by Zoë Archer
“How close would someone have to be to use it?”
“No one knows for certain, since it hasn’t been studied thoroughly, but it’s been figured that the hammer can be employed from as far away as a hundred miles.”
“So, the Heirs are close to us now.”
“Within a hundred miles. But I fear that using the True Hammer is just the beginning. The Heirs know that there is a Source here in Mongolia, but they don’t know exactly where. That’s why they killed Tony, to keep him from finding out and getting to it first. And that’s why they attacked Batu and me yesterday.”
“What will they do when they have the Source?”
Bitterness hardened her voice. “With the Source’s unlimited power, Mongolia will belong to them. Its steppes will be plowed and plundered. The people yoked to pull the great machine of Britain forward, crushing everyone in its path, with the Heirs at the whip.”
“That’s what Morris’s message meant, ‘The sons are ascendant,’” Huntley figured.
Thalia smiled at him again, warming him faster than the whiskey ever could. “You’re a remarkably quick study, Captain,” she said with real admiration in her voice. “I should think you would have keeled over with shock after learning all this.”
“I’m hard to shock.” He was, in truth, reeling inside from all this information. Magic. Sources. Heirs. Things that would have given him a good laugh only a few days ago. But now seemed real and serious. He thought of the metallic wasps in the alley in Southampton, piercing a brick wall and then vanishing. Another Source, perhaps. One that had almost taken his life. Years of going into battle had trained him well enough to keep from showing fear or shock, or at least, not too much. Wouldn’t do for his men to see his jaw hit the floor when confronted with a surprise counterattack. This wasn’t much different, only instead of an assault by the warriors of Tewodros II, he had a young woman revealing to him the existence of actual magic.
“So Morris and your father are part of the group that keep the Sources out of the Heirs’ greedy paws,” he said. “You, as well?”
She looked somewhat abashed. “There are women members, but…me, no. Not yet. You have to…prove yourself before you are made a member. My father is, but he is injured. So it fell to me. I wanted to go,” she added with a sudden ferocity, no longer embarrassed.
Interesting. Thalia Burgess, a young woman who burned with need to prove herself to this group. If Franklin Burgess hadn’t been hurt, would Burgess have let his daughter accompany him on this dangerous journey? Perhaps the old man had been trying to protect his child more than she would have liked for longer than she wanted. But the needs of the many outweighed his own fatherly instinct, and he’d had to let her go. What was Burgess feeling right now? Probably an agony of worry. Huntley wished he could write Burgess and let him know. Huntley wasn’t going anywhere. He would stay and ensure the mission was completed, but, more importantly, protect Thalia. That had become Huntley’s purpose. She was a brave woman, he wouldn’t deny that, seeing courage and determination shining in her glittering emerald eyes. She’d fought that supernatural storm without once backing down or showing fear, and she’d pushed through her own guilt and doubt that had threatened to swamp her after she’d killed. Huntley could count on one hand the number of men he knew who could withstand as much.
But, with the exception of Batu, who was no fighter, she had started her journey alone against a very powerful, ruthless enemy. Her solitude made her vulnerable. She wasn’t alone in her fight anymore.
“So, Captain Huntley,” Thalia said, breaking the silence, “what I’ve told you has been kept a secret for generations, but you’ve proven yourself more than trustworthy. Now that you know everything, what do you intend to do?” She stared at him, intent and slightly afraid of what he might say.
He held her gaze. “I’ll say this one last time. I’m with you until the end. Whoever and whatever comes our way.”
As he said this, he felt the oddest surge of happiness—a feeling with which he hadn’t much experience, not since he’d resigned from the army. At that point, Huntley had settled on his makeshift plan to return to England, get an ordinary job, find a sweet wife, and install her in some snug home while they made armfuls of babies, but, strangely, the plan hadn’t raised his spirits as he thought it would. But throwing himself headlong into a cause he hadn’t known about a week earlier, a cause in which he’d face unknown, supernatural dangers…somehow that had done the trick. Huntley felt the blood moving in him, the old excitement of a campaign.
