To Catch A Rogue (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy Book 4)

by Bec McMaster

  He couldn’t see Sergey’s chest, just the white spot, but he focused in upon it, blocking out everything as he squeezed the trigger.

  Pain struck him in the left pectoral, an inch from his heart.

  But blood exploded from the direct center of Sergey's chest and his body slammed backwards, striking the floor.

  The splatter of blood all over his chest was not normal for a blue blood.

  Sergey didn't move.

  Obsidian lowered the pistol, his ears ringing from the retort. The court stayed still. Silent.

  And then a woman screamed.

  One of the duchesses beside Gemma clapped her hands to her mouth. "Krov' svyatogo."

  "But they were supposed to be regular bullets," he said, the words draining into the buzzing.

  Sergey's friend had been closer to Sergey than the others, and knelt at his side, pressing his fingers to the pulse in his throat.

  Long moments ticked out as the entire court seemingly held its breath.

  The man looked up, directly at Obsidian, his face filled with horror. "He's dead."

  The manor house was as still as a crypt, but it had been the last time they'd broken in, so Charlie didn't presume it was entirely empty.

  Same stink. Same creaking floorboards. He kept his pistol in his hand, just in case, and he was carrying exploding rounds that Jack had doctored in London.

  Nikolai's lip curled. "Upyr reek."

  "Smells like a corpse in the hot sun for a week."

  They crept along the passages as Nikolai’s men examined each and every room, moving like a team of shadows. The glint of moonlight reflected back off Chiyoh’s katana as she silently directed them.

  Charlie and Nikolai paused at the next intersection of hallways, waiting for the all clear.

  "You are my sister's man?" Nikolai murmured.

  Hell. He hadn't really been expecting this conversation, but Blade was three doors away with Lark, so Charlie found himself unexpectedly alone with the man who led the Black Wolves.

  "I’m going to marry her one day, yes."

  "Does she know this?"

  "I’ve told her several times, so it should hopefully be sinking in."

  Nikolai gave him a long, slow look. "You are not the man I would expect Irina to choose."

  "Why? No aristocrats in my bloodlines? No princely blood running through his veins? You’d be surprised, but your sister wants to be loved. Not bartered off to the highest bidder, in case you were thinking about it. Besides, you don’t get a say."

  "I suppose you think you do?"

  "No." Charlie shrugged. "I can ask, but it is and always will be Lark’s choice. And I’m not afraid of her answer. I know her in a way you never will."

  The glare was almost the same, hazel eyes narrowing thinly in an I will cut you kind of way.

  "Sorry, Prince, but I’ve been dealing with your sister for eight years. You’re going to have to try harder than that to intimidate me. You look very scary, I’m sure, but she’s mean."

  The faintest of smiles flashed across Nikolai’s mouth, there and then gone again. Would wonders never cease?

  "I think I begin to understand now." Nikolai pulled something out of his pocket and snapped it open. A locket, by the look of it. He handed it to Charlie. "When this is all over, give her this. Tell her I'm sorry I can't be what she wants me to be, but maybe this will make up for it."

  Charlie glanced at the portrait inside, and then snapped his head up sharply. "Is this—?"

  "My maternal grandfather," Nikolai replied. "Irina and I share different mothers, so it's highly likely she's never seen his portrait before."

  Hell. "Did you kn—"

  Claws skittered over the timber floorboards, and an instant chill prickled down his spine. Charlie shoved the locket inside the pocket of his waistcoat and reached for his pistol. He was packing Firebolt bullets; the second they struck the target, the two chemicals inside them would mix, and the result was a fist-sized hole punched through a vampire. Honoria made them in her spare time, and she’d packed an entire tray of them in Blade’s belongings.

  "Ready?" he mouthed at Nikolai.

  The prince tipped his head to Charlie.

  Pressing his back to the wall, he inched his way closer to the sound.

  A woman strode through the entry hall, her black eye patch looking particularly morbid tonight. Had to be the mysterious Jelena. There were five men behind her, wearing the same rugged black that Nikolai’s Chernyye Volki wore. Nikolai had admitted that some of the Black Wolves served Sergey, and through him, Balfour.

