The Mech Who Loved Me (The Blue Blood Conspiracy Book 2)

by Bec McMaster

  She found Kincaid carefully removing the back panel of the automaton drone in the alley outside, where he pronounced this particular model to be free of explosive devices. Several Nighthawks breathed sighs of relief, and took it into custody to examine further.

  "We're finished here," she finally announced, stepping in front of Kincaid and forcing him to come to an abrupt halt. "Which means it's past time for me to have a look at that arm."

  "It's nothing—"

  "Don't you give me that nonsense." She gestured to the evacuated clinic. "Sit. And roll up your sleeve!"

  To her surprise, Kincaid gave her a wry smile, and then collapsed into a chair. Smoke stained his face, and runnels of sweat had made tracks in it. This only served to highlight the intensity of his eyes. "As you wish."

  Ava unwrapped the linen bandages she'd applied earlier, when they'd been in a rush. The sight of his blistered skin made her wince. She'd washed it thoroughly under cold water earlier, and the extent of the damage wasn't too bad. Fairly minimal in fact. But his skin was reddened, and hot to the touch, and there was one blister she didn't like the look of. He'd borne most of the heat wave when the clinic exploded, protecting her with his body.

  "This is going to be a little disgusting," she said, spitting into her handkerchief, "but a blue blood's saliva can heal most wounds. Could you please not look?"

  He obediently looked away as she pressed her saliva against his skin. "Can't infect me, can it?"

  "The craving virus is blood-borne. And I would never risk that if it wasn't." Still, the fact he'd asked bothered her a little.

  "I trust you," he muttered, wincing a little.

  "Thank you," Ava said quietly, as she used the clinic's bandages to redress his arm once she'd checked it. The redness was already fading, but she hated seeing him hurt like this. "I think you saved my life today."

  Kincaid shrugged. "It happened quickly.

  Ava slowly looked up from beneath her lashes. "You don't like it when I praise you."

  He graced her with another careless smile. "I'm not a hero, angel—"

  "I beg to differ," she said, "considering both Dr. Harricks and I most likely owe our lives to your quick thinking."

  He had such astonishingly blue eyes. Ava blushed. "Thank you." Straightening out of her crouch, she pressed a swift kiss to his cheek, the smoothness of his freshly shaved skin like silk beneath her lips. "For everything."

  Kincaid inhaled slowly, and his fingers caught in her skirts, trapping her. Heat darkened his eyes, and Ava was suddenly aware of how a simple turn of his head might result in her mouth meeting his. She reluctantly lowered her hand from his shoulder and turned away, flushing a little. The kiss had been instinctive. A tender thank-you.

  But it wasn't tenderness she saw blazing in the sapphire blue of his eyes. It wasn't tenderness that made his fist clench in her skirts.

  "Are you going to let me go?" she whispered, not certain whether she truly wanted him to.

  Kincaid looked up from beneath thick black lashes, his fist flexing a little in the fabric of her skirts. "Should I?"

  The words stole her breath. She didn't know how to answer him. And maybe he saw it in her face, for he released her, stretching back in his chair and running both hands—human and mech—through his thick, dark hair. "Go, Ava. Give me a minute alone."

  "Thank you," she whispered, stepping back out of reach.

  She'd thought his flirtations meaningless, and had brushed them aside until now, but as Ava headed for the alley outside to catch her breath, she suddenly realized he wasn't just flirting with her because she was a woman, and that was what Kincaid did. Those heated looks he sent her were specific. The offer he'd made her was centered purely on her. It was Ava he was imagining in his bed in those moments, Ava he visualized whenever he gave her that wicked smile.

  And it had been for a while.

  "Oh." Ava paused, pressing her back to the wall and sucking in a huge breath. Goodness. Liam Kincaid was flirting with her, Ava McLaren, owner of enough fichus to sink an airship, and the lady most likely to end her days as a spinster, surrounded by a dozen cats.

  And he meant every single thing he was silently telling her when their eyes met.

  Including his proposition.

