by Bec McMaster
"Adele said there were maps," Gemma breathed. "I need light, Charlie."
Charlie shook the phosphorescent glimmer ball to brighten it again. The ghostly green glow cast just enough light across the small private study to see that someone had cleaned the desk.
No map. No schematics.
"He's locked the desk," Lark whispered, already kneeling in front of it with her lock pick. A faint click and she eased the draw open.
There were papers inside. A hollow leather tube to protect something large. Lark handed him the tube, then started rifling carefully through the papers.
He eased a roll of schematics from the tube and unrolled them across the desk. Sharply drawn lines furled across the paper.
It looked like the small control chip they'd removed from Obsidian's head several months ago that had forced him to do Balfour's bidding.
"Is it—?"
"No." Gemma frowned at the specifications. "It's not the neural regulating implant. I examined the one they took from my head. This is different." She ran her fingers across the paper, tracing the name at the top. "The Prometheus Project. I wish we'd brought Kincaid or Jack. They might be able to recognize what it does."
"Can you draw it for them?"
"I should be able to recreate it, yes."
Charlie took a step toward the bookcase, and the floorboard beneath his foot depressed.
Downstairs came the sudden loud bonging of the grandfather clock, just once. Easing his weight back sent the noise crashing through the house again, and he took three swift steps away from the loose floorboard.
All three of them looked at each other, and then Charlie tugged his pocket watch from his pocket. "It's twenty minutes past the hour."
Gemma swiftly rolled the schematics back into place and slid them inside the tube. "He's rigged the study. Hurry. We need to put everything back."
A low grinding sound echoed through the room.
Shit. Charlie lunged toward the fireplace and jammed his boot between it and the wall. Something clicked, as if the mechanism was trying to force it closed.
"Gem," he rasped, wincing as the bones in his foot creaked.
Gemma slid to the ground at his feet, peering down into the solid iron turntable the fireplace rested on. She drove a knife between the cogs, and Charlie managed to ease his foot free as the clockwork mechanism groaned.
"How the hell do we get out of here?" There was no window in the room.
"Can you reverse the clockwork mechanism?" Gemma asked, thrusting the glimmer ball low so he could see the mechanism.
"I can barely fucking see it."
"Reach through the door and see if you can depress the sun symbol," Lark hissed.
Charlie did, groping in the darkness. Instantly, the fireplace ground to a halt.
The glimmer ball was fading into darkness as Lark hastily returned everything to its right place. She shoved the drawer shut and locked it.
"How strong are you?" Gemma asked.
Charlie threw his shoulder against the fireplace, and it creaked wider. One inch. Two. The strain was immense.
"Can you fit?" he gasped.
Gemma tried to wedge herself through. "Half of me."
It was the top half causing her trouble.
He jammed his boots against the fireplace as it strained to close, forcing the gap to widen. Gemma vanished into the main study.
"Lark!"
His fiancée dashed toward him, sliding between his legs and through the narrowing gap. Charlie threw himself clear and the fireplace groaned as it closed with a hollow, resolute thump.
Lights were flickering on in the house as Gemma slipped out the window. Footsteps hurried up the stairs. He snatched a gold paperweight off the desk and shoved everything else to the floor, to make it look like they'd been ransacking the main study.
"Just like old times," Lark said, flashing him a grin as she followed Gemma.
Just before the study door flung open, Charlie threw himself through the window, hitting the ground and rolling.
Dogs set up barking.
The window sash slammed up and someone shoved their head through the opening. "Stop! Thieves!"
But the three of them were well away.
"Let go of me!" Adele cried, trying to kick Corvus in the shins as he hauled her through a narrow passage hidden behind a veil of ivy, and into the dark.
He'd stripped her hemlock ring from her finger and found the small knife she had hidden up her sleeve.
Without them, Adele was as good as defenseless.