  "What do we have here?" she called, clucking her tongue like a governess scolding her charges. "Did you not get your fill of Upyr the other night?"

  Charlie locked his pistol right on the center of her chest.

  He could sense Nikolai at his side and the men who served him fanning out around them. They had the numbers, but the vampire not only evened the odds, but turned them in the other direction. Considerably. It would take all of them to subdue it, or perhaps a lucky shot, and that wasn’t accounting for Jelena.

  Bad odds, no matter which way he looked at it, but hopefully she’d take his bluff.

  "We’re here for Malloryn and Ava," he called.

  "Seize them," Jelena commanded, snapping her fingers.

  Charlie balanced on the balls of his feet, prepared to pull the trigger.

  But it was the blow to the back of his head that made him reel.

  He went down on one knee as a pair of Black Wolves grabbed him by the upper arms, the pistol skittering helplessly from his fingers. The scent of blood filled the air, and his head pounded. Nikolai stepped to the side, a heavy steel baton in his hand.

  "Sorry," Nikolai said. "But I reconsidered your offer."

  "Lark?" Charlie looked for her, only to find her struggling in the hands of another pair of Black Wolves.

  The sounds of a scuffle tore through the pulsing beat of blood in his ears.

  Blade remained free, a pair of fallen Wolves at his feet and his cutthroat razors in his hands. Putting his back to the wall, he waved them threateningly at a pair of Wolves, but he was clearly outnumbered and knew it. His eyes flashed black as they locked with Charlie's.

  "Put your razors up," Nikolai demanded, cocking his pistol and putting the muzzle of it directly to Charlie's temple.

  "You son of a bitch," Charlie gasped.

  Blade's lips thinned. "'Ow do I know you won't 'urt the boy if I do?"

  "You don't," Nikolai said, in his cold, whisper-soft voice. "But if you do not, then your man is dead."

  Blade was the Devil of Whitechapel.

  Powerful. Invincible. Undefeated by any man.

  But he also had his weaknesses.

  "Your sister’d never forgive me." Blade dropped his razors to the floor, and the two Wolves on either side of him grabbed his arms.

  "Lemme go!" Kincaid roared, and Charlie looked up to see both he and Herbert being manhandled into the room by another group of Wolves.

  One of them tossed Kincaid to his knees next to Charlie. "Sorry," the burly mech said. "They got the jump on us."

  "Likewise."

  "No chance of rescue now." Heels echoed on the stairs as Jelena sauntered down them, the vampire straining at the leash. "Excellent work, Koschei. You will be well rewarded for this."

  "All I want is the territories Sergey promised me and command over the Volki."

  "You’ll have them," she purred.

  "Nikolai?" Lark whispered.

  The Black Wolf smiled, the rasp of a match flaring in the darkness as he lit his ever-present cheroot. "Sorry, little bird. But this is the Blood."

  "And Nikolai knows which side of his bread is buttered," Jelena said in thickly accented English.

  Chapter 27

  "You son of a bitch!" Lark snarled as one of Nikolai's men hauled her toward him, kicking and fighting. "You treacherous snake!"

  Nikolai ignored her, striding to meet Jelena. "You have the duke secured
?"

  "Yes."

  The vampire lunged on the edge of its leash, smelling the blood that dripped from the gash on the back of Charlie’s head.

  "Soon, my precious," she cooed, stroking its bald, flaking head. "Perhaps you could have a taste of this one…."

  She edged toward Charlie.

  "Do you think that wise?" Nikolai asked, eyeing the creature with distaste.

  "Squeamish?" Jelena asked him.

  "I know you think it tamed," he replied, "but once it gets a taste of blood it won’t stop."

  "We’ll see."

  "And I thought you were trying to break the duke? What better way than to show him his captured rescuers?" Nikolai ground the cheroot beneath his heel. "He thinks they’re coming to save him. Why not let it eat the lad in front of him? It will also be safer there, down in the cells, in case it loses control."

  "Don’t you dare!" Lark kicked out, downing the man holding her. "Charlie!"

  He reached for her, but Lark was jerked back, a fist in the back of shirt hauling her to her knees.

  Nikolai squatted in front of her and captured her jaw in his gloved hand, squeezing. "Don’t make me kill you right here. Behave, and I might cut your throat before she throws you in the cell with that vampire."

