by Bec McMaster
wear a rut in her floorboards.
Byrnes. She'd woken several times since the
vampire tore her apart, and every time he'd been at
her side in a heartbeat, demanding to know if she
was all right, if she was in pain, hungry... what?
Ingrid didn't know what to make of it. She
wasn't used to being fussed over, and if she were
being honest with herself, Byrnes was fussing.
He'd even fed her soup. Soup! And her favorite
too.
How he knew this.... She suspected Rosa’s
help, which meant a conspiracy against her, but
then again, who knew when it came to Byrnes? He
was always watching. Always filing little pieces
of information away in that brain of his.
It left her feeling distinctly uncertain about the
way things were between them. They'd agreed,
damn it. They weren't going to take that step
forward, but it seemed that she'd missed some vital
change of mind.
“Good morning,” he said.
"Still here?" she asked, tossing back the
covers and trying to stand.
She barely had a chance to do so before his
lean body was pressed against her own, gently
easing her arm around his shoulders as her legs
wobbled.
"Byrnes.” Her exasperation showed. “I’m not
an invalid.”
He sat them on the edge of the bed with his
arm around her waist. "You've barely gotten your
feet back under you. I'm not letting you out of bed
until you're completely healed."
"I need some privacy, Byrnes."
"You can barely stand—"
"Byrnes," she growled, deep in her throat.
"Five minutes," he finally said, and then left
the room so that she could take care of the
necessities and then scrub her teeth.
Ingrid paused in front of the mirror, then
rolled up her nightshirt, tentatively untying the
bandages there. Smooth skin met her gaze. No sign
of the vampire's attack. She touched the area
lightly. "You survived," she whispered, meeting
her eyes in the mirror. It didn't feel like it though.
Not deep inside, where a part of her had met her
own mortality head-on. She'd always been
invincible. Or felt like it.
But this was the first time she’d borne such a
grievous injury.
It left her feeling vulnerable in more ways
than one, and Byrnes wasn’t helping the situation.
How could she deal with his sudden change of
heart? What did it mean?
"Knock, knock," Byrnes called, and Ingrid
jumped.
"I'm done," she called, scurrying back to her
bed and slipping under the covers.
He entered briskly, carrying a tray. "I brought
you breakfast," he said, as though she couldn't
smell the beefsteak. "Jack told me you're not worth
dealing with before you've eaten, after one of these
episodes."
"I'm not hungry."
"Actually he warned me not to deal with you
before then." Byrnes lifted the silver tureen off the
self-heating platter. Steam wafted off it, and the
smell hit her like a punch to the gut. Her stomach
chose that moment to mimic the sound of whales
mating. Loudly. Curse him.
"Pity," Byrnes said, wafting the steam toward
her with the most evil smile she'd ever seen.
"Herbert went to a lot of trouble to cook this up for
you. Now what am I supposed to do with it? Hmm,
there was this scrawny young cat out the back. I
suppose I can just feed it to her."
Ingrid ground her teeth together. "There are
times when I'm tempted to do... something to you."
Byrnes swung into the chair beside her bed,
still fanning the steam her way. "Oh? Do tell?
Something... wicked? Something involving the pair
of us getting naked? Again?"
"Something permanent," she growled, and
then took the plate off him, and the knife and fork.
If she didn't eat then she was going to be too weak
to get out of bed. It had nothing to do with him
getting the better of her, and then acting all smug
about it.
Besides, it felt good to have the fork in her
hand.
Byrnes very subtly moved his leg out of the
way when she glanced at it. Perhaps it was the way
that her fingers curled around the fork? Or maybe
the expression on her face?
"Just remember," he warned in a mild tone,
"you like those bits of me."
"Do I? I find I can't quite recall why at the
moment." Which was a blatant lie. She very much
liked those bits of him, and her memory chose that
moment to remind her in precise detail about what
those bits looked like. What they felt like against
her skin.... Ingrid smothered a groan, and stabbed
the beefsteak instead.
It wasn't fair. Here she was trying to play by
the rules that he'd invented—the rules that said that
they couldn't do this—and he was doing his level
best to dash all of her best defenses. Ingrid shoved
a piece of steak in her mouth. She didn't understand
any of it. She chewed thoughtfully. She needed
Jack to talk to.
"Why are you here? Why are you bringing me
breakfast? And why were you even sitting by my
bedside at all? Don't you have a vampire to hunt?"
"Kincaid's waiting downstairs. I just wanted
to see...." He paused then, and a half dozen
expressions flitted across his face before he
managed to soothe his expression back into a blank
mask. "What do you remember?"
