by Bec McMaster
A cat hissed somewhere in the house, and more gunfire echoed. There was a furious animal snarl, and then a curse. Something smashed. The cat hissed again.
Come on. Ava swallowed, trying to make her fingers move again. The paralysis finally seemed to be wearing off, and there was a rush of heat through her veins as if the craving virus fought off the hemlock within her. She could smell blood. Geraldine's. The sudden surge of interest from the darker side of her locked on it, and Ava instinctively quashed it down, before realizing the craving could help her. In a heightened state of bloodlust, a blue blood was stronger, faster, even more deadly.
Possibly able to quell the hemlock in her veins faster.
Ava swallowed, thinking of blood. The thought left her both queasy and interested. Not helping. Damn it. Her natural reticence to drinking blood worked against her.
Think of... what? Was there anything about the bloodletting experience that excited her?
Kincaid. Her face flushed with heat, but now wasn't the time for missish delicacy. She'd been trying to forget the moment they'd shared in the gardens of a pleasure house a month ago. Now she forced the memory to mind. His hands on her upper arms, squeezing gently. His coat around her shoulders. The scent of him, all mechanical oil, cigars, bay rum, and something... something uniquely him. The scent of his skin, his sweat, his tooth cream, his arousal.... The way the vein in his throat suddenly seemed to pulse, as if it were calling out to her.
Heat flooded through her. Arousal. Yes. The color began draining from the room, which was precisely what she wanted.
Another crash echoed above. Her abductor was clearly wasting time looking for the cat.
She let her imagination roam, picturing what might have happened if she wasn't a lady, and if Kincaid wasn't disgusted by the bloodletting process. She could almost taste his skin beneath her lips, and what it would feel like to trace her tongue over the vein there....
"He-pp." Ava licked the blood from her lips to wake the predator within her. Her tongue seemed heavy but she was once more in command of it, and it was getting easier to blink. Easier to twitch her fingers and toes. She was nearly there.
He must have heard the noise.
Footsteps paused above her, then turned unerringly toward the stairs. The cat kept making that horrible yowling sound in its throat, but the dhampir ignored it. His heels thundered on the staircase, and Ava forced herself to move, to crawl.
"Where do you think you're going, Miss McLaren?"
Too late.
Frustration tore through her. She was so close to burning the poison out of her blood, and her inner predator was definitely sitting just beneath the surface. The dhampir knelt in front of her and hauled her upright, taking in the jerky movement of her hand, and Ava's gaze locked on his throat. "I'm an idiot," he muttered, slinging her back into the chair, and then looking around, patting at his pockets.
No more hemlock, she guessed.
His eyes lit on a tea towel, which he tore into strips and used to bind her arms to the chair.
"That's better," he muttered.
Poor Geraldine stared sightlessly at the wall, a black-red flower of blood blooming in the middle of her forehead. Ava's vision kept coming in and out of color.
"Shit," her abductor swore again. "Ghost is not going to appreciate this mess." He seemed to realize the water cart sirens outside were still wailing, and looked at her. "All right, let's do this." Reaching inside his waistcoat, he produced a small leather satchel and unrolled it on the kitchen counter.
Ava flinched back as far as she could.
"What... do you... want with me?" Or at least that's what she tried to say. Everything tingled. "What are you... doing?"
"I'm only obeying orders." The dhampir plunged a syringe into a wax-sealed vial, drawing up some sort of pale green liquid inside. "Relax, Miss McLaren. This won't hurt too much and then it will all be over."
No. No.
She twitched, forcing weak limbs to obey her.
The last time she'd been a prisoner of a man she'd been powerless too. And he'd hurt her, destroyed her life. Ava's vision dipped through shades of gray, the color bleaching from the world around her as some inner rage she'd never recognized rose like a snarling animal.
She'd felt the craving take her over before, when she'd smelled blood in the early days of her infection, or when emotion overtook her.
But this time she embraced it.
Feeling flooded along her limbs, along with the surge of blood. The killer looked at her, as if he'd sensed something different, and his lips thinned. "That's enough of that."
