by Bec McMaster
Desire bloomed to life within her, pure, primal need roaring along her nerve endings. "Kincaid," she whispered, arching her throat as he kissed her chin, then bit her gently.
"Liam," he told her, and she lost herself in that moment. Surrendered completely.
"Liam."
The steel of his erection was defiantly insistent. And the rest of the art in the gallery sprang to mind; a woman's hand curled around a tumescent purple erection, her lips lowering to wrap around that bulbous head.
Is it...? Ava slid her hand lower, drawing back from the kiss to stare into his eyes as her palm brushed over a firm, heated length.
Kincaid's eyes grew glazed, his mouth parting. "Jaysus." He captured her hand, shaking his head. "As much as I'd love to let you finish that thought... this isn't the place. Or the time."
"Sorry," she said.
And he smiled his slightly crooked smile, the one that stole her breath. "Don't be sorry, Ava. I'm postponing the gesture. Not rebuffing it. Later."
"Later." She kissed him as he set her down, and then groaned when he captured her face and gently pushed away from her. "We have to stop doing this," she said breathlessly, licking her lips as she staggered a little without his body to support her.
Kincaid reared back as if she'd struck him.
"No... I mean... not the kissing. The kissing is wonderful. But you dragging me into alleys? Kissing me in art galleries?" She flushed with heat. "What if somebody sees us?"
"Nobody here knows us. Your reputation is safe." He splayed his hand on the brick wall beside her. "Ava." Pure heat spilled through his eyes. He wanted her. She could see it.
"When?" she whispered.
"When your mind's not full of vaccines and rare mushrooms, and dhampir, and you can pay me some thought—"
This time, she put her finger to his lips. "You have no idea how distracting you are. Dr. Gibson asked me several times whether I was all right when I was helping him. It's not the case distracting me, Kincaid. It's you distracting me from the case."
Kincaid bit her finger, and a wave of pleasure swept through her, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Then he smiled. "Well, now. That's what a man wants to hear."
Pushing away from her, he captured her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. There was a cocky strut to his step, as if he'd staked his claim and been reassured.
She'd never have suspected he hid so much doubt. Ava brushed hair out of her face. "I've never wanted a man as much as I want you."
Kincaid paused. "Never?"
There was a question there, one that hinted at the issue between them. Byrnes. His wedding. And all the left-behind feelings she'd dealt with.
Had he been speaking of Winthrop when Kincaid told her she was his? Or was it someone else he pictured?
Ava forced herself to deliberately think of Byrnes. And for the first time, she realized it had been days since she'd given him thought. And perhaps she'd been too innocent, but the thoughts she had given Byrnes in past years had been different to those she felt now. He smiled at me. He touched my hand.
"Never," she admitted, and the word was as much concession for herself as it was for him.
For it was all Kincaid. And if she was quite honest, it had been ever since that interlude in the Garden of Eden when she stole his coat. She still had the bloody thing. She might have even sniffed at it once or twice, drinking in his scent in the privacy of her rooms where she couldn't be caught. Ava groaned. "You frustrate me intensely. But you're always interested in what I have to say. You never treat me with kid gloves. It's.... I feel freer with you than I've ever felt in my life. I don't quite know what to make of it. Of any of this." She gestured at the brick walls. "I just kissed you in an alley where anyone could see us!"
"You're in lust," he said, giving her that wicked smile.
"In lust," she repeated.
She wasn't entirely convinced of the idea. Her mind kept flashing to the orchid he'd tucked behind her ear. The way he'd draped his coat over her shoulders in the Garden of Eden, to keep her warm and make her feel safe.
I like him. A lot. Very much so.
I trust him.
And there was something else there, something she couldn't quite identify.
"What a fearsome frown," Kincaid said. "One would think you're not happy with the idea of being in lust?"
An omnibus blared past, and they broke apart with a start. The world started intruding. Ava caught a glimpse of a little boy glancing at her from the street, his hand in his governess’s as they strolled past.
