by Bec McMaster
She felt almost breathless. He'd picked a flower for her. No, he'd gone out of his way to find an orchid, because he knew she adored them, and had a fascination with plants. Ava looked up, a smile spreading across her face, and that's when the tickling knot at the back of her mind suddenly unraveled, almost as if she'd pulled a thread. Suddenly her mind made one of those leaps of intuition it sometimes did, and Ava's gaze drifted past Kincaid and settled on the bookshelf.
A bookshelf groaning beneath the weight of over a dozen books on rare plants from various parts of the worlds, some with healing properties, some poisonous....
"That's it," she whispered, and hurried toward the bookshelf, still cupping the orchid. Excitement bloomed. Where the devil was it?
"What's it?" Kincaid followed her, but Ava paid him no mind.
She let her fingers run over the leather-bound spines of the books, pulling them out and then discarding them on her desk until she had a pile. She was going to crush the orchid, so she tucked it back behind her ear, flipping through a book.
"I kept thinking it's not a disease that killed Mr. Thomas. There's no viral or bacterial interference, and no other agent can cause such destruction within a blue blood's body. It has to be a toxin or a poison, and I remember... there was something I read once...."
A poison, herb, or toxin that affected blue bloods and their evolved cousins the dhampir in a different way than it did humans?
Maybe her interest in obscure plants could be the make-or-break lead this case needed? Ava tossed the book aside, and pulled down another. "Rare Plants from the Himalayas." Kincaid picked up a book and read the spine as she flicked through the pages of hers, before his words penetrated.
Ava stole the book from his grasp and turned to her reading desk in the window, rifling through the careworn pages. Himalayas... that rang a bell. "We're searching for a toxin," she told him, "one that strikes down blue bloods."
"Hemlock—"
"Paralyzes them. It does something to a blue blood's blood pressure and their muscles. I've looked into it, but I'm not quite certain what it does on a cellular level. Unfortunately, there aren't many blue bloods that will allow me to paralyze them momentarily while I take samples. And I clearly cannot use myself as a test subject. I tried once, but by the time the paralysis wore off my blood cells had returned to normal, though my CV levels were exacerbated. No,"—she traced her finger over the page, ticking off plant names mentally—"hemlock has nothing to do with this. But I do recall something.... A plant that came from the Himalaya region I was warned never to use against a blue blood. I was researching a toxin, or a weapon, something to take down the dhampir with. It was just a throwaway line in a book I flagged as interesting, but didn't get time to pursue. Everything with Zero happened so quickly."
"A plant that could destroy one of the dhampir?"
"Maybe." Ava's finger paused on a pair of words, excitement flooding through her. "Caterpillar mushroom. That's it! It's grown above an elevation of three or four thousand feet in the Himalayas, and I always thought it an unusual plant, as the lower part is a caterpillar, and the upper part is a fungus. Basically, the fungus spores land on the caterpillar and as it grows the caterpillar dies.
"It has tonic properties, I believe. Or the Chinese certainly believe so. I read transcripts of a Tibetan medical text by Zurkhar Nyamnyi Dorje about its aphrodisiac properties. They call it Yartsa gunbu. And that," she said, snapping the book closed, "is the limit of my knowledge. Beyond, do not touch if one is a blue blood."
"Interesting."
Ava couldn't quite read the tone of that one word. "What do you mean? You keep looking at me with that strange expression on your face."
"I'm just... you're frightfully intelligent, did you know?"
Her heart thudded in her chest. "Frightfully?"
He looked at her, his eyes narrowing as if he saw right through her. "Poor choice of words. You're astoundingly intelligent."
It still made her feel a little discomforted. Her ex-fiancé, Paul, had been wary of her thought processes, until she'd learned to censor herself and not delve into such topics that interested her.
Kincaid leaned toward her, bringing his lips close to her ear, "Your great, big intellect makes me want to do naughty things to you, Miss McLaren."
This man was clearly not a small-minded man like Paul. Ava caught her breath.
He continued, "Maybe one day you can spout all of these big words at me while I run my hands beneath your skirts, and—"
"Kincaid!" she gasped, and he burst into laughter.