  "I curse you," she whispered. "I don’t know what they did to you, but you’re a monster."

  "Yes," he whispered, "I am. You would be wise to remember that."

  "Ah, poor girl," Jelena chuckled. "You’re breaking her heart, Koschei. Come. Let us show Malloryn how close he came to being rescued."

  Lark was thrown to her knees in the stone cellars, pain searing through her flesh as Charlie cursed beside her. There was no sign of the duke in the room. Only an enormous steel sarcophagus in the center, its face carved with a demon screaming in agony.

  The smell of blood came from within, and drops of crimson dripped from the bottom of the sarcophagus.

  There was someone inside it.

  Nikolai circled the sarcophagus. "Is he dead?"

  Jelena caressed the device, almost lovingly. She’d put the vampire in the cell opposite them and it paced the bars, its scaled tongue tracing its lips as it smelled the blood. Lark shuddered. Jelena hadn’t yet decided which one of them she intended to throw in with it first.

  Maybe both, she’d said with a dangerous smile. Young lovers dying in each others arms…. How sweet.

  "Not yet. He will wish he is though. My Iron Maiden can break the hardest spirit."

  Horror filled Lark. She didn’t know this Malloryn, this duke, but Charlie had been so determined to rescue him she almost felt a kinship. What kind of tortures had he endured?

  "Wake up, Malloryn," Jelena said, laughing as she knocked on the sarcophagus. "I have brought you another gift."

  The crank on the side of the sarcophagus turned and a shuddering sound came from within. Malloryn grunted.

  "An inch," Jelena noted, checking the control panels on the side of the device. "It almost seems a shame to let him out."

  She yanked on the crank, hit several buttons, and steam hissed from the sarcophagus as the lid shifted.

  Malloryn screamed, and as the lid lifted, Lark could make out the hundreds of silver-tipped iron spikes retreating into the lid.

  Suddenly, "an inch" made perfect sense.

  "I’ve brought you a gift, Malloryn." Jelena caressed his face, her fingers coming away bloody. She licked them. "Open your eyes and look who I have captured."

  "You bitch," Charlie whispered, at Lark's side. "You evil bitch."

  Jelena turned to face him, her remaining eye glittering coldly. "That is enough from you. Balfour does not need you living." She drew her pistol and Lark screamed as she slammed her shoulder into him, hammering him to the floor—

  It all happened so quickly.

  The pistol fired, the bullet whizzing past Lark's temple.

  Jelena cursed under her breath in thick, guttural Russian, but Nikolai grabbed her by the throat and slammed her back into the sarcophagus. His fist punched into her side, coming away bloodied. Something silver glittered in his hand.

  The pair of them grappled, and Nikolai stabbed her again before she threw him across the room. He rolled, coming up onto one knee and drawing a pistol from within his waistcoat smoothly.

  Jelena’s eye lit with fury. "You traitor! I will kill you for this!"

  "You will try," Nikolai replied, shooting her right in the center of her chest.

  The Black Wolves with him leaped forward, surrounding Jelena, knives flashing and blood flying. Charlie hauled Lark to her feet, and she drew her knife.

  "Excellent acting," Chiyoh said, drawing her katana. "I almost believed the pair of you myself."

  "Thanks," Charlie said, with a wink at Nikolai. "And thanks for not hitting me too hard."

  "Hurry up and get him out!" Nikolai snarled. "Before that vampire gets the scent of blood."

  Charlie staggered to the sarcophagus, his eyes fighting to make sense of what was within.

  Blood covered the duke from head to toe, welling from the hundreds of holes in his skin. Not an inch of him had been safe from the spikes.

  "I’ve got you," he breathed as he met Malloryn’s eyes. There was nothing human left in them, only the blackness of the craving. "It’s Charlie. You’re safe. You’re safe now."

  He picked the locks of the manacle strapping Malloryn’s right wrist down as the duke’s chest heaved, lips spewing blood as he coughed. Though he’d been wearing clothes at one stage, most of them were shredded and bloodied.

  The duke bared his teeth. "Don’t… free me."

  His fingers curled into claws and Charlie could see how much he was fighting himself right now.

  "I need blood!" Charlie snapped over his shoulder.