"You don't want to cross my husband! He knows I'm here. I told him I was going to come and if I don't return home—"
"You think Malloryn gives a damn about you?" Corvus snarled, shoving her up a flight of stairs. "You're a means to an end, Adele. And you'll be returned to your nice, safe warm bed in the end. A pity it won't be in one piece."
She tried to dart under his arm, but he slammed a palm straight into her chest. The blow winded her, and then a hand closed around her upper arm and she was dragged up the rest of the stairs and thrown through a small door.
Every inch of her ached as the door slammed behind her.
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't escape the clasp of her corset around bruised ribs. But somehow, the sound of that lock clicking shut sent a chill down her spine, and she forced herself to scramble onto her knees and turn to face her worst nightmare.
Corvus's cloak flared around his boots as he stalked toward her.
"Did you think you'd escape me forever?" he demanded. "Did you think Malloryn was the answer to your prayers? I'm a patient man, you little slut. No one has ever drawn my blood before, and I'll be damned if you think you can get away with it."
"He'll kill you," she rasped as he slammed her back into the desk. "Malloryn will not let this stand!"
"He's not going to be a problem for much longer. I was going to wait another week until this was all done, but with Devoncourt flaunting you right in front of me, the opportunity seemed too good to resist." Gripping her chin in one hand, he forced her head back, baring her throat. "Stop struggling, you cursed bitch."
Never.
She strained to see what he was doing.
Dragging his bleeding kit from inside his coat—the little case every blue blood carried to bleed their thralls—he slapped it on the desk and tugged it open. Steel gleamed beneath the gaslight, and Adele kicked furiously.
Not like this.
She'd escaped this life by marrying Malloryn.
Six months of freedom from the worry of being stalked by those like Corvus, who didn't give a damned whether she protested. A tear leaked from her eye as the razor edge of the flechette he held sliced across her vein, and hot blood splashed free.
The press of his body ground her against the desk, and then his dead fish mouth was locked around her throat, taking what did not belong to him. Adele raked her nails down his arms, but she might as well be wrestling with steel cables.
The kit.
Her hand flung out, reaching blindly as she gave a low, whimpering moan. Somehow her hand closed around one of his little knives.
Adele drove it into his eye.
Corvus screamed, rearing back from her with one hand clamped over the wound. Adele jerked away from him, but then his good eye locked on her, and she knew she was in trouble.
He lashed out with his blade, and the knife scored across her upper arm as she flailed backward, smashing into the desk. Slipping on the hem of her skirts, she went down, flat on her back, as Corvus advanced.
"I will kill you," he promised as he leaned over her.
And then there was something moving in the cathedral-like rafters.
A shadow opened dark wings above her, like a fallen angel plummeting from the heavens.
Adele thought she was seeing things, but as Corvus knelt to grab her, she realized it wasn't an angel.
It was Malloryn.
Malloryn.
He landed on the desk, boots slamming onto the timb
ers as Corvus's knife jerked against her shoulder in surprise. A single kick and Corvus's entire weight was flung back off her. Adele gasped, clutching at her bloodied throat as Malloryn went after him.
"Your Grace?" Byrnes appeared out of nowhere to help her to her feet. Behind him, Ingrid watched the fight with molten eyes.
"I'm fine." Adele dashed a hot tear from her eye, her hands shaking violently. There was blood all down the front of her pretty gown. On her hands. On her breasts.
Her blood.
"Allow me," Byrnes murmured, spitting on his fingers and then smearing his saliva quite liberally across the gash in her throat.
A disgusting gesture, but a kind one. The chemicals in his saliva would coagulate her blood and force the wound to heal.
"Here." Ingrid dragged her leather coat off and draped it around Adele's shoulders as Corvus's breath slammed out of him. "Don't watch."
"I want to."
The violence in the fight shocked her; she'd only ever seen Malloryn reclining in his library chair, or stalking the edges of a ballroom with watchful eyes. Even among the Company of Rogues, he was the one who gave the orders from the comfort of his safe house.
