Scoundrel

by Zoë Archer

  “Shut your fucking mouth!” her father shouted. The light from the Eye grew, its heat overpowering.

  The pistol was heavy in her hands as she pointed it at her father. “Stop, Father. Put the Source down.”

  Seeing her turn a gun on him only enraged her father further. He grimaced as he struggled to control the Eye.

  Bennett laughed, a hard, coarse sound. “Must feel bloody awful to see your only daughter turn on you like this. Betray you. Betray England. And for what? A tumble. In my bed.”

  Furious curses, unimaginably filthy and vile words, spewed from her father’s mouth. Suddenly, the circle of fiery heat, shrank to a tiny dot. Her father laughed jubilantly. Then his laugh turned to a scream as the light exploded outward.

  Bennett threw himself over London, covering her. Her father’s screams turned to unearthly shrieks. London lifted her head and gasped in horror.

  Her father was on fire. Flames coursed over him, turning his clothing to ash, roasting his flesh. He dropped the Eye, the light receded, but it was too late. The blaze swallowed him as he clawed at himself, burning hair a demonic halo about his head. He screamed, on and on.

  Bennett took the pistol from London. He fired a shot directly between her father’s eyes. A mercy shot. Her father died instantly.

  His body fell like a meteor, tumbling down the hill, bits of charred skin and fabric flying behind him in a cascade of embers. By the time his body reached the floor of the amphitheater, it was nothing but black bone splinters, brittle as charcoal.

  Bennett clasped her in his arms, holding her to his solid chest. London covered her face and sobbed. But they were dry sobs. She hadn’t anything in her anymore. Was she happy? Relieved? Sad? Everything and nothing.

  She raised her head, Bennett’s face inches from her own. “Thank you,” she whispered. “That was a kindness you did him.”

  “It was to spare you, not him.”

  She found her tears then, and they ran down her face. He kissed her, gently, and when she broke the kiss, she left streaks of moisture on his cheeks, cutting through the grime that coated them both.

  “You knew,” she said. “What the Source would do to him.”

  Bennett nodded grimly.

  Chernock’s cackle brought their attention down to the amphitheater. The sorcerer looked as though he’d been through a hurricane, his long black coat tattered and flapping behind him, but the blaze in Athena’s eyes dimmed. She hadn’t Chernock’s experience wielding powerful magic, yet she continued to fight on.

  “Athena needs our help,” she said. “Can we use the Eye?”

  Bennett shook his head. “She’s too close to him. And with all those spells flying—no way to know what would happen. But we’ll help how we can.” He pitched to his feet, movements stiff and slow from his injuries, and gently pulled London up to stand beside him, careful to mind her shoulder.

  “Or maybe she won’t need us after all,” Bennett murmured.

  Kallas charged up the beach, an axe in one hand, revolver in another, headed straight for the amphitheater. He’d anchored the caique in the bay, unnoticed, after circumnavigating the burning wreck of the steamship.

  Even from their position up the hill, she and Bennett heard the captain’s bellow of rage, his war cry, as he stormed the sorcerer.

  Distracted by Athena, Chernock did not shield himself from the gunfire, and several bullets slammed into him. The sorcerer, snarled, moved as if to use magic to tear Kallas apart. Kallas moved faster. He swung the axe with all the strength of his powerful arms, hacking into Chernock’s leg below the knee. The sorcerer screamed as blood poured from where his lower leg used to be. Now the limb, encased in black wool, lay like so much meat upon the black stone, the gleaming black shoe at the end of it a grisly taunt.

  Chernock toppled to the ground, slipping in his own blood, and Kallas brought the axe down again and again upon the sorcerer with shouts of fury.

  The appearance of her lover strengthened Athena. Her eyes glowed with renewed power. With a primitive yell, the sound of an Amazon at the height of battle frenzy, she summoned energy with her hands, calling forth razor-beaked owls, their eyes brilliant and merciless. Athena guided them, waving them on, and the birds descended upon the sorcerer. Kallas swayed back to give the owls room. The air filled with the sounds of beating wings, tearing flesh, and the tortured shrieks of Chernock. London turned her face into Bennett, unable to bear the sight.

