by Bec McMaster
man said under his breath. "Like we don't already
have enough in here."
"Kincaid," Gemma warned.
Ava stiffened, and Byrnes strolled toward the
window, hands clasped behind him. "By the scent
of oil and the whir of clockwork, I presume you're
a mech."
The word had once been an insult, before the
Uprising of 1880. Humans had been considered
cattle, useful only for their blood, and mechs—
those with mechanical limbs or clockwork organs
—even less. Once, there had been a line in the
sand: blue bloods versus humans and mechs. Taxes
to be paid in blood. Mechs to be imprisoned in the
enclaves, where they worked metal to repay the
gift of their clockwork organs or mechanical limbs.
Times had changed, or at least, they were
changing. Old hatreds, however, still lingered.
"Aye, I'm a mech. What of it?" Kincaid asked,
in a low, threatening tone as he found his feet.
Byrnes had an inch on the bastard, but Kincaid
more than made up for that in breadth. Muscle
rippled beneath his coat and bulged as the brute
flexed his forearms.
Byrnes simply clasped his hands behind him
and stared back. Ava would no doubt tell him later
that he was causing trouble, but sometimes he
simply couldn't help himself. "Nothing really. It
explains a great deal." Then he turned away and
ran his fingertips over the shelves, as though
dismissing the man.
"Aye, well—"
"Mr. Kincaid," Gemma mocked. "Pray don't
tell me that blue bloods make you uneasy."
Kincaid's voice flattened. "Not really. They
tend to bleed just as well as any other, only takes a
bit more sticking to finish the job."
"Gentlemen," Ava said firmly. When he
looked at her, she arched a brow behind her steel-
rimmed spectacles. "Byrnes." This was said
somewhat more warmly, with just a touch of
exasperation.
He held his arms out, as if to say, what?
"Well, don't you all wonder why we're here?"
Ava asked, including them all in her look. "I don't
think picking fights with each other is conducive to
anyone's cause."
"But hardly unexpected," Gemma declared,
with a faint snort of amusement. "After all, what
happens when you put four blue bloods and a mech
in a room together?"
"That sounds like the beginning of a good
joke," Charlie Todd declared.
"I just hope it's not on us." Ava sounded
nervous.
"Only thing is, we're missing one particular
species, if we want it to have a truly decent punch
line," Gemma replied.
"A verwulfen?" Charlie said with a grin.
The only one who didn't find that thought
amusing was Byrnes. His gut dropped through his
boots at the word. No.
"Let us hope not," Gemma said. "We already
have one hothead."
It continued, but Byrnes's attention had been
caught by something else. He could hear footsteps
padding behind the closed doors at the far corner
of the room, and a slither of shadow darkened the
door briefly, softening the air with scent.
Lilies.
And something else... something that was
becoming clearer as the day continued, as if the
overpowering scent of perfume was wearing away,
leaving a musky hint of something else.
Something... all woman.
No. Hell, no.
Every nerve in his body grew tight. Byrnes
stalked toward the door on silent feet, pressing his
fingertips against the paneling.
"Fuck me," Kincaid muttered.
From Ava, "Well, it stands to reason.
Verwulfen were cleared by the treaty too, you
know—"
"And what would we need one of them for?
It's not like this is a frigging alliance of any sort—"
Every one of Byrnes’s hunting senses was
alight. His mystery was beginning to clear up, and
it was drawing a conclusion that he didn't
particularly like. Not at all.
A light, husky laugh mocked him through the
door, and then movement danced in the room
beyond. Going. His prey was going.
Byrnes slipped through the doors before he
could think about it.
There was no one there. Only another door,
swinging shut slowly, and her scent, becoming
obnoxiously clearer the closer he got to her. He
knew that scent hiding beneath the perfume. It had
driven him crazy a year ago, when someone—the
Nighthawks’ guild master—had this smashing idea
about pairing him with an outside bounty hunter on
a case nobody could seem to solve. His bloody
case. The case he couldn't solve.
"Just work with her, Byrnes. She's good at
what she does, and she's an even better tracker
than you are." Garrett's voice echoed in his
memory.
Byrnes grit his teeth. Garrett had known he
worked better alone. He always had, and it got on
every one of his last nerves to know that not only
could he not find the answer in this particular case,
but that they expected that she would.
They’d lasted an entire day working together.
And then it became a competition.
"Bet I catch the killer first," that husky voice
whispered in his mind.