It was made all the better knowing that Thalia Burgess would be by his side.
Hearing his vow, she let out a breath she probably hadn’t known she was holding and smiled at him again. Seeing her smile, something hot and animal slid through him. But this wasn’t the time, and it wasn’t the place; he had his cause and his duty, so he tried to push that roused beast aside. It was a fight, though.
Instead of reaching for her, as he wanted to do, he asked, “And what are these paragons called, who safeguard the world, and save England from herself?”
Before she even spoke, he knew everything was about to change. And change forever.
“The Blades of the Rose.”
Chapter 6
Karakorum
Captain Huntley by firelight, partially covered by a woolen blanket, was one of the finest sights Thalia had ever seen, and that included sunrise over the red cliffs of Bayanzag, a Kazakh hunting eagle soaring in flight, and the gilt sculptures of the divinely inspired Bogdo Gegen Zanabazar.
She knew she wasn’t supposed to stare—there were some English concepts that had been impressed upon her from an early age, including modesty and a decent amount of decorum, as well as a love of a decently made cup of tea—but it was very, very difficult to keep her eyes where they were supposed to be. The captain had wrapped the heavy blanket around himself like a toga, so she had a perfectly lovely view of his broad, sculpted shoulders, and his lean, muscled arms. Oh, princesses had abdicated kingdoms for lesser arms. The light from the fire played across the burnished gold of his skin and caught in the dusting of fair hair on his forearms. Unfortunately, he’d wrapped the blanket so that his chest was hidden from her sight, but even the glimpses of his collarbones, the shadow in the hollow of his throat, and the strong column of his neck could keep her well satisfied. For now.
And there were his hands, his feet, capturing her attention. Large, capable, unmistakably masculine, and so powerfully suggestive that Thalia felt herself spellbound. She wanted those hands on her, touching her, wondered what they would feel like. Rough? Gentle? She wouldn’t mind, either way.
He knew what effect he was having on her. She saw the gleam of amusement and interest in his eyes whenever her gaze lingered on him too long. She saw, too, the way he looked at her from across the fire. They had survived a harrowing ordeal together; they were both young and healthy, and far from the structures of social custom. It was only natural that desire was there, in the cave with them, making the air thick like smoke.
Men were creatures she understood. Their motivations were more direct, purer than women’s. Sex was a matter of simple bodily needs for them. They wanted. They took. She might not be a classic beauty, but the captain would not refuse her if she asked to lie with him. It wouldn’t take much. Batu was asleep. All she had to do was beckon to Captain Huntley, or stand and let her blanket drop. The rest would take care of itself.
Thalia, however, wasn’t a man. She had desires, just as they did, but satisfying them was not so uncomplicated. She had almost taken a man to her bed, and had paid dearly for even that brush with sex. If she actually gave her body to a man, she could not protect her heart, could not treat the matter lightly, as if she was simply eating an apple when she craved something sweet. Men, especially beautiful, physical creatures like Captain Huntley, had the luxury of walking away and remaining intact. She did not.
So she might look, but she would not touch, would not taste, and would try as
best she could to be content. Though it was deuced hard.
She attempted to distract herself by focusing on her mission, and telling the captain everything he might need to know as they pursued their goal of protecting the unknown Source. Night had fallen, the rain had slowed. The cave offered a momentary illusion of safety and peace.
“In my del,” she said, “you will find the Compass Tony asked you to give to my father.”
Captain Huntley leaned toward the pile of her drying clothes—ah, Earth Mother Etugen! the muscles in his back, shoulders, and arms seemed made of rough satin as they flexed with movement—and rifled through the pocket of her coat until he produced the object in question. It sat in the palm of his hand, appearing small and ancient in contrast to the living energy of his skin. Thalia moved closer and took the Compass from him, her fingers brushing against his palm. She fought the impulse to shiver.
