by Bec McMaster
"Zero was here," he told her, lifting up a note. "She had this delivered ten minutes ago by some street lad. It's to me."
Ingrid had just enough strength to lift her head to read. "Congratulations, Master Byrnes. You do prove resourceful—and somewhat vexing—though I do not care for the company you keep. Never mind, I'm enjoying this game far too much, and people die—verwulfen die—such is life. We will meet again. Zero." She looked up, blinking through the heavy lassitude of the loupe. "She does seem particularly taken with you. Are you certain you didn't get up to anything I should know about?"
Byrnes looked affronted. "I've barely even met the woman!"
"Well, something made an impression. I'm not sure it's your charm."
"She's insane!" Byrnes screwed the piece of paper in his fist. "And she just threatened you."
With a laugh, Ingrid rested her head on his shoulder. "Don't get your drawers in a twist. She's not coming after me yet. Wake me when we get to Baker Street."
And then she stopped fighting the heaviness.
* * *
AS EVENING DRENCHED THE SKIES, a swift knock came at Ingrid’s door. Even before Byrnes opened it, he knew who was there. He'd recognize that scent anywhere.
"Rosa," he murmured, keeping his voice low.
Rosa peered past him. "Is she all right?"
"Apart from a few scratches, she's fine." He was not, however. Ingrid was going to be the death of him. Watching her on that beam, with the vampire at her heels.... "She's just tired. Hasn't woken up yet."
Rosa slid onto the bed, curling Ingrid's hand in her own. "She does that when she exerts herself immensely.”
"Let's hope she doesn't fall asleep somewhere when she's not yet made it to safety then."
"She won't," Rosa said. "The fact that she's allowed herself to surrender to it means that she trusts you. Byrnes... thank you. For looking after her, and guarding her back."
"You sound surprised."
Fabric rustled as the duchess smoothed Ingrid's hair off her head. "I'm not surprised you protected her. You're a Nighthawk, after all. I might be a little shocked to find you sitting here at her bedside, however. The Caleb Byrnes that I know is not the sort of man to hover at a woman's bedside."
There was a question in that.
"She asked me to stay the other night when she was injured. I don't think she likes to wake up alone in the middle of the night. I think—" He stopped in his tracks. Why the hell was he explaining himself to Rosa?
And the truth was, he was lying. He was here because he wanted to be here, and because he didn't want Ingrid to wake up alone in the dark and not know where she was.
Rosa saw it all, judging from her expression. "I thought we had an agreement?"
To hell with that. "I'm not giving her up, Rosa."
The duchess's lips thinned.
"I'm not," he told her firmly, standing and retrieving his coat. "Whether you like it or not." He slung his coat over his shoulders. "As Ingrid's friend, I respect your concern about our relationship, but this is between Ingrid and me, and I'll thank you to stay out of it."
Those dark brown eyes watched him as he headed for the door. Then she smiled, very faintly. "As you wish."
It was the smile that unnerved him. Far from looking like she was about to leap between them with pistols raised, Rosa seemed to be dwelling on some secret thought that amused her.
"I'll give you a moment alone with her," he murmured, slinking through the door and finding Lynch in the hallway beyond.
"You've just cost me one of my finest bottles of blud-wein," Lynch sighed.
It wasn't what he'd expected the duke to say. "What?"
"Garrett," the duke replied, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I should have known better than to bet against that bastard. Come. Walk with me."
Together they strolled into the garden at the back of the house. Fog lingered in the corners, and a single gaslight lit the yard.
“Should I be worried about Rosa coming after me?” Byrnes muttered, leaning against the wall.
“I think she’s reconciling herself to the idea of welcoming you into the family.”
That disconcerted him a little. Rosa as a sister-in-law. Jesus. Byrnes shifted. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Nothing’s been decided, and… there are still some problems for Ingrid and me to work through, as soon as we get a chance to breathe.”
“Oh?”
His first instinct was to clam up, but to hell with it. He couldn’t do this alone any more. "She wants children. I've never— I didn't—" It was uncomfortable terrain for him to stare into a future he'd never examined before, never dreamed of. "I'm not good with children, and I've never wanted to be a father. I've never wanted to be a husband." Not until she'd walked into his life and turned it upside down. "But I cannot stay away from her."
