The Mech Who Loved Me

by Bec McMaster

  It wrapped around his finger, and he rubbed the end of it between thumb and forefinger, marveling at the sensation.

  Ava's eyes lifted from where she clutched at Malloryn's hand, her lips around the duke's wrist. They were pure black, like a demon's, but something about the moment made his cock harden.

  Malloryn looked away.

  And Kincaid remembered the one thing he'd forgotten in all of this: a blue blood's saliva had chemicals in it that could incite ecstasy in their victims. It was the ultimate weapon for a predator like a blue blood, and though it affected people on different levels, it was the thing that had turned his sister, Agatha, from a girl with a promising future to a young woman who couldn't sleep, couldn't stop itching at her skin, craving the touch of a blue blood's mouth on her flesh.

  Kincaid and Malloryn locked eyes. If the duke was finding pleasure in this moment then Kincaid was going to kill him.

  Slowly.

  But only once they got Ava to safety.

  * * *

  Evening fell.

  Ava woke to find someone lighting the candles beside her bed. For a second she didn't know where she was, or who was in her room. Her heart leaped into her throat, and then she recognized the rough stubble along the man's jaw, and the brief flex of the pistons in his mech hand.

  Kincaid.

  Ava shivered a little, her body relaxing. Everything hurt, including her sprained wrist. Kincaid had bound it up earlier in a sling, but for a blue blood, the only thing to do was wait. She'd be fully healed in a day or two.

  "Sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you." He blew on the end of the taper, extinguishing the small flame. "I know you don't like the dark."

  And so he'd been making sure she wouldn't wake in it. His care toward her was almost... sweet, if one were trying to find the right word. Sweet and Kincaid were two words she would never have put together until now.

  He dragged a stool closer to the bed, resting his elbows on the coverlet, though he watched her carefully. "How are you feeling?"

  "I'm not going to attack you," she blurted, tucking the covers up under her chin.

  He blinked. "I know."

  "I just...."

  His hand captured hers, warmth cocooning her. "I know," he repeated, and squeezed gently. "You were hurt and injured, and you needed blood. I'm starting to understand that. I wish I'd been able to donate. I wish...."

  Ava squeezed her eyes shut, licking dry lips. The worst part of that morning's escapade was the fact now she wanted more of it. One taste and she craved hot, sweet blood. All these months she'd been telling herself her protein solution could sustain her, but it was nothing like the real thing. She felt like something dark had awoken inside her, and now it burned there, whispering seductive thoughts to her.

  Like how close Kincaid sat, the scent of his cologne acting like an aphrodisiac. She wasn't certain whether she wanted to bite him—or kiss him. The urge rode through her body like a carpenter's file over her nerves. She couldn't help shifting, her thighs rubbing together temptingly. Wanting. Craving.

  Blood and ashes. She was far too alive, far too aware, far too... hungry. For something, anything.

  He was still talking. "...I'm so sorry, Ava. So sorry. You were right about the caterpillar mushroom. About using it as a weapon. Innocent people would die. You nearly died, and I would cut my own heart out before I ever let you get hurt."

  "It's all right. I know you weren't thinking of the consequences—you saw only the possibilities, only the cause you sacrificed your life to."

  He drew her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her fingers. "They took everything from me," he whispered hoarsely. "They killed my sister, turned her into something I didn't even recognize, and she couldn't live with that anymore. She killed herself. And I've hated blue bloods for so long, it's hard to realign my thinking. But seeing you like that today.... Jaysus. I couldn't do anything to help you. And you're lucky. So lucky your heart is made of clockwork."

  She looked away, haunted by ghosts.

  "I nearly lost you," Kincaid breathed, and curled her hand in both of his. "And I didn't realize until that moment how much you meant to me. How much losing you would hurt."

  "It's okay," she whispered, stroking his hair from his brow. Her heart ticked inexorably on, but it felt like it should be racing. What did he mean by that? She felt like she stood on the precipice of a turning point, as though her future was suddenly very uncertain. "We had a lucky turn of events, and now we know what the caterpillar mushroom does to a blue blood."