  * * *

  There was no sign of Malloryn when they returned to the safe house, but the woman he'd left in charge in his absence, Isabella Rouchard—or the baroness, as Ava referred to her—was there, and in Malloryn's absence, she was the person they reported to.

  "Someone's tampering with the vaccination clinics?" Isabella echoed, once Ava finished giving her report. "I can scarcely believe this. People stricken with the craving virus after receiving a vaccination, this Black Vein, bombs.... What on earth does it all mean?"

  Ava exchanged a look with Kincaid. "We have no proof, my lady, but... it has to be connected."

  "These riots aren't coming from nowhere," Kincaid added. "I haven't heard much from my mech friends, but the good doctor mentioned unrest among the population. Perhaps that has something to do with it? Maybe someone's got a grudge against the vaccination clinics."

  "Or... it could be something more sinister," Ava pointed out.

  "You think this has something to do with the dhampir or Ulbricht?" Isabella demanded.

  At this Ava hesitated. She wanted the suspect to be their mysterious enemy, but.... "It could be anyone with humanist sympathies who can't forgive the blue bloods, despite the revolution. It might be some of the humanist contingents that were left over from the revolution. It might be the dhampir. We don't know."

  Isabella paced the rug in front of Malloryn's ornate desk, her hands clasped behind her back. The woman ran the Rogues in Malloryn's absence, but Ava had had little to do with her in their time together. Gemma could stir the blood in a dead man's veins, but Isabella Rouchard intimidated her on an entirely different level. The baroness was frighteningly beautiful, with sharp black-winged brows, and hair the color of a raven's wings. "I'll mention it to Malloryn. He's busy with his forthcoming wedding at the moment, but I know he'll want word of this. In the meantime...." The woman tapped her ruby lips, staring into the distance. "Keep digging. We need to know who is behind this. If the unrest in the human population grows any worse, it could threaten our peace, and even the crown. We cannot tolerate that."

  Ava curtsied politely, and began backing away. "Yes, my lady."

  "Ava?" the baroness called.

  She paused, her shoulder brushing Kincaid's. "Yes?"

  The baroness tipped her head in a polite nod. "You've done very well with this case, but be careful how far you step. Our enemies unleashed vampires on London last month without even a thought to the carnage that might have occurred. If they are the ones behind this, then they won't hesitate to remove you from the situation. If I had the option I'd replace you with Gemma or Charlie, purely because they're more capable of protecting themselves, but they're still not back, so... be careful. "

  A chill ran through her.

  But Kincaid rested his hand on the small of her back. "If someone wants to hurt Ava, they'll have to go through me first."

  And somehow, Ava felt perfectly safe, in a way she hadn't since before Dr. Hague got his hands on her.

  Nine

  SHE COULDN'T BREATHE.

  That was the first thought that struck her. Ava froze, trying to drag her hand to her face. There was something there. Over her mouth. And her skin felt warm and wet, as though some sort of liquid surrounded her. Metal under her touch. The brass filtration device over her mouth and nose, with a tube leading back to an oxygen canister.

  She felt the beginning of that old panic. She knew this place. Knew where she was, how she'd been trapped.

  Naked limbs. Naked all over. Her only decoration was the enormous scar up the center of her chest, where Hague had cut her heart out and replaced it with his own clockwork version.

  Ava screamed, bubbles slipping from the breathing mask over her face, rippling over
her delicate cheeks and shooting toward the top of the small tank she floated in.

  Hague's healing tank, he'd told her.

  She pressed her hands against the glass, her vision blurry through the water. Ava pounded her fists against it, but it would not break. She'd tried, a thousand times before, ever since she’d woken up here in Hague's dark laboratory. She was trapped in here, trapped forever, unable to ever escape—

  "Ava! Ava!" Hands caught her shoulders.

  She fought him, trying to push Hague away, but then he said the one word that stayed her fury. "Damn it, kitten. You're going to give me a black eye."

  Kitten?