Flipping open the lid, she showed him the inside of the Compass. She remembered her father giving it to her in Urga, the pride in his eyes. She was not a Blade yet, but the Compass would be both her protection and duty.
As the captain leaned in to look, she could smell him, his flesh warmed by the fire, the water that still dampened his hair, even his breath mingling with her own.
She made herself speak in a level voice. “The blades that mark each direction on the Compass symbolize the span of our mission: to traverse the world and protect the Sources. In the center of the Compass is a rose, which bids us to be merciful and compassionate in our mission.” Thalia closed the Compass and ran her thumb along the writings etched into the case. “These messages are from our ancestors, urging us to do right, even when faced with…temptation.” She struggled a little over that last word, knowing what temptations she wrestled with that very moment. She and the captain were sitting very close to one another now. She could lean forward slightly and brush her lips against his throat where, she saw, his pulse moved steady and strong beneath his skin.
“Each member of the Blades of the Rose carries this Compass,” she continued. She made herself concentrate on the Compass. “They are the Blades’ most prized possession, and no one, including the Heirs of Albion, knows of their existence. Even the threat of death cannot induce a Blade to part with it.”
“Morris gave it to me.” She felt the dry brush of his breath on her cheek.
“So you would give the Compass to my father. There are many Blades all over the world, but they don’t always know each other. The Compass lets them see that they are amongst friends. But that isn’t enough. An object can be stolen, no matter how well it is guarded. So there is another way.”
Captain Huntley nodded with understanding. “That was why Morris had me say, ‘North is eternal.’”
“Yes. It is the first part of the Blades’ catchphrase. When a Blade meets another Blade, the first must say, ‘North is eternal.’ The response is: ‘South is forever. West is endless. East is infinite.’ It helps them to know one another, and reminds them of the scope of their responsibilities.”
“Someone might not answer correctly, though. Someone who’s trying to infiltrate the group. How can Blades protect themselves against enemies?”
“They are not called the Blades without having more than a little fighting skill.” She glanced at him, now leaning even closer, and felt herself drawn into a warm cocoon that surrounded them both.
“Even the women?” Humor danced in his amber eyes.
Thalia felt her mouth curve in a smile. “Even the women.”
As their gazes held, the moment stretched out between them, growing heavy and almost languid. Thalia could hear, faintly, the popping of the fire, Batu’s quiet snores, the horses as they slept standing up at the back of the cave, and the trailing off of the rain outside. But everything sounded so far away, so distant, and Captain Huntley was so near, he became all she saw, all she heard. His pupils widened, darkening his eyes. A muscle flexed along the square line of his jaw.
He reached out, and she started to close her eyes, thinking he would touch her, but instead he took hold of a lock of her hair. It was still damp, just beginning to dry at the ends, and he wound it slowly around one long, blunt-tipped finger. Thalia lost the ability to breathe. Her dark hair wrapped around his finger was the most intimate thing she had ever seen.
When he bent his head down and lowered his mouth to hers, she did not move back. Nothing felt more natural, and yet, the feel of his lips gently brushing against her mouth was something she could never have anticipated. Some semblance of self-preservation kept her from opening to him, but his gentleness was deceptive. Gradually, inexorably, he took small tastes, sampling her and in so doing, growing more hungry, more demanding. As was she. Thalia could not resist, and let her lips part. It was enough of an invitation for him to take the kiss further, deeper. And he did. They opened to each other. A tender, warm invasion, barely civilized but never brutal.
She didn’t know. Hadn’t known. That a simple kiss could wreak such delicious havoc. It never had, before. But this. This was opening the atlas to find a whole, unexplored world within its familiar pages. She was an explorer, and needed more.
She set the Compass down. Her hands came up and caressed his wide shoulders, danced up his neck. His skin was marvelous, almost fever warm, and his body was knit together with hardened muscle. She threaded her fingers into his damp hair and pulled him closer. In her mouth, he growled, and the vibrations jolted straight through her, right down to the place between her legs, which grew moist instantly. Desire had never hit her so hard or so quickly. She pressed her thighs tight against each other.
