by Bec McMaster
And as he watched her slam the door behind him, he felt the familiar burn of guilt.
He'd driven both of them away. No Gemma. No Isabella.
It was better this way.
Malloryn turned, surveying the map on his wall, all the recent catastrophic events picked out upon it in red string. A spider web if one knew what one was looking for. A trap, slowly closing around London, around him.
He knew patterns. He could sense the storm coming.
And there was a churning sensation in his gut as he stared at the puzzle pieces in front of him, his mind coldly putting them together.
You know what this is.
This was personal.
Someone out there was pulling strings, as if just watching and waiting for him to realize what he faced. He'd known peace for three years, but this had all the makings of an old game, finally resurrected.
It bore a certain signature he'd been trying to overlook.
It couldn't be who he suspected.
It wasn't possible.
"I buried him myself," he whispered.
But someone had reopened the game between them, and this time, Malloryn was the one with everything to lose.
A sharp rap sounded on her door.
Fresh from her bath, Gemma gave it a dull look. "Yes?"
"Are you up to company?" Ingrid called. "Ava wanted to make certain you were all right."
Gemma strode toward the door and opened it, surprised to see the two of them there.
"We bring gifts," Ingrid said, lifting a green glass bottle. Another was hidden behind her back. "I've raided Byrnes's cabinet."
"Is he going to demand repayment?"
"Already accounted for, Gem. I'll pay the price."
"With a pound of flesh?"
Ingrid gave her a wolfish smile. "It's a great hardship, I know, but I am prepared to make this sacrifice for the sake of our friendship."
"That is incredibly selfless of you," Ava said, with a choked laugh. She was new enough to the world of physical pleasure she still blushed whenever Ingrid and Gemma teased her.
Gemma stepped aside, gesturing them inside her room. After the heartbreaking moment in Malloryn's study, she desperately needed the pair of them.
"Tell us everything," Ingrid demanded, then snagged the cork between her teeth and popped the bottle open. "Blud-wein for the pair of you." She filled the glasses Ava held up, the liquid thick and viscous. "And brandy for me, as drinking blood-laced wine is vile."
Gemma tipped the glass to her lips and drained the entire damned thing.
"Oh, dear," Ava said when she lowered the empty glass. "That bad, huh?"
Ingrid lounged on the bed, handing the bottle over.
"I hope you brought more for Ava," Gemma said, taking the bottle for herself and knowing neither of them would protest. Bugger the glass. Screw etiquette. "Here's to Malloryn choking on his own tongue."
She drank to that.
Ava produced a flask from inside her apron pocket. "You definitely deserve the entire bottle. Don't worry about me. Kincaid's been corrupting me, and I had a feeling we'd all have sore heads in the morning so I came prepared. Blud-wein's not my poison of choice, either."
"A blue blood who doesn't like blood. What are we going to do with you, Ava?" Gemma shook her head. "Oh, well. More for me."
"So... apparently we share a common interest in dhampir men," Ingrid prodded. "I never knew you had such wicked secrets."
Gemma took a seat next to her, and Ava knelt on the end of her bed.
"I have some bad news for you," she told Ingrid. "Apparently Byrnes is due to eventually grow a set of razor-sharp canine teeth."
Ingrid had her glass to her lips and almost sprayed brandy across the room. "What?"
Ava thumped Ingrid's back as she choked.
Gemma explained, hooking her index fingers into little curls and tucking them under her lip to mimic fangs. "Like Dracula."
"I always wondered if Bram Stoker took the blue blood myth and embellished it. We've never had fangs, after all." Ava frowned, and then suddenly grew excited. "But what if he had somehow encountered some sort of story about dhampir somewhere? What if—"
Ingrid tossed a pillow at her. "No, Ava! No talk of craving viruses and the origin of the dhampir tonight. I want to know more about Byrnes's teeth. The man's a menace as it is."
"Well, we all know there's been an increase in Byrnes's, ahem, stamina. Apparently, his bloodlust's going to go through the roof as well, from what I understand," Gemma said.
"Too late for that warning," Ingrid muttered into her glass.
Her eyes shot to the other woman's neck. Then Gemma snatched her wrist. Not a mark upon her. "Ingrid Miller. Just where is your husband biting you?"
"Don't worry. I bite him back."
"What sort of menace?"
"Can't corrupt innocent ears," Ingrid said, with a wink.
