You Only Love Twice (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy Book 3)

by Bec McMaster

  Dmitri Zhukov held a quiet sort of confidence about him she found intriguing. As Hollis swallowed, her gaze dropped to his lips. Every inch of this man moved with purpose and dominance. If he kissed her, it would not be a question.

  If he kissed her, she would not be the one with the upper hand.

  Don't you dare. You are here on a mission.

  Sergey's the target.

  Not... Not this man.

  "Are you enjoying Russia?" he countered, as he swept her into the assah, a dance designed in England to display a thrall's assets most beautifully to her blue blood master.

  Hollis had never been any man's prey, but the smoky allure of the exotic music stole over her, as Dmitri slid his left hand possessively over her waist, and captured her other hand. And she felt it strike a chord within her, as Dmitri took possession of her with purpose. Not a single ounce of hesitation filled him. He moved like captured lightning. Gripped her like a man who intended to never let her go.

  "I'm enjoying it a little more now," she admitted huskily.

  The faintest of smiles touched his mouth.

  "You have a dangerous smile, Captain Lieutenant."

  "I never smile."

  "And yet you are," she accused. "Don't deny it. I saw it with my own eyes."

  "Perhaps I'm enjoying Russia a little more now too."

  Gemma's breath caught, but she didn't have time to reply, for he swept her into a quick shuffle that required her concentration. She'd never felt so off-balance before. Men were usually easy to wrap around her little finger, but every glint of those dangerous eyes assured her he wouldn’t be easy to tame.

  "How precisely, are you acquainted with Prince Sergey Grigoriev?" she asked, because she had a job to do.

  "Why would you assume I am?"

  "Because he’s watching you quite intently."

  Dmitri swept her around, capturing her wrists in both hands and leaning his mouth close to her ear. "It’s not me he’s watching. But you knew that."

  A step forward.

  A step back.

  "Why are you so interested in him?" he asked.

  "I wasn’t aware I was."

  "You must be," he teased, "because usually when a woman’s in my arms, she’s not asking questions about another man."

  "He's a Prince of the Blood," Hollis breathed, slipping back into her preordained role. "What young lady of quality wouldn’t be interested in him?"

  He tipped his head toward her. "True."

  "Are you a friend of Sergey's?"

  "No."

  Interesting. "A relative?"

  They looked a little alike, but the Russian court were fastidious about keeping their bloodlines pure, and—

  "No."

  "Do you know how to answer a question with more than one word?"

  There. The faintest hint of warmth in his eyes. "Occasionally."

  Gemma couldn't stop herself from smiling. Her real smile this time, not the seductive one she often fabricated. "You, sir, are an enigma."

  And there was nothing she enjoyed more than a mystery.

  "I'm nothing of the sort," Dmitri replied, sweeping her beneath his hand. The soft caress of his fingertips brushed her waist as she spun, his thumb stroking the silk there just long enough to make her realize

  "I promise you won't remain a mystery for long," she retorted a little breathlessly, as she spun back into his arms.

  The dying strains of the assah whispered through the air, as they drew to a halt.

  "It seems our time together is over."

  Dmitri met her eyes, and his own twinkled. "I like to think it is just beginning. Until next time, Lady Beechworth."

  "One presumes there is a next time."

  "Oh, there will be."

  He kissed her hand again—the back of it this time—but his eyes smoldered as he took his leave.

  What an interesting man. She was still smiling when she turned to look for Sergey.

  Only to realize he’d vanished during the course of the dance.

  And she hadn’t noticed at all.

  Chapter 12

  Obsidian rested one arm against the open arch of an abandoned clock tower, staring at his target. The Ivory Tower speared into the heavens, but despite its height and glory, he barely saw it.

  If you cannot remember what happened in Saint Petersburg, then someone had to have told you. Do you trust their version of events?

  Curse her to hell.

  The first time you kissed me, I forgot the role I was supposed to be playing, the game I’d set into place. I forgot everything, but the taste of your mouth.

  Gemma was playing with his mind, manipulating him. He knew it. It was what she did.