"Mmm. This doesn't have anything to do with your father, does it?"
Byrnes shot him a shocked look.
"You've always been the one I worried about the most," Lynch admitted. "Emotion frightens you. It's never been a problem until now, but it always used to worry me that one day you wouldn't be able to control everything you felt, and... you'd do something stupid."
Byrnes swallowed hard as he rested his hands on the wall. “I’m not going to do anything foolish. It’s just—”
“You see too much of your father in yourself when you get angry?”
Byrnes shoved away from the wall, pacing. “Christ. How do you do that?”
“I’ve made human nature a study of mine,” Lynch replied dryly. “It’s what made me a good Nighthawk.”
“An excellent one,” Byrnes replied grudgingly. Neither he nor Garrett would ever compare. Lynch could see right through a man, right through his motivations. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he swallowed hard. Memories were starting to surface at the turn of the conversation: his father’s swarthy face as he turned and spied a young Caleb Byrnes watching from the shadows as he took his rage out on Byrnes’s mother….
"Is it the thought of being a father that concerns you? Or the intimacy implied in such a position?” Lynch asked. “Or does it have something to do with losing everyone you cared for at young age, and being afraid to be vulnerable again?"
A little bit of each. Anger throbbed through him. "If you think that losing my father bothered me, then you'd be wrong."
"I'm not speaking of losing your father." Lynch paused, a hesitation very much unlike him. "You do realize that I was the one in charge of his murder case?"
Byrnes froze. He couldn't help himself. Instead he saw it flash before his eyes again, the knife in his hands plunging into that bastard's chest again and again, until it was a wet pulp.
Lynch had never said anything. Instead he'd asked his questions about the incident, declared the case cold, and after the funeral had pulled Byrnes aside to offer him a position in the Nighthawks.
"I know you hated him. No, I was speaking of your mother's loss. Of young Debney." Lynch rested his hip on the window ledge, merely watching him come to the conclusion the duke had already reached. "Not the father you killed."
Byrnes pinched the bridge of his nose. "You knew.”
"A crime of such passion? It was either you or your brother, or perhaps even the viscountess. Someone who hated him. The second I laid eyes upon you, wary and mistrustful, with your emotions so tightly locked away, I knew who'd done it. And then there was the fact that you were newly infected with the craving virus. You didn’t come by that by accident."
"Then why did you let me join the Nighthawks? You should have executed me." The Echelon would have been baying for blood for the murder of one of their own.
"You were thirteen, Byrnes. And I considered it. The coldness you displayed unnerved me, but then there was the funeral and the way that you helped your mother hobble up to his grave to throw her flower on top of the casket, despite the fact you looked like you wanted to spit on it. You loved her. You were kind to her, and she was clearly a woman wh
o'd seen the rough side of life. In that moment I realized that you weren't hiding some sadistic monster inside you. You were an injured wolf cub, lashing out, trying to protect the one thing that you cared for. You could have become worse," Lynch admitted, "without someone to guide your choices, and your control of the craving virus. You could have followed a dark path had I not taken the chance to help you. When I adopted Garrett into the Nighthawks—well, he was always easy to love, but you... you're the one I'm proudest of. The one who stood in the shadows and slowly hauled himself out of them."
Byrnes's back hit the wall and he half slid down it. He didn't know what to say. That young blood-soaked boy inside him, terrified, hurting, furious, and wild with emotion.... He'd spent so many years trying to bury him. And he'd succeeded in many ways. Succeeded in bottling it all up, locking it all away. Emotion and passion frightened him, because he knew what he was capable of. He'd seen the blood all across his hands as he slowly came back to himself that night and realized what had happened.
“I’ve spent so many years trying not to become him,” he admitted in a hoarse whisper before meeting Lynch’s eyes. “How could I be a father? Or a husband? I’m a good hunter, Lynch. I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m not afraid of the monsters, or of tracking them down, because I recognize that darkness inside me. How do I become something else?”
