Mission_Improper

by Bec McMaster

  him.

  "Bastard," he breathed, trying to blink through

  the ringing in his head. "Little bleeding pissant.

  You could have used your human hand."

  "Leech," Kincaid replied, giving him an evil

  grin—and offering his hand for Byrnes to help

  himself to his feet. "What are you whining about?

  You're not even bleeding. And I'm only a poor

  weak human. I'm not as strong as you. Or as fast.

  Or as adept at healing. I can't even jump off a

  twelve-foot roof without risking a broken leg."

  Byrnes tested his teeth as he grabbed

  Kincaid's hand and hauled himself to his feet.

  "Okay. Maybe I deserved that."

  " Maybe?"

  "That's as humble as I can be," Byrnes

  replied. He itched to touch his swollen nose, but

  wasn't about to give Kincaid the satisfaction.

  Kincaid grunted under his breath. "Look, I'll

  deny this to my dying breath, and I still don't like

  you very much, but..." He looked pained. "You

  aren't entirely as bad as the rest of your breed."

  "Did that hurt?"

  Kincaid merely shook his head and walked

  on. "Smug bastard."

  Byrnes laughed, but as he breathed in he got a

  trace amount of scent that slid through his chest

  like a stiletto. Instantly he turned, staring into the

  night, trying to smell the air. That scent came again,

  like sweet rot fresh out of a graveyard.

  Byrnes shoved his hand out, slamming it into

  Kincaid's sternum. Kincaid grabbed his wrist, as if

  thinking it an attack, but Byrnes hushed him.

  "What?" the mech murmured.

  "Can't you smell that?" Then he realized. "No,

  of course you can't. I barely can, thanks to you."

  "What is it?" Kincaid's nostrils flared.

  Byrnes turned in a slow circle, examining the

  foggy rooftops. They'd been using them to hunt for

  the vampire's scent trail that Charlie and Kincaid

  had lost earlier. "You remember that thing we were

  hunting? Well, I think... we're not the hunters

  anymore."

  A pistol clicked in Kincaid's hand. "Shit."

  Sweat sprang up along the man's temples. "Are you

  sure it's not the trail?"

  "Not unless it's a fresh one."

  A pale shape skittered out of the corner of his

  eye. Byrnes unholstered his own pistol and tracked

  the darkness, the sensation of a trickle of icy-cold

  fingers trailing down his spine. Kincaid's back met

  his. Both of them barely breathed.

  Another sound whispered through the night,

  like claws scrambling on a roof. To the left. Byrnes

  swung that way, pistol raised, his eyes tracking the

  darkness. Kincaid was a wall of warmth at his

  back. A ghost whispered through the night to the

  right. Dashing close enough to be seen, then darting

  out of reach.

  "They're playing with us," Byrnes breathed.

  Sweet Jesus.

  "They?"

  "Two of them, I think." Something else was

  moving out there, something that wasn't as albino

  pale as the vampires. "Why the hell aren't they

  attacking?"

  "I don't like any of this," Kincaid muttered.

  "Vampires not going on a killing spree is

  unnatural."

  "For once we're in agreement." He'd never

  thought he'd see the day where he wished for

  something

  uncomplicated

  like

  a

  vampire

  slaughtering its way through the population. But

  this made his skin itch. It wasn't right. It went

  against all of the natural laws. What if they'd...

  evolved somehow to start thinking like predators,

  rather than indiscriminate killing machines?

  They'd be unstoppable.

  A vampire's only weakness was its lack of

  rational thinking. The only way to get close enough

  to one to kill it was by waiting until it was so

  glutted on blood that it didn't see you coming.

  A flute sounded.

  And that's when the first vampire slunk out of

  the fog to pant at him, it's filmy eyes blank with

  blindness and its monstrously long claws skittering

  on the tiles. It hissed as it heard his sharp intake of

  breath and paced back and forth, looking hungrily

  at him, even if it couldn't see him. Byrnes lined it

  up in his sights, swallowing hard, but movement to

  his right made him hesitate and glance that way.

  To where a tall, pale-haired woman stepped

  out of the shadows, outlined by moonlight.

  "You," Byrnes said, lowering the pistol but

  not easing his guard one inch.

  "Me," said Ulbricht's mistress, with a smile

  as sweet as a knife’s edge.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  "WELL, IF YOU were a blue blood," Byrnes said

  to Kincaid, taking a stealthy step backward. "You

  might be able to survive the ensuing encounter.

  Me? I don't like my odds. Not against two

  vampires. You however, have no odds. Unless I

  take pity on you and decide to protect you."

  "Do you ever bloody shut up? And nobody

  asked you for protection." Kincaid punched his

  mech fist against his thigh and a knife slammed

  through the gauntlet of steel that he wore as his

  hand. "I can watch my own back."