  And yet, there was a faint whisper of doubt deep in his heart.

  Could he believe what she’d told him?

  Had she truly loved him?

  Opening his clenched fist, he stared down at the button he'd taken from her dress. There was no scent on it, no reason to consider it a memento, but he couldn't stop his thumb from rasping over the soft silk and thinking of her skin.

  Footsteps echoed through the gloom of the clock tower's attic, disturbing a pair of nesting pigeons who cooed in sudden nervousness. Obsidian cocked his head, but he'd heard the door open below, and seen the familiar figure enter.

  "Are you just goin' to stare at it all night?" Silas asked, stalking out of the shadows behind him. "Ghost's growin' impatient."

  Obsidian snapped his fist closed and slid the button into his pocket, mastering his expression before he turned to his brother.

  "Lord Balfour is expecting an update as soon as possible. You know how Ghost gets," Silas said with a shrug.

  "Ghost is going to get us dead if he's not patient."

  "You're the assassin," Silas said. "I trust your instincts. But I don't trust his temper."

  Trust. Silas just had to repeat that word.

  Obsidian had trusted Ghost once.

  "This is not a task to rush," Obsidian said. "The Tower's guarded by over five hundred guards. There are cannons mounted on the walls, and a metaljacket legion held in reserve. The stables are full of the Trojan cavalry. And we have only thirty-eight dhampir."

  "The tower's full of secret passages," Silas countered. "The humanists got in during the revolution, so surely we can do it."

  "And the Duke of Malloryn was working with the humanists," Obsidian pointed out. "What do you think the first thing he would have done when they took the tower is? Do you think he'd just leave all those passages open? Undefended? Every tunnel I've found so far has been filled with rubble. He blew them all."

  Silas rubbed at his mouth as he squatted in the open window. "Good point."

  "Bloody Malloryn." Obsidian turned his gaze back to the tower. "The only way inside it is to use someone they'd never expect."

  "Project: Chameleon?"

  They both knew how he felt about that.

  "Ghost might have already played that card," he said roughly. "Killing Jonathan Carlyle was a foolish move. Now they know they're vulnerable. The Coldrush Guards have been like a kicked ant nest ever since."

  "His neural implant was malfunctioning. It was only a matter of time before it killed him, and they found it. He needed to die." Silas swung his legs over the edge of the tower. "How would you do it?"

  Obsidian shot him a sharp look.

  "How would you kill the queen?"

  He stared at the tower, considering his skill set. "The tower's impenetrable."

  "Not for you. You can get inside any building."

  "Even for me. I've spent weeks testing its weaknesses. The guard’s rounds are too irregular, the walls too steep. And the queen's personal chambers are at the very pinnacle. Getting to her means going through an entire tower’s worth of defenses. You could fly over it in a dirigible and come in from the top, but they've mounted cannons on the wall to counter airships.

  "If I wanted to kill the queen, I wouldn't enter the tower at all," he mused. "I'd wait until
she left it."

  Silas made a frustrated sound. "She's holed up tighter than a nun's britches, what with them riots in the streets."

  "Malloryn's wedding gives us a chance. She won't miss that."

  "Imagine Malloryn's face if the queen died under his watch. Hell of a weddin' gift." Silas gave an evil smile. "Compliments of Balfour."

  Obsidian nodded, pacing in front of the open tower as he cracked his knuckles. "It could work. She’ll have to take a steam-carriage through the streets, which makes her vulnerable. Then there’s the wedding venue itself. The Hamilton’s house is nowhere near as well-protected as Malloryn’s manor."

  He felt eyes watching him.

  "What's troublin' you, mate?" Silas finally asked.

  I have one of Malloryn's spies locked up in the Duke of Vickers's abandoned manor, and I can't kill her.

  And then... there was her story.

  She was an enemy spy.

  She tried to kill you.

  The faint echo of pain whispered through his head.

  I thought what we shared in Russia was real….

  "Do you ever wonder if Ghost has ever lied to you?"