"I bet you I do," he'd shot back, and stepped
toward her, into her space. "And when I do, you're
going to get down on your knees and—"
"And?" she'd drawled, straightening a little,
her eyes lighting with a challenging fire.
It changed what he'd meant to say. “And kiss
my boots” had been his intention. That was not
what had come out. The instant he'd stated his
intentions she'd taken a step toward him, closing
that last inch between them, and reached up to
whisper in his ear.
"Be careful what you wish for, Byrnes." A
mocking finger traced over his shirt so lightly he
barely felt it, yet the not-quite touch sent a shiver
through him, and their eyes had met then, as
something more than words had been exchanged. "I
don't think you'll want my teeth anywhere near your
balls." A smile that gripped his cock like a vise.
"Not that that will ever happen, but it does add a
certain little incentive toward the case. When I
bring this bastard in, I have my own terms, and
you'll meet them."
"Name them." The shock of his sudden
interest had flared through him, and he'd caught her
wrist, stopping her hand just above the waistband
of his leather breeches.
"If I solve the case, then I get to tie you to my
bed, and do anything I desire to you. Anything at
all."
A mistake. He should have made her be more
specific, but just at that moment she'd flexed her
wrist in his grasp and raked her fingernail over the
leather protecting his cock.
<
br /> "Done," he'd said. After all, he'd never lost
before.
If there was one person who could get into his
room at the guild and leave that taunting note,
knowing just knowing how much it would get his
itch going, it was her.
The devil in disguise.
Pushing open the doors to the next room, he
came to a halt. It too was empty.
And then someone spoke. Someone he knew
all too well.
"Looking for something? Or is it someone?"
said an amused voice from the side.
Her.
Byrnes met a pair of eyes that were lit from
within with a bronze glow. She hadn't changed one
inch from that debacle last year, where he'd been
left tied to his bed, naked, with a lovely little
message written across his chest in ink, which all
of his fellow Nighthawks had found absolutely
hilarious.
"Ingrid," he said.
"Did you miss me?"
TWO
"MISS YOU?" Byrnes stated flatly, though the
gleam in his blue eyes wasn't cold. Not at all. He
took a menacing step toward her before pausing,
his lean form falling into absolute stillness.
Ingrid Miller smiled. She'd worked with
Byrnes for only two weeks—or worked against
him, perhaps, when he'd declared that he didn't
need her and could find the suspect before she
could—but in that time she'd come to know him
well enough to predict him.
He hated emotional displays, especially in
himself. His control was absolute. And she'd just
caused him to break both of those self-governed
rules.
Call it the devil on her shoulder, but when it
came to Byrnes, she absolutely could not help
herself.
"Miss you?" he repeated. "Why yes... I
believe I did. I have a little debt to repay."
"A little debt?" Ingrid glanced at him from
beneath her lashes in a most un-Ingrid-like way.
"What a curious choice of words."
Instantly his gaze flattened, and she laughed.
"I searched for you," he said stiffly.
"Did you?"
"I spent months looking for you."
"You wouldn't have found me, no matter how
much time you spent looking for me." You wouldn't
have found me, because I wasn't here. Not that her
quest to Norway had been successful, even with all
of the lovely bounty money she'd earned by
bringing in the so-called Vampire of Drury Lane all
by herself. The humor drained out of her, but she
managed to keep her smile on her face.
Some mysteries took time.
She certainly wasn't giving up on this one.
And now Ingrid had received this offer, with more
money on the table, should her work prove
satisfactory to the Duke of Malloryn. More money
meant more informants she could pay, more
searchers she could employ. She'd find the family
she'd been stolen from all those years ago. One
day.
She just had to be patient.
"Where did you go after the Drury Lane case?
You weren't in London. You weren't in any of the
towns nearby. You weren't even in bloody
Scotland!"
"That's not really any of your business."
"Oh, I think it is." Byrnes was in her space.
They were of a height, especially with her in her
heeled boots, but she never felt unfeminine around
him, the way she sometimes felt with other men.
Byrnes always challenged her to be an equal, and
that look in his eye had always made her feel
distinctly feminine.
"You left me naked and bound to my bed. I've
been thinking about what I'd do to you to repay the
debt for the last year." His voice dropped. "Oh,
and Ingrid, I've had time to get very creative about
it."
"Poor Caleb. It sounds like I got to you."
He hated it when she called him Caleb. His
teeth ground together, and he reached out to cup her
cheek. One thumb brushed against her cheek, then
lower, to her mouth, sinking into her plush lower
lip and pressing just firmly enough to rouse a fire
in her blood. Byrnes leaned closer. "That happens
when a woman makes certain promises, and then
reneges upon them."