Ava slapped him on the arm, her face burning. She had the sudden urge to kiss him again, just to see if her memories of last night's events were quite as overwhelming as they'd seemed, or whether she'd simply been caught up in the moment of her first assisted orgasm.
"Has no one ever flirted with you before?”
Ava snapped the book shut, and set it aside. "Of course they have. I was engaged once. There was flirtation, though... decidedly more mild than your so-called attempt."
"So-called attempt? I see I'm not succeeding very well. Perhaps I should press my endeavors?" He stepped closer, backing her against the desk and trailing his fingers down over the lace that covered her breasts. "I keep thinking about these pretty tits."
Ava's breath caught. "You're so vulgar."
"You're entirely too innocent. And," his voice dropped, "you have no idea."
He'd startled her again. What was it about this man that made her enjoy his flirtation so much? She knew they were all kinds of wrong for each other, but she simply couldn't help herself.
Ava gave him a sidelong glance. "Perhaps, Mr. Kincaid, I could imagine."
Kincaid’s smile grew soft and heated as he rested his knuckles on either side of her hips. "That's the spirit. Now tell me... engaged? I didn't know that."
"It was a long time ago. Before Hague kidnapped me. Actually," she amended, "Hague's kidnapping is the reason my engagement ended." Storm clouds brewed in her heart, an old hurt she'd never quite gotten over. "By the time I returned home to see my family, they'd moved on. Paul thought I was dead, and he'd already become engaged to someone else." Only six months missing, and she'd been replaced, as easily as if she didn't matter.
"He's a fool then."
Ava's shoulders relaxed. "Why do you always know the perfect thing to say?"
"Haven't you realized yet?" he drawled. "I'm the perfect man."
"Perfectly ridiculous," she said, pushing at his chest. But she was smiling again, her woes forgotten. "Now stop distracting me. We have a case."
"And now we have a lead. So what's the next step? How do we find this caterpillar mushroom?"
Ava finally unleashed a smile. "I know just the place."
Thirteen
"HERE WE ARE," Kincaid said, pulling to the curb and thrusting one foot out to steady them.
Ava clung to him tightly, squeezing her eyes shut behind the goggles he'd provided her with. He'd insisted they ride his velococycle, a three-wheeled contraption one sat upon, which was going to be the most popular vehicle in London, he'd assured her. She sat sideways on the seat behind him, her breasts crushed to his back, and the throb of the growling steam engine in the velococycle quivering beneath her like some maddened beast.
Ava scrambled off the velococycle, clutching at a lamppost. "My God." Solid ground. She wanted to kiss it.
Kincaid shoved his goggles up on top of his head, scruffing up his black hair. He laughed at her as he tugged his leather riding gloves off, looking younger than she'd ever seen him. "Anyone would think you didn't trust me."
"It's not you I don't trust." She pointed at the velococycle's shiny black painted body. "There's a reason we ride in carriages. Because they are safe, and slow, and nobody is hurtled to a fiery death on the cobbles, which are barely inches beneath your feet, might I point out—"
"Ava." He slid off the velococycle, the flaps of his long leather coat slapping against the backs of his thighs as he
captured her upper arms in his hands. "Breathe. I would never put you at risk. I'm an expert driver. I helped build the bloody machine after all, and was on the enclave team that came up with the concept. Surely it was just a little bit enjoyable?"
She stared up at him. Now she had her feet under her again, she felt infinitely better. She'd pinned the enormous mass of her hair back tightly, but loose curls escaped it, and if she were being honest, she couldn't deny there'd been a slight thrill. "Just the littlest bit."
Their eyes met, and then Kincaid's smile grew. "Spread your wings, Ava."
"But," she said, stepping away from him and smoothing her skirts as she set eyes on Winthrop's Emporium, "I still might walk home, thank you very much. Now let’s go find my caterpillar mushroom."
Ava pushed open the door to the shop, the bell over it ringing as she entered. Kincaid's body was a warm presence at her back.
"Hello?" she called. "Is there anybody here?"
The small store smelled musty. Books lined the walls in mahogany shelves that groaned under their weight. Maps of the globe splayed over the bare inches of actual wall that remained, highlighting exotic countries with names like Afghanistan, and Nepal, and Bhutan. Little baskets of herbs sat on every flat surface, some bundled up into little sacks, and others spilling from the baskets. Incense burned, and the smoke hovered just below the stained ceiling like some watchful cloud.
