Mission_Improper

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Mission_Improper Page 32

by Bec McMaster


  Year of Blood, nobody allowed a blue blood to

  live through the Fade, so we had no means of

  discovering any different. However, Cremorne's

  experiments prove otherwise. Using the elixir

  vitae to control the metamorphosis, it appears that

  a blue blood does not revert to a vampiric state,

  but evolves into something more. Something faster,

  stronger, far more dangerous. We call them

  dhampir."

  "Them?" Byrnes questioned. “How many are

  there?”

  Barrons exchanged a look with his wife.

  "Only one known," said the duchess, her hand

  sliding surreptitiously to her middle, as though she

  was worried. "Of the seven test subjects who

  survived the metamorphosis, it was thought that

  they had all died seventeen years ago in the fire

  that destroyed Falkirk."

  "Who?" Ingrid demanded. "Who is the known

  dhampir?"

  "The Duke of Caine," Barrons replied, with a

  mocking smile. "My father."

  The Duke of Caine was a recluse, by all

  reports, and suffered from some sort of disease.

  "Bloody hell," Byrnes said. "What's his state of

  mind?"

  "Normal," Barrons replied, "as far as we can

  tell. Or normal for him—he's still a cunning old

  bastard, meddling with people's lives, but that's not

  unusual. His appetite is increased, and he’s

  stronger and faster than I am, but he doesn't appear

  to like leaving his house very often. Indeed, he

  seems to feel the cold more, and prefers to remain

  by his fire, in the dark. He cannot walk in sunlight

  the way we do, as it burns his skin and blinds

  him."

  And they'd only seen Zero in daylight, Byrnes

  realized, if it were foggy.

  "Both

  a

  blue

  blood's

  strengths

  and

  weaknesses are exacerbated it seems," Malloryn

  added, draining his cup. "They have the strength of

  a vampire, and the speed and healing, but are not

  deformed or blinded as a vampire is. And although

  a blue blood can walk in sunlight if necessary, the

  dhampir cannot. Interestingly enough."

  "Not what I'd call it," Ingrid said gruffly.

  "Bloody terrifying is somewhat closer. After all,

  you missed the most obvious exacerbation—just

  how bloodthirsty are these creatures?"

  "Very," Barrons replied, and set his cup

  down. "Almost vampiric."

  Byrnes scratched at his jaw. "Zero said that a

  vampire was created when a blue blood in the

  Fade dies. That doesn't make sense. We've

  executed hundreds of Fade blue bloods over the

  years. One would presume we'd be swimming in

  vampires."

  "Unless there's some kind of difference in the

  stages of the metamorphosis," the Duchess of

  Casavian corrected. "Maybe there is a certain

  point during the metamorphosis the blue blood

  must reach before they can make that leap?"

  "We execute them when they reach 80 percent

  craving virus levels," Barrons mused. "So it must

  be a higher virus percentage."

  "Hold on," Ingrid said. "So you're saying that

  Annabelle—or Zero—was one of the test subjects

  that you thought was dead."

  "Yes," Barrons replied.

  "Then what happened to the rest of them?" she

  asked. "You say that Caine is the only other one

  living. What if others escaped? What if there are

  more, just like her?"

  A cold chill ran down Byrnes's spine. "She

  didn't say anything about other dhampir.”

  “Then there could be others,” Malloryn

  murmured.

  “What does she want?" Ingrid asked, then

  turned and looked at Byrnes. "She said she liked

  you. That she might help you become what she is.

  Does that mean she wants to offer you the elixir

  vitae?"

  "If I can find her and prove worthy, or some

  such nonsense." A cold hand curled around his

  heart. "And don't look at me like that. I'm not

  particularly interested in some mysterious potion. I

  like myself the way I am. No, she said her purpose

  was both vengeance and anarchy." He looked

  Malloryn in the eye. "Against you and the duchess

  in particular, and all those who fought for the

  revolution."

  Malloryn leaned back in his chair, his gaze

  distant. "Why would she have such a personal

  stake in vengeance? She had nothing to do with the

  prince consort or his rule. Neither of us ever knew

  her."

  "If her complaint is against you and me in

  particular," the duchess commented, "then it has to

  be something to do with the revolution. Very few

  people know that you, Barrons, and I practically

  ran it. It sounds like someone who was close to the

  Court, who might have been there when the prince

  consort was killed and knows what really

  transpired, might have some grievance against us."

  "And the queen?" Barrons asked. "It was her

  revolution, after all."

  The three of them looked between each other.

  "See that the guard is increased," Malloryn

  finally said. "Perhaps move her to a different

  bedchamber. Cancel some of her engagements until

  we can discover more about this Zero."

  "If someone wanted to make an attempt on the

  queen," Byrnes pointed out, "then she's downstairs

  in the garden. Supposedly along with half the

  people this Zero seems to want revenge upon. If I

  were her, I wouldn't attack the queen at the Ivory

  Tower, which is well guarded and practically

  impenetrable. I'd do it now."

