Mission_Improper

by Bec McMaster

  eyes lost to the amber of the wild within her, her

  body frozen as if she both yearned to drag him

  back and push him away.

  It was the first time he'd seen how haunted she

  herself appeared, and though he'd expected the

  sight to assuage something inside him, instead it

  did the opposite. The darkness within him rose,

  thick and choking, demanding that he go back to

  her.

  But Byrnes turned away from it.

  After all. He'd promised.

  SOMEHOW

  SHE'D

  GOTTEN

  TURNED

  AROUND.

  Ava swallowed hard, her fingers clenching

  around her reticule's handle as she slipped through

  the shadows. The garden looked familiar. She'd

  been here before with Kincaid, she was certain of

  it. Just as certain as she was that she was travelling

  in circles. Damn it. Where were the others? She'd

  told Kincaid that she was heading to the ladies’

  refreshment rooms for a moment, but somehow

  she'd gotten lost.

  A little chill ran down her spine, and her

  lungs squeezed tighter.

  Don't panic, she told herself. Don't make a

  fool of yourself when everyone's around. The

  others were all clearly enjoying the night. She'd

  forced herself to come, determined to try and fit in

  with the rest of the group, no matter how badly out

  of place she felt. But the truth was that she'd

  perhaps pushed herself beyond her own natural

  boundaries.

  Gemma teased her for being provincial, but it

  wasn't the worldliness of the place that had her out

  of sorts, but the fact was that she had rarely been

  out and about in three years.

  I'm not ready for this.

  There. That was the truth. The crush of people

  unnerved her, and the dark shadows and private

  grottos everywhere only added to her unease. Ever

  since she'd survived the ordeal that made her a

  blue blood, she'd been taking small steps back into

  a normal life, trying to pretend that everything was

  all right. The Nighthawks Guild had become a

  home to her, and in a way she'd thought she was

  getting better. She could manage small excursions

  away from the guild, could even view crime

  scenes, but the past few days at Baker Street had

  started the nightmares again, and desperate for

  some normality she'd thought that a night out with

  the rest of the company might improve matters.

  She'd been wrong.

  Instead, tonight had only revealed the truth.

  Whatever was wrong with her was not going to go

  away so easily. She was right back where she'd

  started during that first year with the Nighthawks,

  when every shadow made her jump and she'd

  suffered from her hysteria attacks.

  A woman's laughter echoed nearby, and a man

  murmured something to her. Something explicit

  enough to make Ava blush. She stumbled away

  from them, trying to find the main pavilion. Even

  those shadow shows would be better than this. At

  least the others would be there.

  A branch cracked beneath someone's foot.

  Ava froze.

  Then it came again, as though some large

  shape forced its way through the luxurious gardens.

  Ava made an inarticulate sound in her throat

  and brandished the lacy parasol she carried. "S-

  stay back!"

  The

  shadow

  stilled,

  fading

  into

  its

  surroundings, until she wondered if she were

  imagining things.

  Ava swallowed, her pulse pounding madly in

  her ears and a rushing sound filling them. She was

  on the verge of a hysterical attack.

  "It's only me," a deep, roughened voice said,

  and Ava nearly collapsed against the brick walls in

  relief.

  Kincaid's hard face looked like it had been

  carved out of stone as he stepped out of the

  shadows. She'd never thought she'd have been so

  genuinely enthused to see him.

  "Oh, this spot's already taken," said a pouty

  young lady, materializing at his side and

  practically wrapping herself around him.

  Kincaid never took his eyes off her. Ava's

  corset laces dug in to her ribs, and she was fairly

  certain she was going to faint.

  "Unfortunately, luv," he told the woman, "I

  seem to have remembered a prior engagement."

  The woman gaped. "What?"

  "Here's a monkey," he told the brunette,

  slipping her a five-pound note. "Drink's on me."

  The brunette's lips thinned, and she said

  something as she strode away, but Ava was shaking

  too hard to hear it. Don't do this, she told her body

  desperately. Not now. Not in front of him.

  Kincaid unnerved her. He was too large, too

  broad-shouldered, too... imposing. And there was

  never any kindness on his face, though she'd tried

  to steer clear of him at Baker Street.

  "What are you still doing out here?" he

  growled. "Thought you were going back in to see

  Gemma?"

  "I just came to... to take a walk, and I've lost

  my way—or maybe I deliberately wandered off the

  path, because I saw some sort of exotic greenhouse

  with these plants that I've never seen before, and I-

  I wanted to see if I could collect a sample. I

  collect ferns you see." Somehow her mouth was

  running away from her, all of the words spilling

  from her lips in a steadily rising stream, until she

  sounded almost hysterical. "And then I got turned

  around... and I couldn't find my way back, and

  now... now I can't... can't breathe..."