“No, it’s not the shadows you’re afraid of,” Lynch said with a sigh. “But the light. And you’re not seeing the situation clearly. I’ve seen you take care of Ingrid, Byrnes. I’ve seen you protect your mother. You’re so gentle with her. There’s another side to you that perhaps you need to explore.” Lynch sighed. "Fatherhood scared me too, did you know? When Rosa was carrying Phillip… it was absolutely terrifying, for I’ve never been around children much. And then he was born, and it all became very simple.” A faint smile quirked at his lips. “All of that worry for nothing. The second I held him in my arms, I knew I would shift heaven and earth to protect him.”
It was easy for the duke to say.
“Did Ingrid tell you this?” Lynch asked. “That she wants children?"
"It was fairly obvious at your dinner. And your wife made some pointed remarks when she tracked me down."
"But Ingrid never specifically said it? Rosa's not always right. Though she's having a difficult time admitting it to herself. Why don't you ask Ingrid what she wants? She’s passionate and rash, and living on the very edge of her emotions—in some ways she's your exact opposite. But I think that if there was anyone that could match the darkness inside you, anyone who could handle it... it would be her, Byrnes. The only problem is that in order to get what you want, you're going to have to expose yourself and risk the chance of losing her. You must face your own demons head-on if you want this."
Byrnes sank his head back against the wall. This felt like old times, the pair of them coolly analyzing a case. "Has anyone ever told you that your omniscience is annoying?"
Lynch smiled. "Rosa. And frequently."
The pair of them both relaxed, however, as if that one statement had defused the tension between them.
He would... deal with Lynch's assessment later. When he had time to pick it apart in his brain.
"So now that we've assessed your progress with Ingrid, tell me what else is bothering you."
There had never been any point in fooling the guild master. "You've heard?"
"About the assassination attempt?" Lynch arched a brow. "Malloryn held an emergency meeting of the Council two hours ago. We're aware of what's happened."
Taking the note from his pocket, Byrnes smoothed it out, then handed it silently to the duke. "The woman behind the explosion left this letter for me."
Once he'd read it, Lynch met Byrnes's gaze. "She's formed some sort of connection with you."
"It's the threat that concerns me. If she thinks that Ingrid stands between us...." He didn't bother to add more. They both knew that even verwulfen were no match for a dhampir. Not alone.
Lynch tapped the letter against his thigh. "Ingrid will be protected. I'll involve myself if need be, so set that from your mind. You're thinking like a newly mated male. Not an investigator. What else does this letter represent?"
That was the first time he'd ever been accused of sentimentality. Byrnes twisted the problem around in his mind, looking at it from another angle. "A chance," he said slowly. "If she's formed some sort of attachment or interest, or whatever the bloody hell she thinks it is, then I can use that to find her."
"She wants you to find her.”
"And if I can find her, then I can cut the head off the snake before it becomes a problem. We can find the missing people, kill her vampires, and stop this Ulbricht scheme in its tracks." Byrnes shoved to his feet, his mind racing. "Keep an eye on Ingrid for me? There's a few things I need to see to."
* * *
INGRID BLINKED SLEEPY EYES, smelling a familiar perfume. She turned, snuggling her face into Rosa's wrist, where their hands lay interlocked. "Rosa. What are you doing here?"
Rosa went to her knees on the floor beside her bed, those serious dark eyes on a level with her own, as she rested her chin on her free hand. "Checking to see if my closest friend is all right." She blew a red curl out of her face. "Someone told me a rather statuesque young verwulfen woman blew up a bridge today."
Ingrid smiled faintly, even as she shut her eyes again. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." There was a certain absence in the room. That made her look up. "Where's—"
"Byrnes?" Rosa asked, in a dry voice.
Their eyes met. "It's not like that," Ingrid said quickly.
"Isn't it?" Rosa sighed. "He was sitting by your bedside when I arrived. I think he's scared of me. Lynch is talking to him."
Ingrid relaxed back down into her pillow.
Rosa settled her bottom on the edge of the bed. "Byrnes seems to be spending rather a lot of time at your side, lately."