  Silas stiffened. "You're asking dangerous questions."

  "We swore an oath," he said quietly, dragging out an old milk crate and sinking onto it. "Brothers by blood. Forged in Falkirk. And then he sent the Wraith to kill Zero when she betrayed him. I... I didn't realize until it was too late."

  He could still see her face sometimes. Begging him for mercy as he injected her with Black Vein and held her while she died.

  "Zero would have killed us."

  "Do you think so?" He clasped his hands between his knees. "All she ever wanted was revenge upon the people who hurt her and threw her in Falkirk. He gave the order to kill her, Silas. He didn't give a damn about her. He used me to do it."

  Indeed, Ghost's last words had been, "She's served her purpose. Put her out of her misery."

  As if Zero's abilities were the only value she had for him.

  "She was mad as hatters, damn it." Silas pushed to his feet. "Bloody hell. We can't talk about this."

  "Why not?"

  Silas raked a hand through his hair. "Because Ghost'll kill us if he ever catches wind of it."

  "There's no one here but you and me."

  "Aye. And when Dr. Richter puts you under? You ever wonder what exactly he pulls out of your head? Or what he puts in there?"

  Obsidian froze.

  "Because I do." Silas stabbed his temple. "Sometimes I wonder if I can even trust meself. I ain’t havin' this conversation, not even with you, brother. I'm due for reconditionin' in a week, and I don't want to inadvertently betray either of us to Ghost." He clapped Obsidian on the shoulder, squeezed hard. "I'll mention the Malloryn element to Ghost. But it wouldn't hurt to keep taking a tilt at the tower. I'll see you tomorrow night."

  "Aye."Obsidian stared out across the expanse of rooftops as Silas patted him on the back and vanished. He needed to return to Mably House before Gemma woke. She'd fallen into a stupor minutes after she drank the drugged cup of blud-wein he'd given her tonight, but he couldn't trust she'd still be under.

  You ever wonder what exactly he pulls out of your head? Or what he puts in there?

  A shiver ran down his spine as he pushed to his feet.

  Because if Silas was right, then could he trust himself?

  "Did you discover what he's up to?" Ghost asked as Silas hauled himself up into the steam hack.

  He slumped on the seat and stared at the leader of the dhampir.

  "Obsidian thinks tryin' to break into the Tower is a barmy idea," Silas replied, scratching at his jaw. Curse Obsidian. He had to give Ghost something. "Mentioned Malloryn's weddin' instead, maybe takin' a crack at the queen then."

  "That's not what I was asking about," Ghost chided, tugging on his leather gloves.

  Silas flushed with cold. Betray Obsidian to this bastard? Or protect the one last brother he truly had?

  Are you sure Richter's not going to pull it out of your head later anyway? You're screwed, mate, either way.

  Silas stared out the window. It was one thing to have his head on the chopping block, but to deliberately take this step felt like choosing sides. And he knew what Ghost had ordered done to Zero and Omega. There weren't no blood between them. There never truly had been.

  But Obsidian. They were the only two originals left with any sense of bond.

  Could he betray his brother to save his own skin?

  "Why is he spending so much time at Mably House?" Ghost mused, stretching one arm across the back of his seat as the hack's boilers started hissing and it pulled away from the curb. "My trainee didn't dare get any closer to the house, but he said Obsidian's tracking beacon has been there for days. He's up to something."

  And Ghost was clearly having Obsidian watched for his own reasons.

  Him or you. Make your choice. Silas bowed his head and reached into his pocket for the small object.

  "He was toyin' with this when I walked in." He flicked it toward Ghost, who snatched it out of the air. "I slipped it out his pocket when I left."

  Ghost looked up sharply when he saw what it was. "A button. A lady's button."

  "I think there's a reason no one can get near Gemma Townsend. And it's got little to do with her skills."

  Gemma lay still for almost an hour after Obsidian vanished.

  Then she cracked one eye open, the taste of laudanum in her mouth.