  Only when the screaming stopped did London look. There was nothing left of the sorcerer, save for a few scraps of black wool and spatters of gore. With a wave of Athena’s hand, the owls gathered in a wheeling circle, then disappeared.

  Gathering up the Eye, leaning on each other, London and Bennett slowly made their way down the hill and into the amphitheater. There were the remains of the Heirs—Fraser’s broken body, the charred pile of her father’s bones, the minuscule tatters of fabric and flesh that had once been a powerful sorcerer. The self-styled champions of England, brought to miserable death by their false ideals.

  But also standing in the orchestra of the amphitheater, clasped in a fierce embrace, were Kallas and Athena. The captain’s bloody axe had been thrown aside, its work done. They smiled at Bennett and London’s approach, though the smiles were strained from exhaustion and threaded with concern. No doubt London and Bennett looked like hell, since that is exactly what they’d just been through.

  Bennett ripped off his jacket, then his waistcoat and shirt. His bare torso shone with sweat and blood, a long gash on his forearm dripping red, the essence of a warrior embodied here, on this rocky island. He tore his shirt into strips and, after unbuttoning her own shirtwaist, wrapped the strips of fabric around London’s wound, his ministrations tender but thorough. He’d performed field dressing before and knew it well. London couldn’t stop her gasp from the pain, but his attentions helped.

  “Better?”

  “A little.”

  “Are you well?” asked Kallas.

  London rested her head against Bennett’s chest, feeling his warmth, the steady beat of his heart that found its twin in her own heartbeat. She felt the deep vibrations of his words throughout her body, her soul, as he spoke.

  “Never better.”

  Chapter 20

  The Eye Restored

  He found her in her favorite place, the bow of the ship. Though they were anchored just off the island, with the prow pointed toward the beach, she stared up, at the tops of the sails stretching to the sky. Her eyes were turned from the smoldering hulk of the steamship, most of it now lying underwater. He couldn’t fault her for avoiding the sight. Even he found it a grisly reminder of what had happened a few hours earlier.

  She had her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, head tilted back. His blood warmed to see her—worn and weary, beautiful beyond reckoning. They had only been apart a few minutes, but even that was too long to be without her. She’d become as necessary as his pulse.

  “Your shoulder’s feeling better.”

  She turned at his approach and smiled. His heart stopped at the sight, then pounded back to life.

  “Athena’s magic has grown considerably.” She tested her shoulder, rolling her arm. “I can hardly feel the wound anymore. Just a little soreness. And the cut on my chest has vanished.”

  He bent to examine her shoulder, peeling back her fresh shirtwaist to reveal the silky flesh beneath. Sure enough, a small, puckered scar, fresh and pink, was the only reminder that a bullet had torn through her only hours before. The thought of it brought a fresh surge of fury, but he made himself push past that anger. She was well. Her son of a bitch father was dead. Edgeworth would never threaten London again. That was enough.

  “I won’t be able to wear low-shouldered gowns anymore,” she said with a rueful smile.

  Bennett kissed her there, tenderly, upon that scar. “Wear them. Let the world see how brave you are.” He didn’t care if her beauty bore such marks. They made her all the lovelier to him.

&n
bsp; She shivered under his touch, her eyes drifting shut as his kiss grew more heated. His tongue lapped at her collarbone, the curve of her neck. He tasted salt on her skin and that indefinable essence of sweet and spicy uniquely hers.

  “You seem to be…quite recovered,” she said, breathless. “More of Athena’s magic?”

  “Mm. We’ll not talk of her, now.” His lips moved to hers as he sank to his knees, facing her. “I want you.”

  “More of your post-adventure concupiscence?” she asked between kisses.

  “It’s you, love. You make me want you.”

  They tangled together, and he felt, in the heat of her kisses and press of her body to his, how she shoved away at this day’s darkness, clinging to life and love and their promise of tomorrow. He would be there with her, every step of the way.

  “I’ll never get enough of you,” she sighed into his mouth.

  “Good,” he growled. “Because I plan on never letting you go.”