  Ulbricht's mistress glided toward them, one

  hand patting the vampire's head at her side whilst

  its thin leash trailed up to a gold band around her

  wrist. Long silvery-white hair draped over one

  bare shoulder. It wasn't the coarse whiteness of

  age, but a spill of moonlight silk. A tight black

  corset spanned a narrow waist, with chains and a

  holster hanging stylishly from it. Everything about

  her was sleek. Even her black velvet skirts, which

  were embroidered in gold with a kraken by the

  look of it.

  "How the hell do you move in that?" Byrnes

  asked. Their only chance of survival lay in getting

  her to start talking and keeping those vampires on

  their leashes. Kincaid's shoulder pressed against

  his own. Despite his words, the fellow's heart rate

  pounded like a train's engine fresh into the station.

  The woman's leg thrust out through a well-

  designed slit in her skirts, revealing trim

  stockinged calves and heeled boots. The side lunge

  held traces of the martial art, batitsu, in it. He'd

  barely seen the movement, it had been so swift.

  This was going to hurt.

  "Christ," Kincaid said under his breath, his

  gaze locking on that leg.

  Byrnes's smile held no humor. "Some vipers

  are pretty. Doesn't mean you take them to your

  breast."

  As if he'd just graced her with the most

  delicious compliment, the woman's smile curved

  higher as she slowly undid the leash around her

  wrist and dropped it. "Oh, I do like you." Then she

  turned to the nearest vampire, and hissed, " Stay."

  Just smashing. There was a hint of insanity in

  those pretty blue eyes.

  "May I have a name?
" Byrnes asked, settling

  into a defensive stance as his gaze flickered

  between her and the now untethered vampires. "Or

  do I just refer to you as Madame Viper?"

  "You may call me Zero, although once upon a

  time I was Annabelle Underwood." Her smile was

  dreamy. "I like this better. Much better. Nobody

  rips Zero's heart out of her chest—not like

  Annabelle's. Care for a dance, Caleb Byrnes?"

  She knew who he was. His eyes narrowed to

  thin slits. "Is that why you're here?"

  "No. I'm here to discover if you're worthy or

  not. You killed one of my vampires. Nobody's ever

  managed that before."

  Worthy of what? But he thought it through.

  "You were watching. At the grotto."

  Her smile sent tremors down her spine. "I

  could have killed you then and there but you caught

  my eye. I decided to spare your life so that I could

  learn more about you."

  "Like what?"

  "This—"

  He barely saw her coming. The first kick took

  him in the shoulder as he twisted out of the way,

  and Byrnes stepped under her guard, slamming

  both hands flat against her chest. Zero staggered a

  step, then a knee drove directly for his balls.

  Byrnes twisted, taking her knee to his thigh,

  barely managing to disengage . Hell. He winced as

  he put all his weight on that leg and felt that hard

  knot in his upper thigh.

  Kincaid's fists were raised, but he hovered

  there, a constipated look on his face.

  "What the hell are you hesitating for?" Byrnes

  yelled, ducking beneath a swinging kick.

  Kincaid danced out of the way, his jaw

  tightening. "I don't hit girls."

  Zero laughed, then spun and kicked Kincaid in

  the face. The second the kick landed, she jerked

  her knee back, and kicked him again in the throat.

  Bang, bang. The work of a second.

  Kincaid went down. And stayed there.

  Zero sneered. "Pathetic humans."

  This was why he liked working with Ingrid.

  She wouldn't have hesitated. And now it was two

  vampires and one whatever-she-was against him.

  Smashing odds.

  Launching forward, she lashed out with her

  other foot, and he caught it, locking her boot

  against his upper arm and clapping his other hand

  on her thigh. Zero's eyes widened as he spun, using

  a twist of her ankle to take her to the roof. They

  both went down, and he used his weight and his

  elbow to slam her back into the tiles before he

  disengaged and danced to his feet. The second she

  rolled onto her fingertips and knees, she launched

  toward him. Byrnes leapt lightly in the air,

  hammering a punch into her solar plexus the

  moment she came after him.

  "Well, you're no gentleman." Zero pouted.

  Then tried to kick his feet out from under him.

  "Take it as a compliment. Gentlemen get their

  throats ripped out in my world." If he let her get

  close enough to him, she'd take him down and

  make it hurt. That fall hadn't even winded her.

  Another feint. Punches landed in a flurry of

  pain along his arms as he deflected them, and

  Byrnes used her momentum to head butt her. Zero

  staggered back, and for the first time in his life,

  Byrnes hesitated instead of going after her. She

  was dangerously faster than he was, and if that last

  punch was anything to go by, stronger. He might

  have years of training on his side—that was the

  only reason he suspected he was still on his feet—

  but something about the way she moved told him

  that she'd outlast him.

  "What are you?" His breath came hard, and he

  lowered his hands a fraction, inviting her to talk.

  Zero wiped her nose, sneering at him.

  "Haven't you worked it out yet? I'm the butterfly,

  you're just a caterpillar."