  "You're safe now," he told her, watching her

  with those intense eyes.

  "I can't... I c-can't...." Not safe. Never truly

  safe again. She knew the truth of that statement far

  too well.

  Dark blue eyes smoldered down at her. She

  had to look away, but as she moved, his hands

  came down upon her shoulders and turned her

  around. Ava gasped. Her heart was racing, and she

  felt like she was about to fall face-first into the

  greenery.

  "Here," he said, and brushed the loose curls

  at the back of her neck over her right shoulder. A

  second later there came a sharp tug, and then her

  bodice gaped.

  "What are you doing?" She slapped over her

  shoulder at his hand.

  "Unlacing your corset," he replied gruffly, and

  resumed his task as though she hadn't protested.

  "So you can breathe."

  Another button popped loose on the back of

  her dress, and then rough fingers brushed against

  her exposed nape. Ava froze, only this time, it had

  nothing to do with fear.

  The cold steel of his mech hand brushed her

  skin, and another button popped loose. Then two

  more. Ava was gasping by now, but somehow the

  touch grounded her, made her feel less and less

 
like she was spinning out of control.

  "H-how do you know... your way around a

  woman's undergarments so well?" she blurted, then

  instantly recoiled. Oh, goodness. She'd practically

  handed him a sarcastic rejoinder. Of course he

  knew what he was doing. The way he'd been

  watching those women behind the silk screen

  tonight had made her almost uncomfortable, and

  when he'd sensed her watching him, there'd been a

  knowing look in his eyes.

  "I'm sorry." Stop talking, right now. But her

  mouth wouldn't listen. "Of course you know what

  you're doing. You were out here alone with that

  woman, after all. I'm sure you weren't just taking a

  stroll. Oh, God. Don't listen to me! I'm just.... I d-

  don't—" She clapped her hands to her mouth,

  silently praying for the ground to open up and

  swallow her whole. The movement made her

  corset and dress sag, and she clutched at them,

  realizing she could catch her breath now.

  Even as she felt twice as vulnerable.

  A warm coat slung across her shoulders.

  "Better?"

  "No." She shuddered, and somehow her hand

  came up and caught his when he went to remove it

  from her shoulder.

  She could sense the hesitation in him, the

  reluctance. "Please," she whispered. And then his

  other hand came down upon her left shoulder, and

  he squeezed. Ava let out the first full breath that

  she'd managed since this entire ordeal had begun.

  "Sit," he suggested, and those firm hands

  guided her to the stone bench.

  Long minutes ticked out as she sat there. At

  first Ava concentrated only on breathing, on trying

  to regain her equilibrium. Some part of her couldn't

  take her hand off his, even though it was made of

  metal.

  "I'm sorry," she finally whispered. Those

  hands slipped from her shoulders, leaving her

  strangely bereft of his warmth, as he settled beside

  her on the stone bench.

  "Happen often?"

  "Sometimes. I thought I was past it. It's...

  being somewhere new, I think."

  He stretched his long legs out in front of him,

  his hands resting on either side of his hips on the

  bench. Their shoulders brushed against each other

  and then his hand came to settle on hers again.

  Ava looked down. His hand dwarfed hers,

  and his skin was so much darker than her own. He

  didn't speak, which made her feel both comforted

  and a little out of her depth, but seemed content to

  remain there.

  She tugged the coat tighter around her bare

  shoulders with her other hand. What a mess she

  was, with her gown gaping and her corset awry,

  and her body starting to tremble as it came out of

  the hysteria fit she'd almost suffered.

  "You don't leave the house very often," he

  murmured.

  "It's

  safe

  there."

  The

  words

  came

  automatically, and she cringed. She couldn't speak

  of the horrors that she'd suffered through four years

  ago. Couldn't even remember them without

  dredging up the panic that she felt.

  So she mentally began counting, going up in

  sets of prime numbers. And through it all, Kincaid

  simply sat there.

  "I thought you hated blue bloods."

  "I do."

  Ava tugged her hand out from under his and

  clenched them in her lap.

  "But you don't look like a blue blood," he

  added. "And you don't act very much like a blue

  blood. And I'm trying to come to terms with the

  whole bloody lot of you in the house."

  "Language," she chided.

  Kincaid arched a brow at her and withdrew a

  flask from his waistcoat pocket. Without the coat,

  he looked enormous, his shirt straining over those

  heavyset shoulders and the muscles in his biceps

  stretching the white cotton. He lifted the flask to

  his lips, then paused, staring at her.

  "Please don't look at me like that," she

  whispered.

  One of his eyebrows lifted. "Like what?"