Movement drew her attention to the back. A handsome gentleman appeared, wiping his hands on a clean rag, his mustache neatly trimmed in an almost militaristic style, and his boots polished within an inch of their life. He was a big man with proud bearing, but she couldn't help thinking beside Kincaid, he seemed... small. "Ah, what prosperous day brings such a lovely young flower into my midst?"
He was talking to her. "Good afternoon," she replied, taking a moment to gather herself. "My name is Miss Ava McLaren, and this is my—"
"Fiancé," Kincaid interrupted, taking her hand and resting it on the crook of his arm with a painted-on smile. "Liam Kincaid."
Ava didn't quite look at him, though her lips twitched. Fiancé? What the devil was he about?
The stranger eyed them both for a second, and then gave her a broad smile. "Of course. You're a lucky man, Mr. Kincaid. I'm Major Tom Winthrop, formerly of the East India Company."
The pair of them shook hands, and Winthrop's gaze dropped to Kincaid's mech hand, though he didn't say anything. A company man, one who'd left London during the prince consort's reign, no doubt, when mechs were deemed less than human, and akin to the dirt beneath a blue blood's heel.
Ava bristled in Kincaid's defense, but kept all trace of it out of her voice. "You've travelled through the Orient?"
Winthrop's smile widened, and he showed them the maps pinned to his walls. "Widely. I spent a great deal of time investigating opportunities for the Company in Lhasa, until things turned a little... well, frankly, it was a bit of a hotspot of political interest with the Emirate of Afghanistan sniffing at the door, and the bloody Russo's looking on hungrily, not to mention the White Court of China. After I left the Company, I guided an exhibition for the Duke of Vickers, which searched for the hidden city of Shambhala."
"Shambhala?"
"A hidden land," Winthrop breathed, and she realized he was a natural storyteller, light gleaming in his eyes as if he could see such a thing himself, spread before him. "They say there is a hidden beyul—or valley—hidden high in the Kunlun Mountains, ruled by a mysterious people who are not entirely human. The Land of the Living Gods." Winthrop smiled down at her, his voice taking on a lilting quality. "The people there are almost immortal, and age very slowly, almost not at all, it seems. And they have pale, pale skins, though they worship the sun-chariot."
"Pale skins?" And immortal?
Winthrop's smile widened, his mustache twitching. "They say it's the birthplace of the craving virus."
How fascinating. "I thought the birthplace of the craving virus was in the lands of the White Court?"
"Technically, Tibet has been claimed by them, yes." Winthrop waved a dismissive hand, leaning toward her. "Hundreds of years ago a traveler allegedly found Shambhala and returned to the White Court with the craving. The rulers of the White Court insisted he share this 'gift' of immortality with them, and then they cut off his head so they alone became gods. Only a member of the Imperial family can be given the gift."
"Sounds rather like the aristocratic Echelon," she replied, "and the Blood Rites. Why is it nobles always seek to control such a thing?"
"Power," Winthrop said, ghosting through the bookcases and luring her back into the shadowy bookshelves. "Money. Might. The craving virus makes one faster and stronger, and almost impervious to death. What ruler doesn't want to be semi-immortal?"
"All very interesting," Kincaid drawled, "but we're here searching for a mysterious book, aren't we, Ava darling? Or do you want to hear tales of a mythic city, and the origins of the craving virus?"
Nothing interested her quite as much as esoteric information. And a hidden city, which might be the birthplace of the craving virus? There was an almost fairy-tale quality to such a story. "You're right. Darling." She turned to the major with an almost apologetic smile. "I'm researching a herbal remedy I've heard about. One of the ingredients comes from the Himalayas, and we were directed here. A pharmacist in Marylebone said you were the leading expert on matters of that part of the world."
The major puffed up. "Aye, I am." He gestured to his shop. "I have books, maps, articles of clothing, painted scrolls.... And I stock ancient Oriental herbs and medicines. There's a rich trade for certain things like powdered rhinoceros horn or tiger... ah, tiger parts," he hurried on, as though realizing to whom he spoke, "and herbs like ginseng, or dried mushroom like Boletus lucidus—"
"Boletus... this is a mushroom, yes?"