"Oh, it's not as if we cannot hear the pair of you every damned night," Ava protested. "And I shall have you know—"
"Not Kincaid!" Both Gemma and Ingrid plugged their fingers into their ears.
"Please," Gemma protested, "the man is an extremely fine specimen, but ever since I found out he has a cock on him like a battering ram, I can barely look him in the eye."
"And all the things he says to you!" Ingrid clapped a hand over her eyes. "You made me blush, and I don't have a chaste bone in my body."
"You're just jealous because Byrnes wouldn't know poetry if it bit him on the ass. Between you and Byrnes, you're the one with a gift for rhyming slang," Gemma pointed out.
Ingrid clinked glasses with her. Last month, she'd finally confessed to a certain risqué bet between her and Byrnes that had apparently ended with him tied to his bed, naked, with a poem scrawled across his chest.
Considering he'd been found by several of his former Nighthawk brethren, he'd spent a year vowing revenge upon Ingrid.
According to Byrnes, he could no longer show his face around the Guild of Nighthawks, because every time he did, they started singing the poem.
"What Kincaid was whispering in Ava's ear has little to do with poetry," Ingrid continued.
Ava blushed. "I blame the pair of you. I'd never imbibed so much before. I cannot believe I even admitted he says such things."
The three of them collapsed in laughter.
Gemma felt the weight of the last few days slough off her as she laughed. This was exactly what she'd needed. "So what else have I missed?"
"Well, while you were off seducing the enemy, Malloryn's had the whip in hand," Ingrid admitted. "No rest for the wicked. Ava's been busy with the autopsies of the three victims from Thorne Tower; Malloryn and Kincaid have been trying to organize the guard protection for the queen; and Charlie, Byrnes, and I have been scouring the streets trying to find you."
Malloryn's best trackers. It surprised her, for he should have had them on the Carlyle case.
"Did you find anything unusual in Jonathan Carlyle's autopsy?"
Ava shook her head. "No. Most of his brain was mush, unfortunately. He'd been tortured and starved, and he was emaciated. You were right though. The bullet in his head was etched with a diamond."
That itch was back. The one that said something about the Carlyle murder struck her as wrong.
Obsidian's lack of memories. Carlyle's lack of memories. How were the pair of them connected?
"Uh-oh," Ingrid murmured. "I recognize that expression. What thought is bothering you?"
Malloryn hadn't understood. He was such a cold bastard; he could barely look an emotion in the eye and respect what it was telling him.
But these two....
Gemma let the entire story of her past spill from her lips.
By the time she'd finished, both of them were frowning.
"I can have another look," Ava said. "Cause of death was fairly easy to ascertain, so I wasn't searching for anything else." She hesitated. "What should I be looking for?"
"I don't know," Gemma admitted
. "Something just doesn't feel right about this entire case."
"Trust your instincts," Ingrid said, "and have another drink."
"At least someone believes in my instincts."
"Everyone knows you pick up on things we don't," Ingrid protested.
"Unless, of course, you're the Duke of Malloryn, in which case I'm merely conjuring theories to try and rationalize my overly emotional decision-making processes."
It came out a little harder than she'd expected.
"He's been on edge ever since you were taken, Gem," Ava said hesitantly. "I wouldn't take his words seriously."
"Malloryn sent us searching all over London for you. He even joined us in the end, when there was no sign of you. I won't say I thought you were dead, but the tracking device was silent for two days. Even I was starting to...." Ingrid gave a shrug, unable to complete the sentence. Her irises flared bronze as the wolf roused within her. Verwulfen were incredibly protective of those they considered their own.
"What happened?" Ava whispered.
Gemma had explained the past she and Obsidian shared, but she'd glossed over the recent events.
"The usual." The hollow burn of resentment ached within her. She lifted the bottle of blud-wein directly to her lips. "I failed Malloryn."
She sensed Ingrid and Ava exchanging a look as she swallowed
"I fail to see how any of what happened was a failure," Ingrid growled. "You did your best to survive a dangerous situation. And to be honest, when we broke in, I didn't gain the impression your feelings were one-sided. Obsidian's first instinct was to protect you."
A gentle hand rested on her knee as Gemma lowered the bottle.
"Malloryn's had his britches in a knot all week," Ava said firmly. "Don't take his words personally. He's barely slept since you went missing. And then there's the queen. Someone tried to break into the Ivory Tower two nights ago, as if to test its resources, and they couldn't catch him—"
"And of course, let us not forget Malloryn's forthcoming wedding, though I daresay he's trying to."