"It's not that." She cleared her throat. Later. Now was certainly not the time for this discussion. "See? You're doing it again. I should be thinking about how I'm going to get my hands on this caterpillar mushroom, but instead I'm thinking about...."
"About?"
Your soft mouth, and the way it tastes.... "Caterpillar mushroom!" she cried. "I am thinking about caterpillar mushroom, and where I can find it." Turning in a rush of skirts, Ava rubbed her arms. Good lord, what was wrong with her?
"Well, one doesn't sound half as interesting as the other," Kincaid teased, "but so be it. I'll make you a bet," he insisted. "Winthrop lied. I think he knows exactly what this caterpillar mushroom is, and I think he's even got some on hand. I want a look through the rest of his shop, to see just what sort of secrets Major Winthrop is hiding. We'll break in tonight—"
"Break in?" she squeaked.
"Well, he's hardly going to give us the guided tour." A thought clearly occurred—one he didn't like at all, judging by his sudden frown. "You, perhaps, but there's no chance in hell I'm letting you go back in there unescorted."
"Gemma would. She'd give him a smile and a wink, and Winthrop would be spilling his secrets before he even realized what she was doing."
Kincaid stopped in his tracks and shot her a dark look. "No."
"Well, she would."
"You're not Gemma. And that's not a bad thing. But it does mean you're vulnerable to attack, when she is not. She's a trained spy who knows how to kill a man. Aye." He caught her flicker of horror. "You admire her for her confidence, and her beauty, but you never considered the flip side of the coin. Gemma does whatever is necessary to get the results Malloryn desires. She leads a darker life than you do—and sometimes I see the toll of that in her eyes—so pray you never have to lead the life Gemma does.
"As for Winthrop, we know nothing about what sort of man he truly is, except for the fact he worked for the Company, and he imports black market items."
"Black market—?"
"Trust me," Kincaid said. "I know the sort. What if Winthrop's working with our enemy? What if he overwhelmed you, or even killed you? No. And that's final."
"And if I'm right?" she challenged. "If Major Winthrop has nothing to hide, what then?"
Kincaid leaned closer to her, smiling dangerously. "If Major Winthrop is innocent, then I will put a ring on your finger, and give you the wedding of your dreams."
"You sound very certain." The color drained from her face. "I'm not sure I want to be right."
"And if you're wrong, Ava...."
They shared a glance.
"If I'm wrong?" she whispered, breathing a little faster.
"Then you owe me a favor."
"What sort of favor?"
Far, far too easy to walk willingly into his trap. He buffed the back of his knuckles down her side, skimming the lace, and Ava shivered. "I want to see what you're hiding beneath all of this fabric."
She considered it for a long, breathless moment. "Deal. I guess we shall find out tonight. But I don't want you to marry me if you're wrong." The thought was ridiculous. Kincaid.... No. Panic swelled inside her at the thought. She wanted marriage, but she wanted her husband to love her. Not marry her because he enjoyed kissing her.
Or because he'd made a bet.
"No?"
Ava swallowed, feeling a nervous little flutter fill her. She hesitantly traced her gloved fingers down his waistcoat. "I want to see what
you're hiding beneath all of this fabric."
The look on his face warmed her from the inside, and she knew she'd remember this moment for the rest of her life—the moment she learned to spread her wings.
Then she turned and walked away, before her nerves got the better of her.
Fourteen
IF YOU WANTED something done properly, then you had to do it yourself.
Ghost moved through the back of the shop like his namesake, listening to the major complain to the Tibetan girl he'd taken as mistress. Ghost silently cursed the dhampir initiate he'd sent to deal with Major Winthrop, who had returned empty-handed. Following the loss of Zero, he and three others were all that remained of the original dhampir Dr. Erasmus Cremorne had created, and the new group of blue bloods he'd carefully selected to go through the serum trials were a complete and utter failure so far.
"—place is filthy! What have you been doing all day? Sniffing incense and—"
Pausing for a moment to make sure the man and his assistant were alone, Ghost cleared his throat.