"Spirit mushroom—"
"Speaking of mushrooms," she said hurriedly, "one of the ingredients I'm most interested in is a mushroom. A caterpillar mushroom. Do you know of it?"
"Yartsa gunbu," he muttered. "I've heard of it, yes. Grows out of the head of a caterpillar in Tibet somewhere."
"Do you have any of it?" Ava held her breath.
The major shook his head abruptly. "No, can't say I have. I have a book on rare plants in the Himalayas, however, if you'd like to look at it?" His smile returned. "I have several books on the Himalayas." He grabbed one off the shelf, and Ava exchanged a frustrated glance with Kincaid.
Another dead end.
"Do you know anyone else in London who might have some of this caterpillar mushroom?" she asked. "The remedy I mean to create was quite specific."
"No, no. Haven't heard of anyone. Here," Major Winthrop said, pressing a book into her hands. "It was written by a traveler who collected stories. There's a section on Shambhala. You should read it. Consider it a gift, from one curious mind to another."
"Oh, I couldn't, Major. This is a beautiful book. It must be expensive." And the sort of thing that sounded quite rare. She patted her reticule, looking for her purse.
"I insist," Major Winthrop said, not quite quirking a brow at her. "Consider it... an engagement present."
"Ah, thank you." Ava tugged one of her calling cards free, and passed it to him in exchange. "And if you do hear of the caterpillar mushroom, please let me know. I'd be very grateful."
* * *
"That man was lying," Kincaid said, as soon as they were out of earshot of the shop.
Ava tore her attention away from the book. "Major Winthrop? Lying? Why ever would you think that?"
"Because the second you asked him about it, his entire manner changed, and he became curt and couldn't wait to get you out of his shop. He knows more about this caterpillar mushroom than he's claiming."
Based on what evidence? Ava gave an exasperated sigh. "You just didn't like him from the start. You were practically bristling."
"That's because he was eyeing you like some tasty little morsel he wanted to sink his teeth into
."
"He was not," she protested. "He's a man with a shared interest. I know what it feels like to find someone who shares your passion. It's exhilarating. And, I'm fairly certain you're describing the way you look at me sometimes. Not Major Winthrop."
"That's different."
"Oh?"
"He's a stranger who gave you a rare book he could have sold for a princely sum, for Chrissakes," Kincaid muttered, "even though I introduced myself as your fiancé."
He did have a point. "Maybe he was being kind...." Her words trickled to a halt as she replayed the conversation in her head, and saw the way Winthrop smiled at her. He'd virtually ignored Kincaid. "Oh."
Storm clouds brewed on Kincaid's expression. "You are utterly oblivious, did you know that?"
"Well, men generally don't fall at my feet."
"Or maybe you just don't notice when they do," he muttered.
She shot him a long, steady look. "You're behaving not at all like yourself, did you know? One would almost think you were...."
"Yes?"
"Jealous," she said carefully, though the word sounded ridiculous in her mouth. Liam Kincaid jealous? Over her?
Kincaid's lips thinned, and he looked around. She barely noticed the opening of an alley beside them, before he dragged her into it, his broad body shielding her from street view. "Of course I'm jealous." His hands gripped her shoulders, the look in his eyes naked with unrestrained need. "I want you. And while I'm willing to wait until you're ready, I'm also very aware we made a deal, and I want to fulfill it. I can be patient, Ava, but there's a limit to my patience, and that limit is reached when other men try to charm you."
He captured her chin, one thumb pressing into her lower lip. "You're mine, Ava. Not his. Mine."
Their lips met, and Ava threw her arms around his neck. She'd never been the sort of woman who considered a masculine conquest intriguing, but she understood it now. What it felt like to have a man claim you, a rather barbaric declaration, and it sent a thrill through her. Mine. She kissed him hungrily, not holding back this time, now she knew what she was doing. The fit of his body against hers felt so right. Kincaid lifted her off her toes, one hand splaying over her bottom as he grabbed a handful of her bustle, driving her body against him until she felt something hard press against her belly. It was not his belt buckle.