But Corvus was the one with the knife now.
It didn't seem to matter.
Malloryn didn't even bother to draw his own, and still he was beating the daylights out of her attacker. He dodged a lash of the knife, capturing Corvus's wrist and twisting it violently behind his back as he took the knife off the bastard. A fist to the back of the head drove Corvus into the wall, and he coughed teeth. A second blow slammed the lord's head into the stone with a sharp impact.
"He's going to kill him," she whispered.
"Malloryn knows what he's doing," Byrnes said. "He's cool, calm, exceptionally rational…."
He trailed off as Malloryn buried the knife up to the blade in Corvus's throat. The lord gagged, trying to pull it free, but it was driven right into the wall, pinning him there.
"You were saying?" Ingrid asked.
"Not so much fun when they can fight back, is it?" Malloryn tore Corvus's shirt and waistcoat right down the middle, baring his chest.
"I think the duke has been under a little bit of pressure of late," Ingrid said dubiously, hovering on the balls of her feet. "He's going to kill him."
"You want me to stop him?" Byrnes asked incredulously.
Adele closed her eyes. If Malloryn ended Corvus right here and now, she'd never have to look over her shoulder again. But.... "He knows something about Balfour's scheme. He seemed to think Malloryn wouldn't see the week out."
"Damn it. Easy now," Byrnes said, easing forward with slow, carefully placed steps. "Take the knife out of his throat, Your Grace. We don't want to kill him."
"Speak for yourself." Malloryn drove his hand beneath Corvus's ribs, right through his flesh. Corvus screamed, the sound muffled by Malloryn's other hand.
This time Adele looked away.
She found her face buried in Ingrid's shoulder as the other woman clutched her there.
"I have my hand around your heart, you bastard. I can feel it pulsing. I could rip it right out of your chest—"
"But we don't want to do that, because he might have valuable information," Byrnes soothed. "Trust me, Your Grace. I'm as shocked at this moment as you are. Me, being the voice of reason. Let his heart go. You can kill him later."
"Please," Adele whispered. "Please don't kill him just yet."
There was nothing of the Malloryn she knew in her husband's face.
His eyes were given over entirely to the hunger. Obsidian irises seemed to suck in every last vestige of light, until they were nothing more than black pits in the chiseled frame of his face.
"We don't have time, Malloryn," Ingrid said. "Dido could appear at any moment. Herbert's trying to extract Clara. We have to leave."
Malloryn's jaw locked tight.
And then he jerked the knife free of Corvus's throat, and the bloodied lord slumped to the ground unconscious.
"Deal with him," Malloryn said, turning away, his sleeves absolutely drenched in blood.
Byrnes flipped Corvus onto his front and hastily bound his arms behind him with his belt. "He's bleeding quite badly."
"He'll survive." Something dark and bloodthirsty settled over Malloryn's expression. "Blue bloods can survive almost anything, after all."
"All trussed up." Byrnes hauled Corvus to his feet. "Let's go."
"Not yet!" Adele gasped, and met Malloryn's blackened eyes. "Membership rolls! There must be a list here somewhere with all the names of Angel's Fall members. This is Balfour's recruiting scheme."
"I think Devoncourt will realize you're involved if his membership list goes missing," Byrnes said.
"They already knew."
Ingrid surveyed the spatter of blood on the floor. "But if we set fire to the place he won't know what we've taken."
"Good point." Malloryn started toward the lantern in the corner and set it on the desk. "If we find that list, we don't need Devoncourt," he said, tugging open drawers and rifling through sheaves of paper with his bloodstained hands. "I'll have proof enough to get a warrant passed through council. I can shut the Rising Sons down in one night and cut Balfour's allies in half."
Adele slammed an enormous ledger open, her heart skipping a beat as she found a list of names hidden in a secret compartment cut into the back of it. "Here," she said, her voice rising. "I think I've got it."