Stabbing the syringe into her neck, he pumped her full of a cold substance that burned through her veins.
Ava screamed, a gargle of sound that scraped her throat raw. A flash fire of arctic cold filled her body, flooding her vision with red. She could smell blood. Taste it in her mouth. Something cool slid down her cheek. Ava touched it, finding a tear of glistening black, that would probably be a bluish red if her vision was normal, and the irony bit her. She hadn't been able to shed a single tear since her infection, only this single bead of blood....
There was a coldness in her chest that made her lungs ache, but her clockwork heart ticked on, pumping blood through her system. It hurt. So much. But this was not the worst she'd ever endured. Pain was an old friend. Hague had hurt her worse than this dhampir could ever dream. Ava clenched her teeth, embracing the predator within her, and then slowly looked up.
The relief in the dhampir's expression wavered, his eyes darting to the syringe in his hand, then back to her face again. Whatever reaction he'd expected from her, this was not it.
Ava flexed her arms, a growl of rage filling her throat. Not again. Never again. Hague flashed into her vision, overriding the dhampir's face. One rope tore apart under the force of her arm, and then she turned and spun the chair against the wall, smashing it to bits, the other rope still dangling loosely from her wrist. The veins in the back of her hands were almost bruised, as though something was wrong with her blood, but her heart ticked on.
"How?" the dhampir barked, grabbing hold of her arms. "How are you doing this?"
Ava drove a piece of chair leg into his abdomen. A hand flashed up, smashing her across the face, and pain exploded through her jaw. She staggered back into the counter, and then he was there, grappling with her, the steel syringe clattering to the floor.
Red, red everywhere. It was all she could see. That and Hague, smiling down at her like a father as he cut the stitches out of her chest that last time. "You're my finest creation, Miss McLaren."
Ava kicked and fought, overwhelmed by only one desire: to kill.
"That," she snarled, stabbing him again, "is for that poor old lady!" Again. "And her husband!" Again. "And that little girl I nearly ran over—"
A hand caught her wrist and her suddenly nerveless fingers dropped the makeshift stake.
"Bitch." He caught her by the throat and kicked her feet out from under her. They both went down, Ava hampered by her skirts. His weight overpowered her, but she was fueled by something she'd never felt before.
She screamed a scream of pure rage, raking at his face and shoulders with her nails, wishing, damn her, she'd learned how to fight better when Byrnes taught her the basics. Pain bloomed through her hand.
"Stay down!" the dhampir hissed, but he looked frightened, as though he hadn't expected any of this. He clapped one hand over her mouth and nose, and the other over her throat. "The serum should have worked. What are you?"
She couldn't breathe.
But she hadn't been able to breathe a long time ago, and she'd survived that too.
"It should have stopped your heart," the dhampir yelled, and Ava suddenly understood.
Her cursed clockwork heart had just saved her life.
She rolled her head from side to side, trying to throw him off. No help for it. He was too strong. But... she caught a glimpse of the syringe in the corner of her eye, half an inch of milky green liq
uid inside it.
Pressure popped behind her eyes. Her lungs heaved. Color was starting to come back to the edges of the room, as though the craving was retreating, the predator silenced by lack of air.
Ava's groping hand reached for the syringe. Nothing. Nothing. Her vision swam. She didn't want it to end like this. There was too much she hadn't done, too much she hadn't seen. A life lived in a laboratory. Hiding in her books. Keeping her emotions and life strictly controlled. No blood. No Kincaid....
Her fingers closed over the syringe. Ava drove it into her assailant's side, pumping the rest of the dose into him.
His body arched instantly, a scream tearing from his lips. She could breathe again. Move. Ava shoved her way out from under him as he fell into convulsions on the floor, and then the door burst open, and—
Kincaid and Malloryn burst in, pistols drawn.
"Blood and steel," Malloryn muttered, lowering his pistol a little as the dhampir thrashed.