"I know that you didn't like seeing me like
that." Byrnes hadn't been at all himself. There'd
been a frantic energy to him, as if the blue-blooded
predator within him lay very close to the surface.
Ingrid frowned. "And I don't think you liked
Malloryn being in here."
Which was a curious memory indeed.
Byrnes flicked a piece of lint off his arm, then
shifted his gaze to the window. "I'm having a slight
problem," he admitted. "I know what I should do. I
know why I should do it." Those blue eyes locked
on hers, spearing straight through her. "But I don't
want to walk away from you, and to be quite
honest, I am dealing with some complex emotions
at the moment."
Ingrid stared back, working her way through
what he was saying. "You don't want to walk
away?"
Byrnes stood abruptly and began pacing. "I
don't do this, Ingrid."
"Fetch a woman breakfast, you mean?" she
asked, feeling a faint warmth wash through her, as
if a part of her was starting to understand. She had
to admit she liked seeing him so off-balance.
Byrnes was always too composed.
" That too."
Ingrid swallowed another mouthful. "Are you
trying to say that you have decided that we are
going to pursue this little flirtation between us?"
"It's not a flirtati
on," he finally told her. "Not
for me. Not any longer."
She nearly dropped the fork. Of all the things
she'd expected him to say, this was not it. "But I...
I... you...." Nothing. She had nothing to say.
Byrnes eased onto the edge of her mattress,
clasping his hands carefully in his lap. "I've gone
above and beyond to prove that you and I meant
nothing, and it turns out I've been lying to myself
all along." He hesitated. "I missed you during this
last year, Ingrid. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
And I said some stupid things about getting you
into my bed and burning you out of my memory, but
the truth is... I don't think I could ever forget you.
You're one hell of a woman. And I don't know
where this road will take us, or whether I can be
what you want, but I do know that I want to explore
that option."
“I wish you’d make up your mind,” she
whispered.
“It is made up.” This time, there was no
misjudging the expression on his face. “I am going
to pursue you, Ingrid Miller, with the intention of
never letting you go. So fair warning….”
Words died in her throat. This was supposed
to be a chase, a game. Byrnes wasn’t the sort of
man that one started daydreaming about the future
with. Except… that seemed to be his intention now.
"I understand that you weren’t expecting this.
Perhaps you don’t feel the same way that I do. I
don’t know. We need to talk about this," Byrnes
said, leaning in to kiss her gently, his hands
cupping her face in a way that made her heart leap
in her chest. "But this is not really a wonderful
time, and I think you need some time to think. You
keep making these incoherent noises." He grinned
suddenly. "I'll take them to mean that you're
flummoxed by my abrupt turnabout and not
disgusted at all. Just know this: It's no longer about
winning your body, Ingrid. When I finish these
challenges, I intend to win your heart."
Withdrawing gently, he stood and stepped
away. "Rest and heal, so you can join me as soon
as possible. Kincaid's not nearly as pretty as you
are."
And, after dropping that shocking statement
upon her, he turned and left the room.
LOCKING AWAY ALL of the doubts he felt about
Ingrid and whether she felt even remotely the same
way he did, Byrnes amused himself by toying with
Kincaid.
"So you're saying that there's not a single
positive outcome associated with a man turning
into a blue blood?" he asked. "Just to make your
statement clear."
Kincaid shrugged. "I don't know, bloodsucker.
Is there?"
Stalking across the rooftop, Byrnes paused at
the edge, then leapt down twelve feet to the next
rooftop and looked up. "Well come on, then. We
haven't got all night."
Kincaid examined the drop, then swung
himself over the gutter and used his arm strength to
lower himself a respectable distance before he
dropped onto the roof at Byrnes's side. "Still can't
see a benefit."
Byrnes examined his pocket watch. "I can. It's
called efficiency. I should have brought Charlie.
We'd be nearly there by now. You're slowing me
down. And we have a vampire’s trail to pick up."
"Malloryn's got him doing something."
"What?"
"How the hell should I know? I'm not his
secretary."
“I’m faster than you,” Byrnes pointed out.
“I’m stronger than you. I heal from practically
anything. And let’s just say that when it comes to
the ladies, I can go all night too.”
"That's got nothing to do with being a
bloodsucker," Kincaid spat back.
Byrnes grinned at him.
"So, I heard the chemicals in a blue blood's
saliva can bring a woman to the edge of ecstasy,"
Kincaid said, casting him a sidelong glance.
"Your point?" Byrnes asked. "I assume you're
not complimenting me."
"My point is, a real man don't need no
chemical enhancements to satisfy a woman."
