora’s cyborg hand. “We get you in the best shape we can.” She opened her mouth to say more, but closed it.
Plucking up her tools, she went to work, trying to think of Rora’s hand like she would a malfunctioning machine on a ship.
As she worked, she sighed.
“What is it?” Rora prodded.
Gwen blew air out between her lips. “While I will do everything I can to make sure your hand is functioning, there’s another way to make sure you get into the top ten acts.”
Rora leaned forward on the bed, head cocked to the side.
“Have you considered joining another act—?” Gwen began, but Rora immediately made a disgusted noise.
“And here I thought you were different, that you believed in me. But you’re just like everyone else.” Rora angrily shook her head. “I want to be the best, and I want to earn it on my own. How can no one see that?”
Throwing away her sense of self-preservation, Gwen said, “It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable.” Rora slapped the panel on her hand shut, pushed past Gwen, and made for the door. “But think about it. If your hand is prone to malfunction, wouldn’t it make sense to join another performance where there are other performers who can compete if you can’t perform at your full capacity?”
Rora spun on her heel. “I appreciate your overwhelming confidence, Ms. Grimm, but I’m perfectly capable of winning this competition by myself.”
Gwen nearly growled in frustration. None of this was coming out the way she’d hoped.
“You are a strong, capable woman. And fucking resilient.” Gwen’s voice softened as Rora reached for the door. Although she would respect Rora’s boundaries, she had to speak these words—even if it killed her pride to do so. “But I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about… and even though we’ve just met, I’m already terrified of losing you.” Rora’s hand froze in midair. “Three cyborgs died. More than fifty people were stripped of their implants and banished from the circus to stars know where. The fact that they lived was a stroke of luck. I’m no cyborg tinkerer. Who’s to say that next time… that if you…” Gwen took a breath. “I’m afraid if I have to operate on you, I won’t think quick enough or do the right thing. I sure as hell don’t have the experience. And you might die because of me.”
When Rora turned around, her eyes were wide.
“You wanted me to join another performance because… you’re afraid you’ll hurt me?”
Swallowing back the lump in her throat, Gwen nodded.
Once, she’d been confident she could learn how to become a cyborg tinkerer. She’d joined the circus, excited for the challenge. Now, she wasn’t so sure if she had what it took, if she was smart enough. She’d become the best in her field once, but perhaps that was a stroke of luck.
Shaking her head, Rora closed the distance between them, reaching her human hand out and clasping Gwen’s. “I think it’s time someone reassured you how strong and capable you are. You saved fifty-two people, Gwen. That wasn’t just luck. You’re smart. And I trust you with my life.”
Rora was so close Gwen could smell her perfume—roses and peach blossoms. Heart fluttering, Gwen’s breath grew shallow and her mouth went dry. She looked down at the shorter woman, who was far from fragile. Arms corded with lean muscles, she was strong and capable, just as Gwen had said. And she was looking up at Gwen with… could that be desire in her eyes?
Licking her lips, Gwen managed to take a shallow breath. Everything in her screamed to lean down, to kiss this woman she�
�d grown fond of so quickly. They weren’t guaranteed tomorrow. Still, she wanted to do this right. This was more than a quick fling.
Grabbing Rora’s human hand, she brought it to her lips.
As she did, she marveled at the warmth of Rora’s touch and the loyalty behind those eyes. It reminded her of the way her parents had…
It was gone.
Fear seized her veins, and she tried not to show it on her face to Rora.
When Gwen tried to think of the faces of her parents, she could remember nothing but faint silhouettes with black hair. Did her mother have a kind face? Did her father have a strong jaw or a straight nose?
The Forgetting, she realized. It’s beginning.
According to what Rora had shared with Gwen at the ball, the acrobat couldn’t remember her parents’ faces either. But she had been a cyborg for two years. Gwen had been a cyborg for weeks. How were her memories fading already?
I can’t forget. I won’t forget. But how can I stop it?