Ava groaned, rocking on her hands and knees. Something hurt deep inside. There was blood in her mouth, and the veins across the back of her hands pulsed, as if liquid mercury slid through them.
"Ava!" Kincaid sheathed his pistol, his face tight with concern. The color fled from his skin. "Jaysus, Ava!"
Malloryn kicked her attacker over onto his back, pointing the pistol warningly, but the dhampir's heels drummed on the floor, a bloodied froth forming at his mouth. Ava's mouth dropped open. That could have been her. It should have been her.
"What happened to him?" Malloryn barked.
"She's hurt." Kincaid knelt beside her, soothing a hand up her spine. "Jaysus, look at her face. Ava? Are you all right, sweetheart?"
The craving virus returned with force, the scent of Kincaid's body overwhelming her. All she wanted was to bury her blunt teeth in his throat, and drain him dry.
Not Kincaid. He'd never forgive her. "Leave me alone!" She scrambled into the corner, her hands curled in claws and her body trembling as pain overtook her.
"Ava!" The cursed man came after her. "Ava, we're here. You're okay. We've got you." His rough voice thickened. "I've got you."
There was an unspoken message there she didn't have time to study. A sudden urge overtook her and Ava started coughing, blood spraying across her black-marbled hands.
Whatever the dhampir had injected her with, it hadn't finished wreaking havoc within her.
Nineteen
THERE WERE FEW things in Kincaid's life that had ever frightened him. Seeing Ava like this gutted him. Absolutely gutted him.
Especially when he considered their stupid fucking argument. He hadn't cared then if innocent people were hurt. All he'd thought about was bringing the blue bloods of the Echelon down, but Ava was right. Innocents would suffer, and until she was the one who'd nearly died, a part of him hadn't understood that.
Guilt ravaged him. She should have died. There was no reason for her to have survived. But somehow she had, and though he'd not prayed to any gods in years, he was praying now. Please. Please let her survive this.
She shuddered against his chest, her face streaked with blood and her skirts torn and ragged. Kincaid squeezed her gently. It was one thing to know the Company of Rogues agents walked into danger every time they faced these bastards—quite another to think of Ava in that same danger.
"I've got you," he muttered.
A shaky hand curled in his shirt, and Ava tilted her face up to his, her breath cool across his throat.
"What is it, sweetheart?"
She suddenly pushed him away, hiding her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Kincaid reached for her face, feeling sick to his gut. What had the bastard done to her? Had he touched her? Tortured her? Kincaid brushed some of her loose curls behind her ear. There was bluish blood all over her face, her lips. He wanted to kill the prick, but the truth was, she needed him at her side more than Kincaid needed to vent his feelings. "Are you hurt? Did I squeeze you too hard?"
A hand on his chest stayed him.
"She needs blood," Malloryn said, three simple words cutting like a scythe through the tremble in his heart.
Blood.
All of them knew his thoughts on the process of bloodletting. As much as he'd begun to accept the blue bloods he worked with, they took their blood in private, or out of a flask. He could handle that. It was the thought of one of them using a little razor on him—or someone else, right in front of him—that made the muscle in his jaw tic.
"No blood," Ava ground out, scrambling out of Kincaid's lap and tucking her knees up against her chest. She looked up, her eyes as black as pitch, and the breath went out of him. "Not right now. I can't control it."
Shit. Malloryn was right. The predator in her was right beneath the surface. Every vein in her face stood out as though black ink filled it, particularly under her eyes. She looked terrible.
She looked like the dhampir had, before he died.
Or like David Thomas.
Everything in Kincaid went cold. Everything. Hadn't she said it herself? "If you put this weapon in the wrong hands, Kincaid, then you cannot tell me innocent people won't die...."
But he'd never thought Ava would be the one stricken down by Black Vein. He'd never... put a face to the nameless, faceless enemy in his mind when he thought of finally destroying the blue bloods with this weapon.
Why wasn't she dying? It felt like there was a hand around his chest, squeezing, squeezing....