He must have released the ribbon of her hair, because his own hands came up, stroking along her shoulders. The rough fabric of the blanket frustrated him, and he pushed it down, partially uncovering her skin. When he touched her again, it was the meeting of flesh to flesh, his palms along her collarbones, across her sensitive upper back. The skin of his palms and fingers was work rough, rasping against her, and she felt in them such strength, such capability and ferocity, but also the hint of an unexpected gentleness. She wanted him everywhere, and let the blanket drop so it gathered in heavy folds at her waist, so she was bare to him.
He didn’t pull back to stare at her. Instead, he let his hands look for him. One pressed tightly against the small of her back, and the other, oh, the other, curved around her breast. Thalia heard a mewl as it arabesqued from her throat. She’d never made that sound before. A deep rumbling from low in his chest was his response, like a feral creature calling from another nighttime mountain. The large pad of his thumb brushed against her tight nipple, and though she tried to keep her knees locked together, hot, vivid sensation caused them to drift open. She began to lean back, pulling him with her.
Batu’s snore, heavy and unaware, was the dart that pierced the bubble of her fever spell. Her trusted friend slept only a few yards away.
Thalia pulled away. She did not want to, but she had to, and she tugged the blanket back up over her shoulders with clumsy fingers. She wanted what she knew she should not have. As she gulped for air, she looked at the captain with dazed eyes. His jaw was tight, his eyes had a hard gleam, and he, too, seemed to lack for air. He did not look dazed. He looked sharp, painfully focused, and not a little riled. It had been a long time since Thalia had been close to an aroused man, but she’d forgotten how potent they could be, just by revealing their desire. Especially this man.
“I shouldn’t…have let it go so far,” she said. Thalia had never heard her voice this way before, so breathless, so close to seduction. “I’m sorry.”
“We took the path together,” he growled.
“Yes, but—” But what? She had been foolish. Men could turn desire on and off like a lantern, blinking in the dark, but she should have known it would be different, more consuming, for her. She’d wanted him inside of her, wanted him there now. It was a shock to her. Even the pleasure she’d had from Sergei’s touch faded into a dying ember compared to the uncontrolled
blaze that now moved beneath her skin. She hadn’t counted on that, not at all. “We should get some sleep, Captain,” Thalia finally said. “Much of today has been lost. We’ll need an early start tomorrow if we’re to make up time.”
He gave a single, clipped nod. He looked so fierce, she wondered if he would simply reach out, grab her, and finish what they had started. She almost, almost, wished he did. But he must have seen something in her, fear, perhaps, that kept him at bay. Yet, his exercise of honor was taxing him. She saw it in the straining muscles of his arms that seemed to hold him back, felt it in the waves of barely leashed hunger that rolled off of him. It would be so easy, so easy to lean toward him…
“I feel odd calling you ‘Captain,’” she said instead. “So formal.”
In a low rumble, he said, “I’ve been just ‘Huntley’ or ‘Captain,’ or ‘sir,’ for a long time.”
“Can I not call you by your Christian name? And you can call me by mine. You are not here as a soldier.” She was amazed she could string that number of words together.
“If that’s something you want.”
“I…do.”
She felt strange, awkward, vaguely embarrassed. He wasn’t making things any easier, simply staring at her with that undisguised need in his eyes. “Do you want something to eat?” she asked. “I think most of the provisions were washed away in the river, but we’ve a little left.”
“No.”
“Ah.” The silence stretched tightly. “I’m not hungry either.” Still nothing. She put the Compass back into the pocket of her del. Finally, she said, “Good night, Gabriel.” His name felt wonderful in her mouth.
“Good night, Thalia.”
She shut her eyes to the picture he made, speaking her name, but the sound of it lingered just behind her heart. She had done the right thing by ending their kisses and caresses. Captain Huntley—Gabriel—was far too dangerous.