But her chances of stopping the Forgetting were as likely as saving all of the cyborgs she would soon be forced to harvest.
Doing the only thing she knew how to do, she fucking compartmentalized and pushed the Forgetting to the back of her mind. She would deal with that later.
As she looked at Rora, a single thought came to mind.
This is my family now. Defending these cyborgs comes first.
“Shall we get to work?” Gwen gestured to Rora’s implant.
A smile spread across Rora’s lips as she seated herself once more. “One of these days, I’ll figure you out, Gwendolyn Grimm.”
Gwen smiled in return. “I hope you do.”
Chapter 12
Gwen lingered at the door.
They’d been in Rora’s room for hours, and stars, she didn’t want to leave. But it was late, and they both had responsibilities awaiting them in the morning.
When did I become so fucking sensible?
As she reached for the door handle, Rora spoke softly behind her.
“Don’t go.”
The words were barely a whisper.
Heart pounding, she turned back toward Rora, as restless as the swirling butterflies in her stomach. The gymnast stood before her, no longer in her performance gear, but wearing red lingerie.
Her eyes roamed hungrily over Rora, taking in her beautiful curves and dark skin. The lace cupped round breasts, dipping almost to her navel. Even from where she stood, Gwen could see Rora had shaved everything.
Holy shit. Gwen wanted to touch her right fucking now.
They were mere inches apart, but the space felt like a bottomless chasm.
They stared at each other for a long moment before their bodies crashed together.
Rora wrapped her hands on either side of Gwen’s face and pulled her down. Gwen came willingly, kissing Rora feverishly. They hadn’t gotten far from the door, and they were already gasping.
Their lips met in a frenzy, teeth pulling and tongues flicking. It wasn’t enough. Gwen grabbed Rora, pushing her against the door to her room, wood cracking. Her breasts heaved against Gwen’s ribs between breathless kisses.
Slowly, Gwen’s hands left Rora’s face and neck, sliding down until they were over her breasts. She hesitated, waiting for Rora to object. When she didn’t, moaning between kisses, leaning into the touch, Gwen gave in. She squeezed, slipping a hand beneath the thin fabric, feeling Rora’s nipple harden beneath her calloused palm. Gwen let out a moan of her own.
It was only then she noticed Rora’s finger trailing the length of her waist where Gwen’s belt held up her trousers. She leaned in, inviting Rora to do more. That was all the encouragement she needed because Rora’s hand slowly made its way to her belt, untying it with torturous slowness.
Stars, go faster, Gwen thought, squeezing Rora’s breasts as she pushed down the flimsy lace. The faint artificial light of a nearby gas lamp highlighted two dark breasts and darker, hard nipples.
Unfastening her pant button, Rora’s hand trailed down Gwen’s hip, to her leg, and down to—
Stars.
Her fingers slipped into Gwen easily.
For a moment, Gwen’s limbs stopped responding to conscious thought. All she could feel was one finger and then two.
Her entire body wracked with delicious, trembling pleasure.
When she came to herself again, Gwen kissed Rora harder, gasping. Unable to take more than a shallow breath as she felt Rora go deep inside her.
It wasn’t enough. She needed more.
A bang sounded on the door, and Gwen bolted upright in bed.
Looking around at her very own, very empty room, she groaned. It had all been a dream?
She turned over in bed, eager to return to what would have been the best part. “Fuck off.”
Just as she closed her eyes, the banging came again, louder this time. Still, she didn’t move. Peeling one eye open, she glanced at the pocket watch on her bedside table.
Shit. She’d overslept.
After skipping dinner and spending most of the night in Rora’s room, it was no wonder. They’d spent the entire time working on Rora’s hand. Nothing at all like Gwen’s dream.
When the banging became so loud, her whole room shook, she sighed, pushed the sheets back, and headed toward the door.