  Only one man ever called her that. Ava caught Kincaid's wrists and gasped. Cool metal met her left hand, the bare spars fused into flesh with exquisite workmanship. Suddenly she could see again. Recognize where she was. Kincaid knelt on the edge of her bed, his palms cupped around her shoulders. He loomed over her, but there was a lantern in the corner and its golden light backlit him, revealing just how quickly he'd rushed in here. She caught a vague glimpse of naked skin, but the darkness threatened to suck her under again.

  "Here." Warm arms enveloped her even as she sucked in a sharp breath. "I've got you. You're safe. You're with me. I've got you."

  Ava burrowed her face against Kincaid's throat. The first sob took her by surprise, a spasm ripping through her chest as she tried to suppress it. She might be safe, but she'd never be entirely free of Hague and the shadow he cast over her life.

  Kincaid held her for a long time as she struggled to fight back the tearless sobs. His human hand stroked her hair, catching in tangles of it, and then gradually easing them free. It was that which brought her back to the present. The patient, slow way in which he finger combed her hair. Not a single question, or a demand she fight her way through her panic-fueled nightmares, but just letting her find her way back when she was ready.

  He'd done the same to her in the Garden of Eden when she'd suffered her hysteria attack—whatever else this man might be, he was patient when he needed to be. And surprisingly gentle. She'd have never expected it of him, with his brutish body, the sparse steel of his mech hand, and the fierce expression he so frequently wore.

  Ava turned her head, pressing her lips to his throat and breathing in the scent of him. She couldn't stop herself from darting her tongue against his skin and tasting the salt there. The kick of his pulse against her tongue made the shadows rise again. But this time they were different shadows. The craving ignited inside her as the predator within her raised its head, scenting blood. She could hear his pulse in her ears, feel it flickering against her lips, just daring her.... So near she could almost taste it—

  "That's enough," Ava said, pushing him away with a gasp.

  Kincaid reared back onto his knees on the bed. He wore trousers, at least, but the sight of his light-touched skin drew her gaze, and made her uncomfortably aware of how quiet the night was.

  How they were possibly the only two people in the house right now.

  "What are you doing in here?" she whispered, sitting up and dragging the sheets under her chin.

  Kincaid arched one of those dark brows. "Rescuing you from an assassin. Someone screamed the house half down. Thought you were being murdered. Turns out you were fighting off your sheets instead."

  Of course. She felt like the worst sort of fool. If the ground opened up to swallow her whole right now, she would pray to any god. "Did anyone else hear?"

  "Apart from Herbert, I'm the only one here, princess. Our resident inventor, Jack, had mysterious business in the city. Viscount business, I suspect. And the baroness was up to no good. Looked like she was heading out to a ball. If she doesn't come home with at least a dozen hearts in her pocket, I'll be disappointed."

  A joke, for the baroness was cold and reserved, except for when Isabella looked at Malloryn.

  Apart from Herbert, the butler née assassin, Ava realized she was all alone in the house with a half naked man who was a physically fine specimen of male anatomy indeed.

  Kincaid resettled himself on the edge of the bed, shirtless, and with the buttons on his trousers half undone. Ava blushed. Hair trailed from his navel down into his pants, and a generous dusting of it shadowed his chest. He was nothing like Paul, her ex-fiancé. Side-by-side he'd dwarf poor Paul, and he felt... threatening in a way Paul never had.

  Because you want him. Because there's danger inside this man, and you're not quite certain how to handle him.

  "I'm sorry. For dragging you out of bed."

  "Don't be sorry." He scratched at the faint scar on his chin. "Happen often?"

  "Sometimes," she said noncommittally.

  "Something bad happened to you once."

  She didn't deny it.

  "It's written all over you, luv." Those wicked eyes narrowed, but more in consideration than anything else. "You don't have to tell me."

  Ava drew her knees to her chest. Suddenly Hague was back, trailing ghostly fingertips down her spine. She pressed the heels of her palms to her closed eyes. "I don't really want to talk about it. But yes, something bad happened to me once. Something that gives me nightmares, something I can never escape."