  Four sets of eyes locked on him.

  And that was when the explosion sounded, the

  window shattering into thousands of glass shards

  that sliced through the air.

  TWENTY-SIX

  INGRID THREW herself at Byrnes, carrying him

  to the floor as glass spewed over them. Hot shards

  of pain lashed her thigh, weeping wet blood. What

  had happened? Where was—

  Then

  she

  was

  being

  shoved,

  quite

  unceremoniously, onto her back. "Are you hurt?"

  Byrnes demanded, fingers tracing down the silk of

  her skirts. "I can smell blood."

  "Saved by the bustle," Ingrid gasped, reaching

  down and dragging a thick spike of glass from her

  leg. Pain flared, but with it came the steady cold

  burn of the loupe. If not for the sheer volume of

  fabric, half her leg would have been shredded.

  A thin runnel of blood in Byrnes’s hair was

  his only sign of injury, and his face bore dark sooty

  marks. "Here," he said, picking several pieces of

  glass out in a peculiarly dainty way that wasn't at

  all like him. "Idiot woman. Diving atop me like I'm

  some kind of precious—"

  "I'm fine," she said, sitting up. "Byrnes, I'm

  fine." And you are precious. At least t
o me.

  "Is everybody all right?" Malloryn demanded,

  light on his feet like a cat. His coat was torn, and

  he'd lost his polished persona.

  Leo Barrons helped the duchess to her feet.

  From the look of it, he'd borne the worst of the

  assault. Shredded strips of his coat hung off him,

  and blood dripped from his elbow. "Below," he

  gasped. "The queen."

  "On it," Malloryn said, striding for the door.

  “Byrnes? Ingrid?”

  "Coming." Byrnes tugged Ingrid to her feet,

  then stopped to check if she was bleeding.

  "Go, you fool," she said, pushing at his chest.

  "It's naught but scratches."

  "I'm not used to this."

  And neither was she. But she kept her tongue

  as she pushed him toward the door, knowing that

  his fussing over her indicated the depth of his

  feelings. He wasn’t the type of man to tease her

  with love words, and so she had to find them in his

  actions.

  In the garden, everything was mayhem. People

  screamed, and here and there lay crumpled piles of

  silk like crushed butterflies. Smoke boiled from a

  pit in the ground. Servants were panicking, and

  none of the servant drones seemed to be working.

  Perhaps the explosion had fried their electrics?

  Into the mayhem stalked danger. A vampire

  leapt onto the sandwich table, scattering trays as it

  hissed at the frightened party guests.

  Ingrid whipped a silver sandwich platter off a

  nearby table and threw it like a discus at the

  creature. It launched itself over the tray and darted

  after a pair of screaming girls, hampered only by

  the panicked flight of the rest of the party guests.

  Too many people fled at one, distracting it as it

  looked for the weakest member of the herd.

  "Watch my back." Byrnes vaulted over the

  table, knocking a dozen platters of sandwiches and

  cakes to their deaths on the tiled walkway.

  “Byrnes!” Ingrid tried to follow and dragged

  two chairs with her. Bloody sodding skirts. With a

  slash of her knife, she cut away the offending

  lengths then went after him.

  “This way!” Byrnes sprinted through the

  gardens with Ingrid on his heels.

  The creature slid to a halt as the clouds

  suddenly parted and a wash of sunlight lit over the

  gardens. London's incredibly inclement weather

  was finally giving them a ray of hope, as it were.

  It hissed as the sunlight burned its skin, and

  the pair of girls in front of it screamed. One of

  them was Malloryn's bride, holding a sandwich

  platter as a shield, as though that would do any

  good. The vampire darted into the shadows along

  the garden wall.

  “Stay in the sunlight,” Ingrid told Malloryn’s

  fiancée. “And don’t run.”

  A small package with brass springs and

  ticking clockwork pieces was attached to the

  vampire's back, strapped into place with a leather

  harness.

  Ingrid's blood ran cold as she realized that it

  was ticking. "Byrnes! It's strapped to a bomb!"

  Just one glimpse of his ice-cold blue eyes

  across the expanse of grass showed her that he was

  thinking the exact same thing as she was. We need

  to get it out of here.

  Agreed.

  There were too many people—too many

  innocents. But how were they going to lure it

  away?

  Blood. They needed blood, something for the

  vampire to lock onto as prey. Ingrid slashed a thin

  cut down her arm, ignoring the flare of pain.

  Verwulfen blood was richer in iron than human

  blood, and according to most blue bloods, tasted

  better. Perfect.

  "Ingrid!" Byrnes bellowed, seeing what she

  was about.

  "Find me somewhere isolated," she shot back,

  darting close enough to flick her blood across the

  vampire's face. "Somewhere where we might be

  able to trap it, if that bloody thing doesn't

  explode!"

  Then she was running before she could even

  look to see if it followed.