  "You were still coughing blood before you went to sleep."

  "I'm fine," she whispered. "I feel normal again."

  Dark lashes obscured Kincaid's eyes as he glanced down, his thumb pausing right there on her vein. "I should have been the one to offer my blood."

  What? She sat up a little straighter. Of all the things to say.... Couldn't he see how on edge she was? "No."

  "You don't want my blood?"

  "No... I... Yes. Yes, of course." Plague him. "Who else is here?"

  "Malloryn's returned home," he replied gently, "possibly to dwell on what you told us about the attack. Jack's in the basement I think, and I'm not sure if Charlie's around. He often goes out at night, and Malloryn wanted a report on what people are saying about the attack. Apart from that...." His expression suddenly froze, as if he'd finally caught the thread of where she was going with this line of questioning. Then he relaxed. "You're safe, Ava. I know you're not going to attack me, if that's what you're afraid of."

  Safe? What a fool he was. She could still feel it brewing within her, a darkness full of hungry teeth. Maybe she had survived the caterpillar mushroom, but at what cost? For she didn't feel normal. She felt like all her safe trappings had been ripped away, and she was unmoored from her sanctuary.

  She felt angry, and hungry, and not at all herself.

  It was like living through those first horrible weeks when she'd been stricken with the craving and her body changed, flooding her with desires she'd never felt before. When lust became an all-consuming thought, and all she could think about was blood.

  "Well, I don't know that!" Ava cried, feeling her vision drop from color to black-and-white shadows. She could hear his heart pounding. "If I let myself go for just one second... maybe I would be the monster you fear? Maybe I'd—"

  Strong arms went around her. "You're not a monster, Ava. You just don't have it in you."

  She fought against him for a second, but the warmth of his body was so damned sweet. Ava pressed her face into his shoulder. Don't let me go. Please, don't ever let me go. But beneath that sweetness was a restless ache. Ava cradled her sprained wrist carefully against him, breathing in his cologne. "I'm scared."

  Today had terrified her, taking her straight back into the past. Being paralyzed was almost worse than anything Hague had done to her, for while she'd thought his chains and the straps tying her down made her helpless, she'd still been in some semblance of control of her body. "I couldn't move," she whispered. "I couldn't move my body. I couldn't even cry out."

  "Hush, sweetheart." He kissed her cheek, his roughened stubble rasping against her. "You're safe now. You can move. Your body's your own."

  But the fear remained. Ava grabbed a handful of Kincaid's hair, pressing her forehead against his. Her body was her own again. She was in control, and what she wanted was to make that clear—to herself.

  She shoved him onto his back, and Kincaid hit the bed with a startled noise. He blinked up at her. "Ava, luv."

  But she set both hands firmly on his chest and straddled him, her nightgown riding up around her thighs. Kincaid cursed under his breath, capturing her wrist with his human hand, his mech hand resting lightly on her thigh. "Ava, just what's going on?" Kincaid's whisper made the devil sound like a saint.

  He knew, damn him.

  "I'm tired of being treated like I'm made of porcelain," she whispered.

  Thought shadowed his gaze, and it dropped to her lips. "You had a fr
ight today—"

  "Don't you dare!" she snapped.

  The outburst startled both of them.

  "I don't need to be wrapped in swaddling clothes, or treated as though I'm fragile." Maybe she had once, but she'd healed enough now. And that feeling of discontent brewed deep within her. She felt like she'd stayed in stasis for the past few years, and she was so damned tired of it she wanted to smash something. "You promised me an affair. You promised me experience, damn it, and to this point there's been far too much talking and not enough actually doing. And I haven't forgotten what you said yesterday, but right now, I need you. I need you."

  "I don't want to take advantage of your emotions," Kincaid ground out, a flush of heat igniting along his cheekbones. His mech hand tickled her thigh, the smooth metal pads of his fingertips cool against her skin. "And if you want to pretend today didn't cost you something, then you can, but the black in your eyes reveals the lie of that. Today was the first time you've taken blood in months. Don't deny it didn't affect you."