Hesitating, she grabbed the secret project she’d been working on that was in the middle of the floor and stashed it in her wardrobe. But she didn’t bother to don her trousers or put on undergarments. Instead, she walked straight toward the pounding door in nothing but a loose shirt.
When Gwen swung the door inward, she was met with the glaring face of Bastian Kabir. As ever, he wore an immaculate suit and top hat. His finger tapped on his cane in obvious irritation.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
Rather than his usual smart remark, he stiffened as he took in her disheveled clothing and hair. His eyes skirted down to where the shirt’s neckline scooped low between her breasts.
“What’s the matter with you?” She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “Never seen tits before?”
Blinking, his eyes returned above sea level. “That’s none of your business.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Prefer the company of men, then?”
“No.”
Sexual frustration poured through her, making her lightheaded. She wasn’t sure if it was entirely from the dream, but her thoughts strayed along with her gaze. As she studied Bastian’s pinstriped suit and the wiry body beneath it, she wondered just how good Bastian Kabir would be in bed.
It had been quite some time since a cock had filled her.
She didn’t move from where she blocked the doorway. “What do you want?”
As Bastian tapped his cane on the floor, she could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. “You’re aware you have a job to perform at this circus, correct?”
“I was sick,” she lied.
“You don’t look sick.”
“Why are you looking?”
His mouth drew into a thin line. “Don’t change the subject, Ms. Grimm. I’m here to escort you to your appointment with the Mistress.”
Fuck. She’d completely forgotten about her mandatory checkup. Not that she was excited to see Mistress Morbid.
Turning back into her room, she didn’t bother to close the door. She grabbed a pair of trousers from the floor, yanked them up, and pushed her feet into boots. Locating her pistol, holster, knives, and sheaths, she donned those.
Bastian stood, frozen in the middle of the doorway.
She glanced over her shoulder. “In or out.”
The door clicked shut as she pulled her sleeping shirt over her head, tossed it to the floor, and put on a shirt, vest, and her tinkerer’s belt.
“Have you no modesty?”
As Gwen turned back to him, he was intently studying the stone castle wall. By the look of him, there was nothing immodest taking place behind him. He was a man dressed for a dinner
party and taking inventory of the room.
Never took him for a prude.
“When you live on a ship for months at a time, often without private sleeping quarters, you quickly realize how pointless modesty is.” She gestured to the door. “Lead the way.”
They left her room and strode down hallways she’d never gone down before, the now customary watchmen padding softly behind them. Eventually, they made it to the hallway for the show management team’s offices. Stopping in front of one of the doors, Bastian knocked softly.
“Enter,” a voice called from within.
With a nod to the watchmen, who took up stations farther down the hallway, the ringleader opened the door.
“Mr. Kabir. Ms. Grimm.” Celeste Beckett rose from her desk and gestured to two empty chairs at the desk across from her. “Welcome. Please have a seat.”
“If you require nothing further, Mistress, I will take my leave.” Interestingly, his posture was even stiffer than usual.
“Leaving so soon?” Celeste leaned forward, her manicured red nails pressing against the top of her wooden desk. “I must say, I miss the days when you were my pet. Although you make a fine ringleader, I sometimes wonder if your skills are better put to use elsewhere.”
If it was possible, Bastian stiffened further. Despite a thin stature, his grim expression indicated barely refrained violence. It was as though a beast lurked beneath his skin, waiting to get out. In any other person, that look alone would inspire terror. The faint-hearted might be tempted to shit themselves when the great Bastian Kabir leveled that gaze on them.
Gwen studied the way his suit hung loosely on him, and it was far looser than the day she’d met him on Anchorage. She couldn’t help but to wonder when he’d eaten last. Perhaps the infamous ringleader of the cyborg circus had seen more horrors in his lifetime than the first competition. Everyone had their way of coping, and restriction was a method she’d seen before. Did the poor bastard even realize what he was doing?
“Thank you for your kind words, Mistress,” Bastian said. “But I feel my calling is to be a ringleader to our performers.”