  “Never?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “Never.” His voice was firm, immovable, as he stared into the gold-flecked sable of her eyes. The single word was weighted with everything he felt for her, more expressive in its tone than he could hope to achieve with a thousand honeyed words. Words had always come easily to him, but now he demanded more from them. She had to know his meaning, had to know what he offered, and he felt a stab of fear that she might reject that offer. The world was open to her. She could do exactly as she pleased. He wanted to please her. So much that he burned with it.

  “Never, then.” She smiled against his mouth.

  The kind of wild joy he felt at the completion of a mission was only a dim flicker compared to the blaze of euphoria now consuming him. He pulled her tight against him, her soft, strong female body, her heart, her entire being, everything about her rare and entirely wondrous.

  He started to lay her back onto the deck, when someone nearby cleared their throat.

  “Perhaps the lovemaking can wait a little longer,” Athena said dryly.

  Bennett, grumbling, raised himself and London up to sitting, to see the witch and her captain standing close by, hand in hand. The surge of magic that had filled Athena earlier was now gone, and she seemed, aside from a bit windblown, her old self. Except, of course, for the palpable air of powerful magic that infused her with confidence. It wasn’t the hauteur of her aristocratic breeding, but the sense that she was in complete command of herself and untapped founts of magic.

  The presence of the fierce, devoted man beside her might have had something to do with Athena’s poise, as well.

  However, Bennett didn’t really want to think of any of this right now. He wanted London, to think only of her and be a part of her for as long as possible. Maybe forever.

  Still…

  He was a Blade. And that meant making a sacrifice every now and then. Including postponing making love with London.

  “The Eye,” he said. “We have to secure it. The Colossus said we must take sunlight to a place on the sea floor that’s never seen the light of the sun.”

  “And let the Eye rest there,” London added.

  “You still have the second fish scale?” Athena asked.

  “We didn’t have a chance to use it,” said London. “But how will we take sunlight to the dark sea floor?”

  The witch and the captain shared a secret smile, the kind reserved only for those who know another’s person as well as themselves. It made Bennett chuckle to himself. Patrician witch and lowborn sea captain, mates. Fitting, somehow. As fitting as Bennett finding love with his enemy’s daughter, the widow of the man he killed. What a world was this, brutal and beautiful.

  “Leave the sun to me,” said Athena.

  Naked, again.

  “You always find a way to get me out of my clothes,” London said to Bennett. They were treading water, waiting for Athena to finish her preparations. Bennett had used ropes to strap the Eye of the Colossus to his back for its trip to the sea floor. They had sailed just out of the bay of the island, where coral formations and undersea rocks were in abundance.

  “You take them off readily enough,” he answered. His grin was cheeky, naughty, and fraught with sensual promise.

  A promise she fully intended to see he made good. Later. Other, more pressing concerns had to be addressed first.

  Kallas stepped to the rail of the caique, careful to shield his eyes from London’s state of undress. “If you head straight down, then off to the east, you’ll find a place that should suit.”

  “How can you tell?” London asked.

  The captain turned to give her a cocky smile, then turned away with a blush as Bennett growled a warning. “I can read the sea just as you read language.”

  “Everything is ready.” Athena stood beside Kallas, and they unconsciously stepped closer to each other, brushing shoulders. In the witch’s palm, London knew, was the last fish scale. “I will give you ten minutes, before I must do my part. Blessings of the goddess on you, both.”

  “And to you,” Bennett said. “Now, let’s finish this so London and I can get back to that lovemaking you interrupted.”

  Athena frowned, but her heart wasn’t in it. With a shake of her head, she dropped the scale into the water. It glowed, expanding, and coalesced into a sleek fish. The creature immediately swam toward the bottom of the sea. A last squeeze of each other’s hands, and then Bennett and London dove after it.

  Difficult to say which delighted her more—the enchanted kingdom of turquoise water, coral reefs, and jewel-colored fish darting in the undersea currents, or Bennett swimming nude. Both were equally marvelous, feasts for the eye, but he drew her more. Not simply for his physical beauty, the breadth of his shoulders, his narrow waist, the sleek muscles of his backside and legs. But because, when he caught her watching him, she felt the undeniable heat and connection between them. They were bound together, in the best possible way.