  A soft sigh escaped him. When she lowered her hands, she found Kincaid sprawling across her bed, looking utterly relaxed, his fingertips brushing against her calf through the sheets.

  "We all have fears," he finally said.

  "Even you?" The mighty behemoth?

  He cradled his mech hand behind his head, his abdominal muscles flexing. "Jaysus. I've had more than my fair share."

  "But you're...."

  "I'm...?"

  "So powerful," she blurted, gesturing to his body. "And cocky. And rash. I cannot imagine anything could ever frighten you." The past swam up between them, when she'd tended to his broken nose, and Kincaid had snapped at her to get it healed so he could rejoin the hunt in time. "You wanted to hunt a vampire, when the very thought made my blood curdle."

  Shadows darkened his eyes. "Vampires don't really scare me. It would be a quick death. A fairly clean one—"

  "You've got to be jesting me," she broke in. "I cannot possibly imagine death by vampire to be quick, or particularly merciful."

  "It is compared to the fate of others." His voice roughened. "Over in an instant of fierce terror and pain, rather than the long drawn-out spiral downward of something degenerative where you stare your death in the face every day, wondering when the time will come where your body fails you. Wondering how many days you can spend trapped within your body before you go mad."

  "Well, I couldn't think of anything worse than a vampire."

  "Really? Not a single thing? Not even whatever causes your nightmares?"

  Ava opened her mouth to reply, but an image of Hague sprang to mind, strapping her to his examination table and shining the harsh light in her eyes as she screamed and tried to escape—to no avail. A chill ran down her spine. Kincaid was right. Death by vampire might be considered a blessing in some circumstances.

  Or was it...?

  She'd lived after all. She'd survived the unsurvivable as Hague infected her with the craving virus and then cut her heart out of her chest while she swayed in and out of ether dreams. It was a horrible nightmare—six months of torture and misery and hopelessness—until Perry and Garrett had appeared, bringing light and hope back into her world. Bringing freedom. Maybe Ava would never escape the past, but she was here and now, and there was a whole life stretching out in front of her, filled with all the things she'd never done.

  Perhaps the idea wasn't to forget the nightmares, but to accept them. She'd spent years trying to pretend she'd put all the pieces of herself back together. To hide her screams at night, to make sure nobody knew how much it sometimes scared her to leave the house and walk the streets. To pretend she was confident and had her wits about her at all times, when but one sharp noise might send her crashing down like a cracked porcelain vase given a shove.

  "You're right. There c
an be worse things than vampires. And you, sir," she pointed out, before he could interrupt, "have initiated a rather macabre turn of conversation."

  Kincaid scraped his hand over his face, sighing as he rolled onto his side. "Maybe it's macabre, but maybe... it's easy to talk to you about the fears a man has." One blue eye locked on her as he drew his hand away. "You're very easy to talk to, Ava."

  She blushed. Nobody said that about her, especially not men. Usually they were searching about them for some means of escaping her. "When I'm not babbling about autopsies or the craving virus, do you mean?"

  "What's wrong with hearing you speak of dismembering cadavers? I think all those others who disdain you simply have weak stomachs." His smile faded. "I didn't realize how long it's been since... I could actually talk to someone."

  He didn't look happy about this realization.

  "What's wrong?" she whispered. "You sound like that's a horrible thing." Every person needed a friend—someone who could hear their inner thoughts without flinching.

  "It's not." He toyed with her blankets again, looking so much younger in this moment. "It just makes me miss my brother. He was the only other person I could speak to like this."

  Oh. "He's...?"

  "Dead," Kincaid muttered. "His heart gave out on him three years ago, a month before I finally escaped the enclaves. There's irony for you. I never got to see him again. I spent ten years in that hell, and his heart couldn't bloody wait one more damned month."

  Ava slid her hand over his, a pulse of sympathy sliding through her, but Kincaid shook it off. "Sorry, luv," he said, shooting her an insincere smile as he sat up. "There's things a man can speak of, but I draw the line at being pitied."