"Don't worry. It's not the chemicals in my
saliva that leaves my women satisfied. Jealous?"
Byrnes arched a brow.
"Is that why Ingrid's been casting big eyes at
you—?"
Byrnes stopped in his tracks, his easy languor
fading off him as if it had never been there. The
hunger within him surged, shocking violence
suddenly rising to the fore, and he realized that a
part of it was due to his lingering uncertainty about
what Ingrid’s answer would be. "A blue blood can
also kill you in a second and bury the body so deep
that nobody will ever find it. And if you even
breathe her name again," his voice dropped to a
growl, "in a manner indicating anything less than
utter respect, then I will take a lot longer to kill
you than a second. I will make it last for days."
"You know... I were starting to wonder how
deep you buried it. You're more in control than
most of your kind, but it's still there, isn't it?"
Kincaid stepped closer, eye-to-eye. "You're still
ruled by it, itching to smear my blood all across
this roof, ain't you?"
Itching to tear your throat out, at least. The
pulse in his throat hammered. Kill him, whispered
his inner darkness, his inner predator—the part of
him that belonged in the shadows.
"No matter how deeply you think you've got
that monster buried, it's still there, and one day it
will hold the leash, not you."
Byrnes took a deep breath and swallowed it
all. It was like flicking off a switch, like facing his
father again and burying all of that rage, that fierce
hissing need to kill deep within him.
"You have no idea," he told Kincaid, "how
much I want to kill you right now. But the problem
is, you're wrong. I am not and never have been
ruled by the craving. I am also not very much of a
gentleman, but in this instance, you crossed a line
in mentioning her name."
Drawing his arm back, he punched Kincaid
hard in the face before the man could even see it
coming.
"Fuckin' hell!" Kincaid bellowed, clapping a
hand to his nose and staggering.
Byrnes tugged his handkerchief from within
his pocket. "No, I might have the hunger inside me,
and the urge to make you little more than a smear
on these tiles, but you're the one who can't handle
your hate. Handkerchief?"
Kincaid pinched the bridge of his nose and
tilted his head back. "Shove that up your a—"
"Stop your whining. I didn't break it. No
matter how tempting it was. And you shouldn't
bleed so enticingly in front of me." Byrnes smiled
a nasty smile. "Who knows? I might lose control. I
might let all of that big, dark hu
nger inside me
overwhelm me, and then leap at you."
Kincaid wiped his sleeve across his face.
"Anyone ever told you that you're a prick?"
"Frequently. Can you not see the tears of
remorse in my eyes?"
Kincaid muttered something under his breath.
"See, if you were a blue blood, you would
have seen that coming," Byrnes pointed out
brightly, and stalked off backwards into the fog,
watching his adversary just in case Kincaid
decided to do something rash.
Kincaid muttered curses, wiping at the blood
trickling from his nose.
"So," Byrnes continued, "what happened to
you?"
"I'm fairly certain you punched me in the
face," Kincaid growled.
"No, not that." Byrnes looked at the burly
mech. "People don't just suddenly decide to hate an
entire species. Something happened, something to
do with a blue blood in your past. What was it?
Did one of them kill your mother? Or a sister? Or a
father? Drain all of the residents in your
neighborhood?" He paused. "Steal your woman?"
"Go to hell."
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that...?" He
cupped a hand to his ear.
Kincaid glared at him. "You son of a bitch. It
was my sister.”
They both stared at each other.
"They took her," Kincaid continued, in a
slower, quieter voice. "The Echelon lords. Took
Agatha right off the streets and used her at one of
their parties as some kind of bloodwhore for the
night. Three days later she killed herself, because
of those men. I was the one who found her hanging.
"And every time I look at you," Kincaid said,
staring into Byrnes's eyes. "I see those men. Those
monsters. And I see Aggie, staring sightlessly at
the sky. Forever." He wiped at his bloodied nose.
"That's what you are to me. But that's also why I'll
work with Malloryn, because I remember what it
was like before the revolution. I don't ever want to
see my people, my friends, go back to that."
Silence fell. Byrnes actually felt a worm of
guilt twist deep inside him. "I'm sorry," he said. He
spread his arms wide. "Occasionally I can be an
asshole. You get one free hit."
"What?"
"You mentioned my woman," he replied, "and
I didn't like your tone. Now I've brought up your
sister, and I was less than respectful too."
Kincaid mulled it over for all of a second,
then swung. The full metal crunch of his mech fist
slammed into Byrnes’s nose. Byrnes fell onto the
roof clutching at his face as pain speared through