"I promised to get you naked," she whispered
around the press of his thumb. "You were naked, if
I recall. We never agreed upon anything else."
"You wrote on me."
"It was a lovely little poem. 'There was a
young Nighthawk from Matlock; Who had a fairly
significant—"
"I remember," he growled under his breath,
blue eyes alighting with fury and desire.
Ingrid's smile deepened. "I'm certain you do."
I am going to repay this debt tenfold, his
eyes seemed to say.
You can certainly try, replied her smile.
That made his eyes narrow.
"Miss me, Byrnes?" she murmured, her voice
dropping to a whisper as her body softened toward
his. The devil always had this effect upon her. "It
certainly sounds like it."
"Only because I mean revenge, Miller."
Miller. God knew she'd missed that, strangely
enough. Ingrid's smile softened and she bit the
thumb that still lingered on her lip. The heat in his
gaze turned intense, and he sucked in a sharp
breath.
"Admit it," she said, sucking his thumb gently.
One of her hands curled in the lapel of his coat as
she drew free of his hand. "It was more than
revenge."
The look on his face told her everything.
Everything.
A part of her wanted to grab a fistful of his
hair and yank his mouth down to hers. The second
she did, they'd be upon each other, Byrnes
slamming her back into the wall, and Ingrid lifting
her legs to wrap around his lean waist.
She knew it, because that's precisely what had
happened the one time she'd dared to kiss him. The
vision sent a shiver of need straight through her, as
if she could remember every second of that
moment, every self-destructive instinct that had
driven her to throw herself into the abyss of desire.
No, their interest in each other had never been
the problem. It was the fact that she couldn't trust
him.
Ingrid stepped back, crossing her arms over
her chest. Sometimes she was tempted to reach out
and touch, but the warier part of her knew it would
get burned when it came to Byrnes. Far easier to
keep him at arm’s length and pretend this was
merely desire between them.
"One day, Miller," he said, noting the way in
which she'd disengaged, "One day you're going to
pay your dues—"
"But until then," a male voice said behind
them, "would it be at all possible for the pair of
you to join us?"
They staggered apart with a start of surprise.
The Duke of Malloryn stood in the doorway, both
han
ds holding the doors wide open, and from the
look on Byrnes's face she hadn't been the only one
taken unawares.
Which was almost unforgivable, considering
the two of them had the greatest hunting senses of
anyone in the house.
"Of course." Ingrid recovered smoothly.
"After you, your Grace."
Malloryn's icy gaze raked over the pair of
them, “This had better not become a problem.”
“Of course not,” Ingrid replied.
“Because if it does….” Malloryn didn’t need
to add anything else as he turned to head back to
the library.
And she needed this job too much to disobey.
"Revenge is going to be very sweet," Byrnes
whispered in her ear as he brushed past.
She followed him, feeling that little thrill
tingling through her blood, unable to stop herself
from whispering, "Just remember: two can play at
that game."
Malloryn shot them both a cool glance as they
entered the library, but Ingrid merely smiled and
took a seat next to a young woman with blond
curls, who looked at Byrnes, and then at her with a
slightly shocked expression.
"Ladies," Malloryn called, taking the center
of the room. "Gentlemen. May we begin?"
"AS YOU ALL KNOW," Malloryn said, standing
with easy authority by the wall, "three years ago
the prince consort was overthrown by his queen
and society went through quite an upheaval.
Humans and mechs had their rights restored"—this
with a tip of the head to the burly Kincaid—"and
Echelon society was changed forever."
"Aye," said Kincaid. "Bluebirds fuckin' sang,
and everybody lived happily ever after. 'Til the
Packenham Riots, and the burnings in Manchester,
and the disappearances in Begby Square."
Malloryn smiled. It wasn't friendly at all.
"Like I said, everything has changed. Some
changes have been well received. Some have not.
The queen and the ruling Council of Dukes would
like to think that Britain is on its way to greatness
but others seem not to hold that same opinion.
That's why this team has been called together.
"Someone in particular means to cause
trouble for the monarchy and they're using the
populace to do so. The Packenham Riots weren't
just circumstance. Someone murdered that poor
young mech and before her blood had even cooled,
there were pamphlets being circulated in the
streets, which makes me think it was planned. I
want to get to the bottom of who is stirring trouble
before another riot breaks loose. And that's where