"Where's my... my solution?" Ava patted at her skirts, hunting for any sign of the reticule she normally carried, even though it was nowhere to be found.
"I assume you lost it in the scuffle. The closest flask we know of is back at the house," Malloryn explained in the kind of tone one used on a child. "You're not yourself right now, Ava. We can't risk taking you out into the streets like this. All you'll see is prey when you look around you, and you've been resisting for so long you have no control when the bloodlust rises—"
"I have control," she snarled, and then froze, as if hearing the anger in her words. A twist of horror crossed her face. "He injected me with something. Said it would stop my heart, but of course it didn't, and now—"
Her clockwork heart.
"It's not your fault." Again Malloryn sounded exceedingly patient. "We can run tests on what he gave you back at the laboratory, but right now your bloodlust's been triggered. We need to deal with it first, and your injuries. You're bleeding internally."
"I'm fine." She coughed even as she said it, spraying blood across her cupped palm.
Malloryn looked at him, and that was when Kincaid knew what the duke was silently asking.
No. No way. He was nobody's blood whore.
Not even for Ava?
His stomach twisted. She was injured, and she needed blood, but... all he could see was Agatha, swaying from the rafters of his house as he screamed and begged for her to come back.
Malloryn saw it on his face, and gave a little nod. "Here." The duke began unbuttoning his sleeve to reveal his wrist. "I'll do it."
And that was all shades of wrong. Kincaid's vision went white and he turned around, clasping both hands behind his head. The idea of Ava sucking on the duke's wrist made him want to punch something—though he had to admit the thought of her drinking blood wasn't the prime cause of that emotion.
Jealousy?
Shit. He shot her a look, finding her backing away from the duke, scrambling across the tiles, her gaze locked on the vein in Malloryn's wrist with a hunger she couldn't hide. Yes and no warred within her, and suddenly his hatred for bloodletting washed away. This was Ava he was thinking about. Not some leering blue blood lord who thought all humans were cattle. Not the bastards who'd used his sister like their own blood whore for the night, before casting her out into the streets.
Kincaid rubbed at his chest as Malloryn drew a small bloodletting blade from the kit in his pocket and placed the razor over the vein.
"My CV levels are in the high fifties, so the cut won't stay open for l
ong," Malloryn warned. "You cannot fight through this, Ava, not without the predator taking over at some stage. Take a little blood to calm it down, and then we can return to the safe house and find your flask for you. Your body needs to heal too, judging by the look of you. You're very lucky."
"Please," Ava panted, but she couldn't look away from the razor. "Please, no. I can do this." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't want your blood."
Kincaid could see the lie on her face. "Malloryn's right," he said gruffly, surprised to hear himself say it. "A little blood from... from Malloryn, and then it will be safe to take you home and get your flask."
"Can you hold my hand?" she whispered.
His gut churned.
"I don't think that's safe," Malloryn interrupted, watching the pair of them. When Kincaid's gaze jerked to him, Malloryn shrugged. "You're human. Your blood smells and tastes better, and you won't be able to hold her off if she goes for your throat."
Another slap in the face. Another reminder of what she was. Hell, when had he stopped thinking of Ava as a blue blood?
But this was no easier for her than it was for him. Can you hold my hand? A plea, as if the thought of this hurt her too.
"I'll hold your hand if you need me to," he said, tilting his head toward the razor. "Distract her. And keep her off me if you need to."
Malloryn arched a brow, but turned back to Ava. "Ready?"
She swallowed. "Ready."
The razor pressed a white indentation along Malloryn's wrist, which instantly filled with bluish-red blood. Ava moaned, and Malloryn cupped the back of her head and put his wrist to her lips as though he'd done this a thousand times.
Kincaid knelt beside them, slipping his fingers through hers. He hated seeing her like this. Hated seeing Malloryn's wrist at her lips, in some vaguely primitive way that needed further investigation when he had time to himself to think, but this was about Ava now. "That's it, sweetheart." He stroked her hair, brushing it off her face and fingering one silky curl.