  "As though I'm some foreign object you're not

  quite certain what to make of." The same way that

  her father had looked at her when she'd vowed she

  wanted to enter the medical profession, or the way

  that her fiancé had looked at her when she'd tried

  to be more ladylike for him. And then couldn't

  resist speaking about stupid things that ladies did

  not speak of in polite company.

  Kincaid lowered the flask. "I'm not quite

  certain what to make of you," he admitted, and then

  frowned again. "And you were looking at me."

  Ava's shoulders sank. It was like Edinburgh

  all over again, like her father's home, like the

  entire rest of her life. The only place she'd ever

  belonged had been at the guild, and the only man

  who ever made her feel like a normal young lady

  had been Byrnes. He didn't care if she spoke too

  much, or had a peculiar interest in autopsies and

  the way the human body worked. He'd always been

  interested in what she had to say, as though she

  were nothing out of the ordinary.

  And now he was interested in someone else.

  Oh yes, she'd faded into the wallpaper the

  second Ingrid walked into the room at Malloryn's

  study, and she knew it. The worst thing was that

  Byrnes still treated her exactly the same, and in the

  past few days she'd come to the realization that

  whatever she'd thought had been going on between

  them had clearly only been in her mind. Not his.

  "Here," Kincaid said, his knees spreading so

  that their thighs touched as he turned to offer her

  the flask. "You look like you could do with a little

  something."

  The rich scent of whiskey hit her nose. Ava's

  mouth watered, but it wasn't just for the liquor.

  Something dark and heated flashed through her

  body as the craving awoke within her.

  And wasn't that just the perfect end to the day.

  "Sip?" Kincaid asked, offering her the flask.

  She didn't want just a sip. She wanted to drain

  the whole bloody flask. "Bottoms up," she said

  cheerlessly, and set about doing precisely that.

  "Hey, hey, easy now."

  Strong hands caught the flask and for a

  moment she was half turned into his chest and the

  suddenly quite intriguing scent of his aftershave.

  Her vision changed, turning to little more than

  shades of black and white as the predator within

  her stirred. Suddenly she could see the minute

  hairs on the side of his jaw, the small abrasion

  from his razor... and the pulsing thud of his pulse

  through the vein in his throat. Everything inside her

  locked on that.

  "Jaysus," Kincaid muttered. "Thought you was

  going to spit it all back out."

  "My father's Scottish," she found herself

  saying as she stared at his throat. A
part of her

  wanted to press herself against him, to push him

  down upon the stone bench, set her lips to his

  throat, and.... She blinked as a flash of image came

  to her; the rich, heated taste of his blood as she

  suckled at his skin. It was so intense that it took her

  breath away. "I grew up sipping whiskey."

  It wasn't going away. Ava glanced up from

  beneath her lashes as Kincaid scratched at his jaw.

  Her vision locked on his fingers, on his throat, his

  pulse, his....

  She thrust the whiskey flask at him and stood

  abruptly; anything to get away from him.

  "Hell," Kincaid swore as the whiskey sloshed

  over his hand. "What are you about now?" He

  looked up, and then every muscle in his body

  stiffened as he saw her eyes. Something ugly crept

  over his face, and Ava lowered her damning eyes

  that were no doubt as black as tar.

  "I think I'm having some sort of... out-of-body

  experience." She pressed her hands to her heated

  cheeks.

  "You mean, you wanted my blood," he

  practically snarled, facing her like a spitting cat.

  "Yes.... No!" She clapped a hand to her eyes,

  and hunched over herself. Oh God, it won't go

  away. "I do not want to drink your blood, like...

  like some sort of animal. I'm... a young lady. Not a

  monster." She patted her own pockets. "And I

  didn't bring my own flask." Why hadn't she brought

  it? She knew the risks. The formula must be taken

  at regular intervals, and she had at least another

  two hours until she needed to take it, but she was

  feeling not at all herself right now. Oh, she'd had

  moments since she was infected with the craving

  virus, but not like this. Ava gulped in a breath of

  air.

  "Yeah, well, I only got whiskey, not blood."

  "I wouldn't drink blood if you had it! I carry

  my own protein-enriched synthetic formula with

  which to sustain myself in the absence of blood."

  "You're a blue blood and you don't drink

  blood?" Kincaid sounded incredulous.

  "Not all of us like what we've become," she

  retorted, "and after the first few months I began

  dabbling with a formula to sustain myself. It's not

  the same, but I appear to be able to survive on it."

  Those enormous arms crossed over his barrel

  chest and an evil expression touched his face.

  "Then what happened just then?"

  "I

  momentarily

  forgot

  myself,"

  she

  stammered. "And it's your fault! You... unlaced my

  gown! And you were touching me, and sitting so

  close to me... and sometimes I cannot help the way