  "I'm not...." She pressed her lips firmly together. "I don't want blood now."

  "Then why—"

  "Because I want you! That's why my god-cursed eyes are black! Because I want you to touch me, and it hurts." Her hands clenched in her nightgown. "My skin feels like I'm wearing roughened hessian sackcloth over it. Everything aches. Everything. I want... I want you to bed me."

  Kincaid looked taken aback.

  She never raised her voice. She never yelled. "I'm sorry—"

  The devil actually laughed, his entire body shaking. Ava glared down at him, feeling the darkness roll through her. "Stop it! Stop laughing at me!"

  Kincaid reached up, grabbing hold of the back of her head as he rose. "I'm not laughing at you."

  And then he kissed her.

  Ava moaned into his mouth, her tongue darting over his, and her hands curling in his shirt, desperate for the feel of his body. The steel of his erection pressed against her inner thigh, and his arms captured her against his chest, her breasts pressing against the hard slab of his pectorals.

  Then they were rolling, and Ava found herself beneath him, her thighs spreading as his weight pushed her into the mattress. Kincaid captured her mouth greedily, as if today had been just as frightening for him and he needed reaffirmation. Her body came alive, restless and driven by the primal hunger within her. Ava moaned, and sank her fists into his hair, silently demanding more.

  "Ava." Half-groan, half-surrender. "Merciful heavens, you're so fucking perfect."

  His hand slid down to cup her hip, and then he thrust against her, and the shock of his hard cock pressing against her clitoris made her flinch.

  Kincaid froze, as if he'd felt it.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, fingers splaying across his back to keep him there. "I didn't mean it. It was just... the surprise. The feeling of it."

  She wanted more, but she didn't know how to ask for it.

  "Don't apologize then. I want you to speak your mind when you're with me. And I think I'm starting to finally understand you," he rasped, looking down at her. "The past few years you've kept all your desires under lock and key, haven't you? No blood. No sex." He punctuated this statement with a taunting rock of his hips. Ava's mind went blank, and she clutched at his upper arms, desperate for him to push against her again. But he hadn't finished. Kincaid's stubble rasped against her jaw, and he bit her earlobe. "You said you wanted to experience passion, and I think it's more than that. I think something inside you chafes at the control. Everyone thinks you're sweetness and light, but I think there's something in there that's a little bit dark. I think some part of you wants to be naughty." He licked her ear, making her writhe. "It wants to unleash itself and do wicked, wicked things. I think there's a passionate woman inside you, and she's tired of being locked away. She's tired of being polite, and letting other people have their way while she sips her protein solution. She wants to yell at me, and dig her nails into my back while I kiss her, doesn't she?"

  Ava shivered. He couldn't be right, could he? "It's dangerous to let myself lose control. You, of all people, should know that."

  Kincaid reared up onto his hands and knees, staring down at her. She started to sit up in protest, but he pressed a hand flat between her breasts and pushed her back down. "Don't move," he told her, with a wicked gleam in his blue eyes.

  A thrill ran through her. "What are you doing?"

  "Maybe there's a way for you to experience passion, and still keep control?" Reaching out, he tugged gently on the little bow at her neckline, pulling each string loose.

  And suddenly she was aware of just how little she was wearing.

  Ava didn't dare say a thing. Her body was on edge, trembling just a little. Her wrists were pressed to the mattress in silent submission. She was terribly aware if she said something she might break the spell and then he'd stop, and she didn't want him to stop. Not at all.

  "Did you know," he said, almost conversationally, "I'm the only person you ever yell at?"

  "I'm so—"

  His fingertip pressed against her lips, stilling the words. "No. Don't apologize for that, Ava. I like it when you get angry, because you let me see the real you. I'm not interested in a passionless automaton. I want you. I want the Ava that hides within, the Ava I see in your eyes whenever I say anything idiotic and you glare at me. And I want her, because nobody else ever gets to see her."

  Slowly, he dragged his finger from her lips, down her throat and lower, parting her ravaged neckline and tickling across the silk-slick surface of the scar between her breasts.