"We are working together."
"Which explains why he was sitting here holding your hand."
"Rosa—"
"It's all right." Her friend smiled. "My concerns over Byrnes' feelings for you have been satisfied. He's clearly enamored."
Ingrid snorted. Then twisted her fingers in the pillow, plucking at it. This time, I intend to win your heart... She couldn't quite explain how that made her feel.
Nervous. Hopeful. Terrified.
Rosa's eyes narrowed. "Unless he's said something to the contrary?"
"No," she whispered. "He said he wants to... win my heart."
Rosa's skirts rustled as she shifted. "Hmm. That was not said in an entirely convincing tone of voice. What's wrong?"
Ingrid squeezed the bridge of her nose. "Nothing."
"Is it what you want?"
She looked up, and knew Rosa saw the panic in her eyes.
"Or are you afraid?" Rosa asked gently.
"What if something goes wrong?" she blurted. "What if he can't love me? What if..." She swallowed down the lump in her throat. "I don't think I could handle the rejection right now, if he decided he was wrong."
"If he cannot love you, then he's a fool. You're entirely lovable. And what makes now any different to any other time?" Rosa arched a brow.
Ingrid sighed, and reached for her coat, which was hanging over the chair next to the bed. She tugged the small worn telegram from her pocket, and passed it silently to her friend.
Rosa read it. "Another dead end."
"Perhaps the last," Ingrid admitted, in a small voice.
"Only if you stop trying," Rosa replied firmly. "Your parents are out there somewhere, Ingrid." She set the telegram down, her lips thinning with resolve. "And as much as this dalliance bothered me in the beginning, I see something there that wasn't there before. I never used to believe that Byrnes had a heart, not until I saw the way he looked at you. I think you're worrying for no good reason, but I can understand, given your past, why you're doing so." Rosa lay down on the pillow beside her, and turned her head so that
their faces were inches apart. "I want you to be happy. I want you to be loved. And despite the fact that Byrnes has his flaws—many of them—I don't think he's the sort of man who would toy with your feelings. He simply doesn't have it in him to play pretend. Besides, if you never take the risk, then how will you ever know? He could be the love of your life. He might give you half a dozen fat little babies. Or what if he's a closet romantic, and plans to shower you with love and affection for the rest of his days. Maybe he's a poet at heart?"
Ingrid thumped her friend with her spare pillow. Rosa laughed, then hugged her. The pair of them fell into a breathy silence.
Ingrid bit her lip. "I'm scared."
Rosa snuggled in closer. "That's how you know it's real."
TWENTY-EIGHT
AS NIGHT FELL and the rest of the house on Baker Street filled with the others, Byrnes found himself chairing a meeting.
"You've looked better," Byrnes told Kincaid as the mech slumped into a chair at the table. Dark circles blackened both eyes, and Kincaid's nose was swollen and misshapen.
Kincaid's gaze darted to Ava, then away again. "She patched me up." He smiled menacingly. "I hear you've been blowing up bridges."
"Seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Aye. Wish I'd seen it." Kincaid's smile softened. "Bet Malloryn's having conniptions right about now."
Byrnes shrugged. "I think he's got other things on his mind. Someone did try to kill the queen at his engagement party, after all."
"Unsuccessfully," Ingrid added. "Thank goodness. Only a minor bruise or two, according to Rosa."
"So," Gemma Townsend said, lacing her arms across her chest. "Looks like the anarchists have kicked the hornet's nest. What are we going to do about it?"
"Are we waiting for Malloryn?" Byrnes asked.
"He's with the Council. Another emergency meeting. They're voting on whether to settle martial law over London," Gemma replied. "I doubt he'll be back before dawn."
"And the Baroness Schröder?"
"With Malloryn."
Byrnes stared around the table, meeting all of their eyes. "This began with the disappearance of forty people at the Venetian Gardens, but it wasn't the first time people have disappeared. We know who took them now. We know their purpose in doing so—to strike fear into the heart of the average Londoner, to encourage them to rise against the queen. It's quite clear that London is under attack by these dhampir and the SOG, we just don't know why."