  THE SHAKING COLD began as Ingrid darted out

  into the streets, the loupe firing through her blood

  and bringing with it the tidal edge of

  berserkergang. Fear washed away, leaving her

  buoyed with defiance and hungry for violence.

  A fine edge to walk along. Push too far, and

  she'd be turning to face the vampire, careless of

  danger, fearless. Holding herself back meant that

  she wouldn't receive the burst of extra vibrancy,

  speed, and strength that she needed, just to stay in

  front.

  A hack driver swore and those who’d turned

  out to see what all the fuss was about gasped as

  they realized what was behind her. Those gasps

  soon turned to screams, high-pitched enough to

  catch the vampire's ears perhaps.

  "Don't run!" Ingrid yelled, but the lady in front

  of her snatched her little girl and darted down an

  alley. Ingrid cost herself a precious second in

  looking back, to see the vampire falter as it

  realized prey was fleeing from it. Instinct kicked

  in. It wanted to chase the slower, weaker prey.

  Damn, and double damn. Ingrid's arm was

  beginning to heal now. She cut herself again,

  waving her arm in the air, and the vampire's head

  turned, blindly tracking her.

  Byrnes met her gaze over the vampire’s

  shoulder, lifting his pistol into the sky and then

  firing. The shot ricocheted through the streets, and

  screams echoed nearby.

  What was he doing? Then she realized. Other

  streets would be just as clogged with people. If

  they heard the shots, maybe they'd have time to flee

  before she led the vampire directly toward them.

  "Ivory Bridge!" Byrnes pointed toward the

  half-completed bridge arching up over the Thames,

  and fired his pistol into the air again.

  Abandoned, thanks to the ongoing negotiations

  and workers strikes that had so fouled up river

  traffic and were causing endless headaches among

  the Council of Dukes. It just might work.

  "Slow it down!" She took off running just as

  that ugly face tilted toward her again.

  The Ivory Tower loomed in the distance; the

  heart of parliament, and the seat of London’s

  power. Ivory Bridge speared out from its southern

  walls, the suspension bridge hanging in parts as

  cranes stood motionless.

  "Come on, you ugly bastard," Ingrid muttered,

  leaping up onto the rail of the bridge and running

  along it.

  Claws lashed through the remains of her skirt,

  and Ingrid leapt up onto the stone base of the

  tower, her fingers catching in the cranny between

  the slabs of stone. Lashing out with a foot, she

  managed to catch the vampire in the face and it

  fell, catching a claw on the base of the bridge, its

  body dangling over the dirty Thames.

  Ingrid
shoved upward, stabbing her fingers

  and shoes into the cracks as she climbed to the

  second span. There weren't a lot of options to take.

  Behind her the vampire scrambled up the

  stonework like a rat up a brick wall, and Ingrid's

  blood froze. Looking around revealed only a thin

  iron span to use as an escape route, and she swiftly

  realized she was going to be trapped if she—

  Something whizzed into gear on the

  clockwork package strapped to the vampire's back.

  Everything sped up, the tick, tick, tick, becoming

  more pronounced. The bloody creature fixated

  entirely on her, however, its teeth bared as it found

  the ledge she stood upon.

  A shot ricocheted past, snagging the vampire's

  attention for all of a second. "Ingrid!" Byrnes

  screamed. "Get clear!"

  Turning, she started to sprint along the narrow

  span, catching sight of a crane nestled on the

  battlements. Hissed breath stalked her heels, claws

  skittering over the iron. Jesus. She wasn't going to

  make it…. She wasn't— Ingrid leapt, snatching

  hold of the end of the crane, her body arching as

  the end of the chain swung wide, out over the

  water.

  The vampire skittered to a halt as she

  vanished out of its reach. It spun, making high-

  pitched noises, as if to find another way to get at

  her, but she had reached the end of the arc now,

  and was swinging back round—

  "Let go!" Byrnes yelled.

  The water was a flat pane beneath her, brown

  and murky. Ingrid's blood ran cold. High. She was

  incredibly high, and her hands wouldn't unlock on

  the chain.

  "Ingrid! It's going to explode!"

  Taking a breath and forcing herself not to

  think, Ingrid let go. Gravity sunk its greedy claws

  into her, and she plummeted like a stone, heels held

  straight below her. Water rushed up, and then—

  Everything went white.

  She hit the Thames hard, tossed end over end,

  as the bomb exploded above. A sonic boom

  scraped her skin raw and left her floundering in

  churning water. Something slashed through the

  water nearby, trailing a wake of bubbles, and she

  could see fire blooming in the sky behind it as

  other various bits of flotsam and jetsam struck the

  river and slowly sank.

  Another object cut through the river's murk,

  sleek and black, like a knife. Then hands were

  dragging her up. Presumably up. She didn't know

  anymore, but she couldn't breathe... she had no

  breath left inside her.

  They broke the surface with a cough. Ingrid

 

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