  "I've been called worse." Bastard sprang to

  mind. Or weak. He'd hated that as a child,

  especially considering it came from his father's

  lips.

  "You lack that one crucial element to your

  transformation. I could give you that element, the

  elixir. If you prove worthy to join my pets."

  Elixir? Was this what that document in

  Ulbricht's cabinet had meant? He flicked a glance

  toward the patient vampires. "I've seen your pets.

  Thank you for the consideration, but I'm not really

  interested in being leashed like a dog."

  "They're not my pets. They're the failures, the

  ones who didn't survive the transformation. They

  must earn back the cost of the elixir that was

  wasted on them."

  "Lady, they're vampires."

  "Precisely. How do you think a vampire is

  created?"

  Byrnes paused. It wasn't something he'd ever

  thought of before. Most blue bloods lost control of

  their bloodlust once their craving virus levels

  reached 80 percent or so and the effects of the

  Fade set in. Then they began to devolve, their skin

  paling and their spines curving like a cat's until

  they loped along on all fours, stinking of rot. That

  was how a vampire came to be.

  Or so he'd always thought.

  Slowly, as if explaining herself to a child,

  Zero said, "You so-called blue bloods have never

  been what you were meant to be. A blue blood is

  the first stage of metamorphosis, and when your

  craving virus levels reach a certain percentage,

  you begin to transform."

  "The Fade," he said.

  "The Blooming," she chided. "Perhaps one in

  a thousand blue bloods survive the transformation

  without the elixir’s help. Most don’t. Most become

  a vampire, an abomination that was never meant to

  be. They're created when the creature dies during

  the end stages of metamorphosis. That's why

  they're weakened and crippled, with the

  personality of a vicious dog. Their brains suffer

  irreparable loss during the death stages, until all

  that remains when the virus reanimates them is the

  hunger."

  Despite himself, Byrnes was fascinated. This

  was the ultimate mystery. He straightened, his fists

  lowering completely. "How the hell do you know

  that?"

  "I know a lot of things." Zero stepped back,

  dragging her skirts with her. Fog swept around her

  legs and those brilliant blue eyes watched him

  from the shadows. "Such as the fact that Sir

  Nicodemus Banks brought the craving virus home

  from the Orient nearly one hundred and fifty years

  ago, but not the elixir guaranteed to evolve a blue

  blood as they were meant to evolve. He had stolen

  the virus from the immortal Imperial family of the

  White Court, and believed that by spreading the

  virus through Europe he took away some of their

  mythos, their power. He never asked himself why

  they allowed such a thing to happen: they knew that

  without the knowledge of the elixir vitae, they<
br />
  would never be threatened. Blue bloods, after all,

  are barely children in my world."

  "Then what are you?"

  Zero's smile grew as she swept up the

  vampires' leashes. They moved instantly, straining

  at her side. "Why don't you ask your good friend,

  Malloryn? After all, he knows more than what he's

  told you, doesn't he? You can tell him this from me:

  we are vengeance, pure and simple, and he will

  pay our price. We're here to watch the city burn,

  and to make Malloryn, the Duchess of Casavian,

  and all those who fought during the revolution

  bitterly regret their roles in it." Pressing her fingers

  to her lips, she blew him a kiss. "If you want to

  know more about what I am—what you could be—

  then you must prove yourself to me. Find me. Be

  worthy, Caleb Byrnes. And I might just grant you

  immortality."

  With that, she took a step back and vanished

  off the rooftop, taking the vampires with her.

  Byrnes scrambled to the edge, but only fog greeted

  him. Nothing moved.

  Zero was gone. The vampires had vanished.

  And somehow she knew his name.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  "WE HAVE A problem," Byrnes said, striding into

  the house on Baker Street with Kincaid thrown

  over his shoulder. The bastard was out cold, and

  heavy as hell.

  Ava looked up from the brass spectrometer

  she'd been fiddling with in the parlor. "You're

  bleeding." Her eyes widened when she saw

  Kincaid. "What happened?"

  "Think you can pack his nose? It might be

  broken."

  "I— Of course. My examination rooms, if you

  please." With a swish of skirts, Ava headed for the

  small room that she'd claimed as her own.

  Fabric rustled. The baroness and Gemma

  Townsend both appeared in separate doorways,

  each looking extremely elegant. The baroness was

  clad in dark green, something sleek and luxurious

  with feathers and fur, and Miss Townsend wore a

  frothy rose monstrosity.

  "What happened?" Gemma demanded.

  "A little tête-à-tête with the enemy. She

  disapproved of Kincaid's manners. I tried to tell

  her he had none."

  "Is that supposed to be amusing?" Gemma

  asked.

  "Byrnes has the worst sense of humor," Ava

  muttered. "Put Kincaid down in here."

  Byrnes complied, laying the heavy oaf down

  on Ava's examination table.

  "That nose is definitely broken," Ava

  muttered, tilting Kincaid's chin to the side to

  examine the mottling bruise on his throat. Her