  It was almost insulting that he thought she wouldn't have tasted the laudanum-hemlock mix. The second she'd felt the familiar heaviness sweep through her veins, she'd made the quick decision to allow her body to relax into a light slumber, wondering what he was up to.

  The last thing she'd been aware of was Obsidian laying her down upon the marble slab and chaining her to it. She was almost certain he'd brushed a piece of hair off his face, then he'd sighed under his breath. "Time to get to work."

  Swinging her legs off the marble slab, Gemma eyed the chain around her ankle with a glare. Time to remove this cursed thing. She didn't know what he was up to, but there could be only one good reason to try and drug her.

  He'd left the house.

  Though she'd been making progress with him, she couldn't stop thinking about COR and the Chameleon.

  They needed her.

  And Obsidian was nowhere near close to telling her a damned thing.

  He'd made that clear earlier.

  Gemma reached for the dead plant in the pot nearby, and dug around in the dirt for her lock pick. It was the matter of seconds to unlatch the manacle. Another to grab his cloak and swing it over her shoulders as she hurried to the door.

  Boots, gown, and lock pick. Now she had all three.

  "Thank you, my love, for providing me with a dress." She smiled to herself as she tumbled the lock on the barred gates.

  The iron gate seemed to squeal on its hinges as she eased it open, and Gemma winced.

  Slipping through the bars, she held her breath and listened.

  Nothing.

  This time she made her way through the back halls, taking the servants hallways when she could. Moonlight flickered through the windows as she passed, quiet as a mouse. Every step she took seemed to shake off the heaviness that still lingered within her.

  A door creaked somewhere in the house.

  Gemma froze, ducking behind a curtain into a glassed alcove. Damn. He must have returned. Her heartbeat ticked out the seconds, and she popped her ears, trying to hear more.

  The second he saw the empty observatory, she'd be in trouble. She had to move. Quickly.

  Gemma eased into the hallway, creeping along the hall runner and keeping to the shadows as much as she could as she made her way down to the servant’s section of the house.

  She was just slipping beneath the arched doorway that led into the kitchens when something moved behind her.

  A hand slammed over her mouth, another hand dragging her back against a hard, male ch
est. Gemma was about to drive a heel to his instep when she sensed the stillness within him and the familiar strength of his arms. One of his damned biceps was almost the size of her head.

  "Don't move," Obsidian whispered.

  His attention was elsewhere. His gaze locked on the ceiling above them, as though he was listening to something else.

  A chill ran through her.

  Maybe it was COR, come to rescue her. But instinct told her there wouldn't have been that quiver of concern in his voice if her friends had arrived. He was faster, stronger, and far harder to kill than a regular blue blood, and he was a trained assassin.

  Pressing her back to the wall, he kept his hand over her mouth, and then eased away from her, peering back into the hallway.

  Gemma gently bit his fingers, more to capture his attention than anything else.

  Pale eyes met hers, his brows drawn down in a serious frown. Gemma crooked her eyebrow, more of an, "I won't yell if you take your hand away," than anything else.

  Maybe it was her imagination, but for a second her Dmitri was there as he gently slid his gloved hand away from her lips.

  The knife whispered free from its sheath, his fingers locking around the hilt in a threatening grip. Gemma's fingers itched for a knife of her own.

  A timber board creaked overhead.

  They both looked up.

  Someone whispered something in the silence of the house. Obsidian held up two fingers, his brows drawing together as he looked at her. She understood his frustration. Two unknown assailants, and a reluctant prisoner.

  Gemma jerked her head toward the back door. Let's get out of here.

  She knew bad odds when she saw them.

  He grabbed her wrist as she slipped toward the door and shook his head. Tugging her toward the pantry, he knelt and eased a trapdoor in the floor open, gesturing her into the darkness within.

  Taking his hand, she let him drop her down into a narrow passage. Then he followed, landing right beside her, and reached up to tug the trapdoor closed.

  Any hint of light vanished.

  "This way." He breathed the words in her ear, then captured her hand and tugged her forward. "They'll be watching the house. This leads into the storm water drains."