  Lark appeared, thrusting her flask at him. Her eyes widened when she caught a glimpse of the duke. "Oh."

  "Give me some space," Charlie requested, unscrewing the flask and tipping it to Malloryn’s lips. He eased his hand behind Malloryn’s head and helped him to lift.

  The duke was a powerful, private man. He wouldn’t want anyone seeing him like this.

  Malloryn drained the entire flask dry.

  There was another thrust over his shoulder, and he set that to the duke’s lips too. Malloryn’s right arm clutched at his shoulder, his fingers clenching in Charlie’s shirt like a child’s.

  "We’ve got you," Charlie told him, again and again. "You’re safe now."

  Malloryn finally broke away, pushing at the flask. "Where’s Ava?" he asked. "Have you freed her yet?"

  "Where is she?"

  "Cellar."

  Charlie turned and looked at Kincaid and Lark. He couldn’t leave Malloryn, not like this. Though the duke had slaked some of his thirst, the blackness overwhelming his irises hadn’t faded. He was still dangerous.

  "We’ve got her," Lark said, grabbing Kincaid’s hand. "Come on. There’s nothing we can do here. Let’s go rescue Ava."

  The pair of them dashed away as Charlie leaned in and hauled Malloryn into his arms. Blood welled, and the duke thrashed weakly as Charlie dragged his mauled body off the iron spikes in the bottom of the machine.

  He couldn’t let himself dwell on what it would have been like to be trapped in there for weeks. The duke was almost as tall as he was, and had been in prime fighting condition the last time he’d seen him, but starvation and blood loss had stripped any remaining softness from Malloryn’s bulk. His cheekbones were all sharp edges, his eyes black with rage.

  "Set me down," Malloryn rasped, determined to be dignified despite the horrendous pain he must be in.

  Charlie eased him onto his feet, and the duke leaned heavily upon him.

  "’Ere," Blade said, swinging his coat off and draping it over Malloryn’s shoulders. He offered his own flask. "You’ll need more blood."

  "The others?"

  "At Balfour’s palace. They’re distracting him. We needed the time to get you out safely," Charlie replied. "How are y
ou feeling?"

  "You fucking traitors!" Jelena screamed as several of the Black Wolves lifted her by her arms and legs.

  "Better," Malloryn spat, his black eyes locking upon her.

  "Perhaps a taste of your own medicine, Jelena," Nikolai said coldly, holding the sarcophagus lid open. "Put her in."

  Kicking and screaming, she writhed like a cut cat as they hauled her inside the Iron Maiden and strapped her down with the manacles that had recently trapped the duke.

  The lid swung shut, Jelena alternating between begging for mercy and promising them all a gruesome death the second she got free.

  Despite everything, bile rose in Charlie’s throat. It was one thing to offer a clean death, quite another to allow her to suffer in this monstrosity as she’d made others suffer.

  He took a step forward, but Blade grabbed him by the shoulder.

  "’E needs vengeance, lad," Blade murmured. "Let ’im be."

  "Wait."

  The hoarse word came from Malloryn’s throat.

  Nikolai tilted his head. "You wish to do honors, da?"

  Malloryn bared his bloodied teeth, and staggered toward the machine. He grabbed the crank. "I’d like nothing better."

  And then he hauled it all the way down.

  Chapter 28

  They questioned Obsidian for hours as Sergey's body was taken to his room to be cleansed and washed for his last rites.

  This was the dangerous part, for he was trapped by a pair of angry courtiers determined to get to the bottom of Sergey's death, with only Lord Barrons to speak for him.

  "No, I did not see anything wrong with the pistol. It was on a tray, and I paid no attention to the bullets within it," he said, many times. "I don't know what was wrong with the bullet!"

  "Yes, we were enemies, but I did not plan to kill him. I wanted to beat him. I wanted to win his stupid game."

  "It was not my idea! Sergey was the one who challenged me! How could I have planned such a thing?"

  "Are we done here?" Barrons finally asked. "My man has answered your questions many times, and unless you wish to bring charges of murder against him, I'll remind you that you are questioning a servant of the British Empire. You had best be very certain of his guilt before you cast such an aspersion upon one of my queen's subjects."