  Her breath strained, and she let seawater into her mouth. It still felt strange, to breathe through the water, yet she moved past her discomfort to focus on the task. Following Kallas’s instructions, they swam straight down, past clouds of brilliant fish and two turtles, those wizened old men of the sea. Large formations of golden rock formed honeycombs and labyrinths on the sea floor. Hopefully, someday, the twisted metal hull of the sunken steamship would house coral and life, something beautiful from something terrible.

  The glowing fish darted east, and they followed, snaking through the rocks. It led them between narrow crevasses, where soft marine plants swayed in the currents. Undersea creatures that might never have seen a human before burst from their lairs in flashes of silver and pink. When the magic fish shot through a dark opening in one of the rocks, London and Bennett had no choice but to follow.

  They found themselves in a grotto, utterly dark save for the illumination of the fish. It swam in circles around her and Bennett, giving them the means to breathe. Stranger creatures lived here, eyeless, wriggling, colorless, and shy.

  Bennett unstrapped the Eye from his back and set it carefully on the sea floor. Small clouds of sand billowed up from the disturbance, but otherwise, nothing happened.

  Though they could not speak underwater, London gestured to Bennett, asking what they were supposed to do next. He motioned that they should wait a moment longer. It had been nearly ten minutes. Athena had her part to play.

  And she did. Light pierced the grotto, slicing through the dark water like knowledge piercing ignorance. The beam was almost solid, concentrated sunlight, and it angled straight to the Eye. The moment the light touched the Source, it began to glow, filling the grotto with golden illumination. Then, a rumbling.

  Bennett took London’s arm as the sea floor began to shake, but they were both pushed back against the grotto walls by the sudden tremors. As she and Bennett watched in amazement, the ground beneath the Eye split open. The Eye tilted on the edge, then slid down into the abyss. Instinctively, London moved to grab it before it was lost, but Be
nnett held her back. She understood. The earth reclaimed its magic.

  The ground continued to shake. It grew stronger, knocking them about like playing jacks. Bennett pulled her toward the entrance to the grotto, but the stone walls began collapsing around them, sealing off their means of escape. At the same moment, the light from the fish blinked out, and with it, their ability to breathe underwater vanished.

  To the surface. They had to get back to the surface immediately. Her lungs burned, water filled her nose and mouth. There was no way out, and she was drowning. Right beside Bennett. No. Not after surviving everything, and finding him. She fumbled in the darkness, trying to find a way out, a way to get them to safety, felt him doing the same.

  Part of the roof of the grotto tumbled down as the chasm in the ground widened. There. She saw it the same time Bennett did. The blue of the water, of the sky overhead. But could they reach it in time? She already felt her consciousness begin to falter as her body demanded air.

  Bennett grabbed her wrists and pulled her up, trying to haul them both to the surface. She wondered if the last things she would feel were his hands, long and skilled and profoundly male, and this was some consolation, to feel him in the moments before her death.

  As the sea floor continued to split apart, giant bubbles rose, swirling and buffeting her and Bennett as though they were no more than flotsam. She felt herself borne aloft, rising higher in an upward-spiraling cascade of froth. She lost sense of direction, of self, spun about. Yet through it all, she felt Bennett’s grip, holding her tight. He would not let her go.

  They broke the surface together, gasping. Air, wonderful air, filled her lungs. But the sight of the sky and the sensation of breathing were not half so extraordinary as the man swimming beside her, laughing as he took in lungfuls of air. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and, while they hadn’t the breath to kiss, they clung together, arms and legs intertwined as the sea continued to foam around them.

  A loud roar. They turned to see the island of the Black Temple shatter into boulders before toppling into the sea. The sea churned as it swallowed the amphitheater, and the bodies of the Heirs. The visible edge of the steamship’s carcass sunk down into the water. Within moments, nothing remained of the island but roiling water. Even this the earth reclaimed. Finally, the shaking stopped, the sea quieted.