  He paused there, and Ava froze. She could almost feel his eyes locking on the heavy scar between her breasts. Hague's mark. Grabbing her nightgown, she tried to draw both edges together, but Kincaid caught her wrists and forced them back to the mattress.

  "I said, don't move." This time his voice was smoke-roughened. It pulled at things inside her.

  "I hate it."

  He bent his head as if to examine the scar, and Ava turned her face away. "I don't," he whispered, and the hot flick of his tongue across her scar made her suck in a sharp breath. "If you didn't have a clockwork heart, then you would have died today. It's a part of you now, angel, and there's not a damned inch of you that's not perfect."

  Ava sucked in a deep breath. His mouth parted and she could feel it pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses between her breasts.

  "Kincaid." She grabbed his hair, and lifted his mouth to hers. His body drove her down into the mattress again, but he captured her lips and suddenly she couldn't think.

  It all felt so very, very good.

  Ava ached, her nipples chafing beneath the press of her linen nightgown, her unbound breasts peculiarly heavy and... aware. Some part of her wanted to reach for his hand and place it there. To arch into his touch and beg for more. Ava slid her hands beneath the shirt he wore, drinking in the sensation of his bare skin beneath her palms. All her blood seemed to stampede into her head, leaving her light-headed and swaying against him. She kissed his jaw, her lips stinging with the scrape of his stubble, then lower, her tongue darting out to taste the beckoning kick of his pulse, and then—

  More kisses.

  More of those delightfully shiver-inducing caresses as his lips made their way down her neck.

  More....

  Unbidden, the images from the art gallery sprang to mind. A woman on her back, her thighs spread like a luxurious banquet as some man feasted between them. A woman on her hands and knees, a hand arching her head back as the swarthy figure behind her thrust his way between those thighs.

  Heat filled her cheeks. The color in the room dropped away. And suddenly Ava was fighting against the dark nature of the predator within her, but this time it didn't want blood. This time it wanted flesh, wanted to submit beneath the rough steel and warm skin of this man's hands.

  And this time, she wanted to let it rule her.

  Ava sucked in a sharp breath. Kincaid's body aligned with hers so thoroughly she kne
w she was blushing again. There was something hard against her hip, his belt buckle digging into her belly. The sensation set off some sort of wild feeling within her, the craving surging through her veins. Yes. She bared her teeth, tilting her face away from him as urges she'd never felt before beat sharply in her heart.

  "If I lose control, then stop me," she blurted.

  She could feel him smile against the side of her breast. "I promise. You're safe here, Ava. You're the one who dictates how far this goes, but I'm in control."

  Kincaid reared up on his knees, reaching over his head to drag his shirt off. He tossed it aside, revealing a massive chest sprinkled with dark hair. Scars marred his smooth skin here and there, and Ava lay back in pliant surrender as she looked her fill. She'd seen naked men before, but not like this. The reality of Kincaid in the flesh was quite shocking. She knew what his mech arm looked like, and the ragged, puckered scar where the limb had been taken didn't so much mar him as enhance the dangerous perfection of him. But it was the rest of him that made her eyes round.

  He wasn't built like the men she knew, with narrow hips and broad shoulders that tapered to a V at the waist. He was huge, with hard knotted cords of muscle that raked his abdomen, and a deeply chiseled V at the hips that plunged into his trousers. The firm press of his erection left her slightly breathless. Hidden away, it still seemed enormous and vaguely threatening.

  Ava swallowed.

  All that stood between them was her flimsy nightgown and his trousers. And suddenly it wasn't enough.

  "Nervous?" he whispered, leaning over her, one hand on either side of her head.

  The bed dipped beneath her. "No."

  "Liar." A chuckle ripped through him as he leaned down, nuzzling at her jaw. "One of the things I like most about you, sweetheart, is the fact you can't hide a damned thing from me."

  His kiss tickled. She shivered, her hands drawn up between them, hovering there indecisively.

  She couldn't stop thinking of that image in the gallery, of the man's straining erection. Her cheeks burned.

  "You're not ready," Kincaid murmured, his lips skating across her cheek, then her lips.