Malloryn tore it from her fingers, his expression tightening. "This is it. Let's get out of here."
He paused by Corvus. "And bring this prick. I'm not done with him yet."
"Are you all right?" Malloryn demanded as he helped Adele inside the carriage. Ingrid took one look at the pair of them and then shut the door, granting them some privacy.
Adele's hands shook, and her eyes were wide. She reeked of blood and smoke. "We succeeded in our endeavors, and that's all that matters. We have the list now. I'm fine."
"You're not fine." He reached out and took her hands in his, trying to rub warmth back into them. He could just make out the lick of flames in the distance, where Angel's Fall burned. So much for subterfuge. "I should never have sent you in there. You're untrained. You can barely defend yourself."
"That's why I have you," she whispered. "We weren't to know it was a trap. And you rescued me."
But what if I didn't make it in time?
He closed his eyes and fought the thought down, as the craving whispered through his veins. He was still raw and on edge, struggling to rein in the darkness inside himself. He'd never lost control like that, and there was a rather bothering sensation that lingered in his chest.
One that wanted to stop the carriage and rip Corvus down into the street where he could finish what he'd started.
One that insisted he hold her, just so he could feel the heat of her body against his and know she was safe.
One that demanded he claim her.
Right here.
Right now.
Fighting against the urge was taking everything he had in him, and he needed to have his head about him. Maybe if he just granted his hunger a little taste of what it wanted, it would be easier to restrain. Malloryn gave into the lesser of several evils.
Slipping onto the bench beside her, he eased her onto his lap. Adele rested her head on his shoulder with a grateful sigh. "I knew you were there. I knew you would come."
The utter belief in her voice left him a little breathless.
But it was the contented purring of the darkness inside him that left him on edge.
Troubling.
"So that was Dido," she whispered.
"Yes." He pressed a kiss to her hair, breathing in her familiar perfume. The tension in his chest eased a little more. "Can I ask you a question?"
Adele glanced up.
"It seemed as though Dido made a deal with Lord Corvus. He would grant her... something, in exchange for you."
Every inch of her stiffened.
"Is he the one who hurt you?"
He didn't need to know the answer. It was there in every line of her body. Adele burrowed her face back into the warmth of his coat, closing her eyes. "Yes."
Then he's a dead man.
"You'll never have to worry about him again," he promised, and for a second he was looking at a gray-tinted world as the craving roared through his veins. So much for controlling it.
Her fingers stroked the collar of his coat, and her voice was very small when she asked, "What are you going to do to him?"
Rip his fucking head off.
But that was not the correct answer. That was not what the Duke of Malloryn would do. It was what the monster inside him—stirred to protective lengths somehow—wanted to do.
Malloryn leaned into the caress of her fingers, easing out a steady breath.
Why did she affect him like this?
It was more than the usual protective urge he felt toward women.
More than Balfour's hovering presence.
No. This had everything to do with Adele, and nothing to do with Balfour's plots.
"Malloryn?" she whispered, brushing her thumb against his lip.
"I'm going to ask him a few questions," he managed to say. "And then I'm going to see that he is guillotined very, very publicly."
There was one nice thing about being friends with the queen.
"He'll hate that."
"I know."
"Good," she said, a little viciously.
But nothing about this situation was ‘good'.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Chapter 19
"Go to hell, Malloryn." Corvus spat a mouthful of bloodied mucus at him as Malloryn strode inside the cell he'd been granted inside Thorne Tower, home to political enemies, traitors, and criminals of the important kind. "I'm not going to tell you a damned thing."
The muscle in Malloryn's jaw ticked. Corvus had been the one who'd molested Adele the night she trapped him into marriage, and she'd managed to escape only by using a knife on him.
But he was no longer in the grip of the craving. No longer ruled by the hunger and the heat of his emotions.
Somehow, holding Adele in his arms all the way home had managed to soothe the raging beast inside him, so he could damned well start thinking again.