"—and bloody hell!" Major Winthrop slapped a hand to his chest, turning around sharply as Ghost made himself visible. "Oh, it's you. Christ. Near gave me a heart attack, creeping around back there."
"It's a good thing you're a battle-hardened ex-Company man," Ghost said dryly, "with nerves of steel."
Winthrop's mistress hid the faintest of smiles, and then she turned to scurry for the door to pull the blinds down. He tracked her movements. He didn't like witnesses, but her grasp of English extended only just enough to understand his sarcasm.
And she wouldn't be difficult to kill.
"I'm here for the supply," Ghost said, waiting until the room darkened before he stepped completely out of the shadows. He was born for moonlight, yet he'd been trained to live in the shadows. "Jameson told me you couldn't give it to him."
Jameson had not had a reason for this lack, and now he also only had one ear. He should have listened to his instructions.
Winthrop's eyebrow twitched. "Ah, righto. Well, I... I've got just the one bag left."
"One?" He needed more. "I thought you placed an order months ago."
"Aye, I did." Winthrop bustled behind his counter, reaching under it to produce a small bag. "But your man picked up three pounds of mushroom last week, and it's not exactly a swiftly replenished stock. Takes years to get to the point where you can harvest it. Have you gone through your supply already?"
"My man?"
Any sane person would quiver at the soft way he said the words—anyone who knew him well enough, anyway.
Winthrop merely tossed the bag on the counter, and reached for his pipe, packing the bowl of it with tobacco. "Aye. Lord What's-his-name. The one with the toffy accent and high opinion of himself." He seemed to read the lack of recognition on Ghost's face. "The one who came with your lady friend, Zero, several months back. Lord... Lord Albright?"
It hit him like a punch of rage. "Ulbricht?"
The major lit his match, pressing the flame to his tobacco and puffing gently to get it smoldering. "Aye. That's the one. Said you had another job for him."
Ulbricht was becoming a problem. As Zero's little pet, the blue blood lord had made a nuisance of himself and drawn the attention of the Duke of Malloryn and his so-called Company of Rogues. Malloryn didn't scare him, but it had been a mess, and Ghost disliked messes.
In fact, he disliked them so much that when Zero disobeyed him, he made sure she received a dose of her own medicine—a dose of the deadly caterpillar mushroom.
In hindsight, he should have just flogged her, but he'd been... angry.
"And you gave Lord Ulbricht my mushroom?" Ghost asked quietly, just to make sure he had all the facts correct. Zero had dared to bring that bastard here?
Finally, some hint of self-preservation reared itself in the major's reptile brain. Winthrop paused. "He said... he was here on your command."
"What am I paying you to do?" Ghost took a stealthy step forward, fetching up in the major's face.
The man swallowed, his unattended pipe smoldering in his left hand. "You wanted me to find a means to import the rare caterpillar mushroom. You wanted me to provide you with enough of it, and not ask questions. To make sure nobody else asked questions."
"And yet," Ghost said coldly, tugging off the fingers of his leather gloves, one by one, "you gave my mushroom to a man you've never seen in my company—a man who used my name to steal from me?"
The Tibetan girl froze in the corner. She at least had the sense to fear him.
"Aye, well, sir, how was I to know—"
Ghost punched him in the throat, crushing the cartilage there. The girl screamed, and he smoothly withdrew his pistol from inside his coat pocket and put a bullet in her brain. Her body slammed into the wall, spraying blood across the bookcase, but her eyes were already vacant by the time she hit the floor.
Winthrop coughed and gurgled, clutching at his throat as he went down to his knees. His eyes rolled, showing far too much white. There was a plea in them.
Ghost knelt in front of the major, watching him slowly choke to death. "I could save your life," he purred, "but I have no real reason to do so. You betrayed me. You cost me a very substantial amount of a medicinal product I need. These events have repercussions. How am I meant to put my plans into place if the people I rely upon are so faithless? So fucking stupid?" Standing slowly, he put his foot against Winthrop's shoulder and kicked the struggling man onto his back. "And there are other dealers I could turn to."
Winthrop reached for the counter, dragging himself up and slumping against it. His face was turning purple, but he somehow managed to slam a hand on a pile of papers.
"No weapon will save you now," Ghost murmured, looking around. There was little left to salvage here. Winthrop wouldn't dare lie. He had only the one small bag of mushroom, which wasn't enough, and none of the other herbs or books interested Ghost.
Winthrop caught a small card and tried to shove it toward him. Ghost frowned, then bent and picked it up when it fluttered to the floor at his feet.
"What's this?" He scanned the calling card, a very familiar name catching his eye. "Miss Ava McLaren." One of Malloryn's little mice. "She was here?" When Winthrop didn't answer, he caught the man by the jaw and slammed him upon the counter, his fingers biting into the man's skin. "Why was Miss McLaren here? What did she want? Was she asking about the mushroom?"
Winthrop gurgled, but he managed to give a faint nod.
Ghost snapped the man's neck, leaving the room suddenly silent. He wiped the froth of Winthrop's drool off his hands—could the man not even make a clean death?—and then considered the note again. Blood and ashes. How the hell had Miss McLaren discovered the link between the dhampir and the mushroom?
Ulbricht. It had to be Ulbricht. That bastard had done something with the caterpillar mushroom, something that drew undue attention, right when Ghost needed to slip beneath Malloryn's notice.
And worse, it meant Malloryn might now hold information on the one substance that seemed deadly to both a blue blood and a dhampir.
Ghost strode out the back door, meeting his second's eyes. Obsidian had been born in fire, the way he had been—created in the asylum and laboratories of Dr. Erasmus Cremorne. But there were times when he wondered if his second was quite as hard as he needed to be.
Those dark eyes flickered toward the interior of the shop, where nothing but silence remained.
"I have a task for you," Ghost said, handing the other dhampir the calling card. "Ulbricht's double-crossed me. I want his head on a platter. No. Actually, bring him in alive. I'd like to do the honors of carving his heart out of his chest personally."
"And Miss McLaren?" Obsidian asked, no doubt having heard it all, thanks to his enhanced senses.
Miss McLaren, hmm.... "She's interested in our caterpillar mushroom, it seems. I think we should show her firsthand precisely what it does to a blue blood. Send one of the new lads out to introduce her to it. P
erhaps Corbyn? It can be an initiation for him—it's not as though she's a dangerous target, and he now knows the price of failure."
He'd made Corbyn hold Jameson down while he removed the lad's ear.
"He's not ready."
Your opinion, not mine. Ghost ground his teeth together. "Then put a bullet in him and send someone else. Just make sure she's dead before she can breathe a word of what she's found in Malloryn's ear. Oh, and clean up that mess inside."
* * *
When one needed to enter a building unannounced, one called in the experts.
So it was that barely six hours after Kincaid matter-of-factly told her they were going to break into Major Winthrop's shop, Ava found herself crouched in the small alley behind it. Her clockwork heart was pressure-driven, but it seemed to be running faster than usual, and she had the horrible feeling Major Winthrop was going to jump out at any moment and catch them.
"Relax," Kincaid murmured, drawing a black leather mask down over his face. "Nobody's here. Charlie's already checked, and I wouldn't be bringing you into a situation I thought was dangerous."
Charlie knelt in front of the door at the back of the shop and withdrew two slim picks. The lad had been born in the rookeries as far as she knew, so picking locks was second nature to him. He could do it in his sleep, he'd assured them.
"I am relaxing," she whispered back, then flinched. Was that a cat yowling in the distance?
A warm hand cupped her nape, rubbing the muscles there. Despite her tension, Ava melted into Kincaid's side, shamelessly arching under his touch. "Sure you are," he whispered, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Shame we're not elsewhere."
Alone was what he meant. His hand slid down her spine, tracing the armored leather corset she'd borrowed from Gemma, and then lower, caressing the curve of her bottom. She wore split skirts, which were also Gemma's, and the sensation of having something rubbing like that between her legs—even fabric—made her feel a little different. A little dangerous.