Gemma's grip tightened around the neck of the bottle. Oh, heck. The wedding. Her mind raced, counting days. When was— "Tomorrow," she whispered.
Ingrid rolled her eyes. "Byrnes can hardly wait. Wants to see Malloryn get his comeuppance."
"Half the Echelon wants to see Malloryn get his comeuppance," Ava added.
Gemma tried to find a smile, but couldn't.
"You couldn't have timed your escape better if you'd tried." Ava accepted the glass Ingrid gave her. "Malloryn's been in such a lather we weren't certain if he was going to call off the wedding to find you, and Byrnes has been beside himself that it would skew the results of the betting pool."
"Byrnes doesn't deal with stress well," Ingrid added, as if realizing how that sounded. "He focuses outwardly on other things in order to hide his true feelings. He was genuinely worried, Gemma. He could barely sleep."
"I know." Her voice roughened as she stared down into her own glass. These people were becoming more like her family than the unknown woman who'd birthed her and then sold her to Balfour's Falcons. "Thank you."
No tears warmed her eyes—as a blue blood she was physically incapable of crying—but she was fairly certain she was going to lose her composure.
Ava gave her a gentle hug, and Ingrid chinked her glass against Gemma's.
"To getting you back."
They all threw their glasses back, and the blud-wein burned down Gemma's raw throat.
Ingrid topped up all three glasses. "To Malloryn's wedding."
Again.
A warm, fuzzy sensation began to burn through her veins as the blud-wein splashed into their glasses again. Ingrid poured like a woman hell-bent on getting top-hammered.
"And to the Company of Rogues, who are my newfound family," Ingrid said in a softer voice, and Gemma realized she wasn't the only one who'd known little to no familial love.
Ava had been raised by a banker who didn't know what to do with her once she'd been kidnapped and turned into a blue blood; Ingrid had been captured by English raiders from somewhere in Scandinavia as a child and forced into a cage for the amusement of blue blood lords....
And Gemma?
She'd had friends once, in the training camps of the Falcons, before she realized they'd be pitted against each other during their final years and forced to do anything to survive. She'd never dared let anyone get close to her after that horrifying revelation, using her armor of flirtation and charm to prevent anyone from slipping under her skin.
But these people had hunted for her when she'd been taken. They were here now because they knew she was sick at heart.
No matter what sort of twisted mess she felt for Dmitri, she needed this too.
"To the pair of you. You are my family," she whispered, her fingers shaking around the glass. "And I will do my very best to keep you all safe, no matter what comes. I love you both."
The blud-wein burned.
They'd need another bottle if this continued.
"Oh, my goodness." Ava fanned her face. "Stop it. You're both going to have me sobbing, and then Kincaid will want to know what's wrong, and I won't be able to explain it, because he has the sensitivity of a rock sometimes...."
"You should try living with Byrnes." Ingrid lifted the bottle and snorted. "He'd be trying to sort out the problem and coming up with analytical explanations for why I'm crying. If he asks, I'm merely going to remove my gown. That distracts him in no time."
And Gemma suffered another little moment of aching pain as the pair of them bantered back and forth, because if she was being honest with herself, the need for family wasn't the only ache that pulsed within her....
She wanted this too.
Chapter 16
Obsidian stared across the crowded tavern, watching as humanity laughed raucously and swilled beer. The noise enveloped him, but he was very aware he didn't belong here. The smell was quite overwhelming: the press of human body odor, the likes of which had rarely met water if he wasn't mistaken; rotten teeth; and a certain yeasty scent which underlaid everything.
He honestly couldn't fathom why Silas liked this place so much.
Tapping the blunt end of his cheroot in the tray, Obsidian lifted it to his lips and inhaled, considering his next steps. Every inch of his body ached. Whatever Malloryn had shocked him with, it had sent his heart stammering for a good hour afterwards. His fingers were burned, though the craving virus rapidly healed him.
And Gemma was gone.
It was that, perhaps, that hurt the most.
Perhaps? Even his inner voice mocked him.
What the hell had she been thinking, throwing herself between him and the duke? She could have been shot.
And hell, if there was anything that could convince him she spoke the truth about the past it was what had happened tonight. Gemma had risked her life and everything she stood for in order to protect him. Obsidian's hands shook a little as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. His heart skipped a beat, and instantly he sought to master himself again; to still his breath, taking a long slow inhale of air, much the same way he prepared to pull a trigger, but different now, for the turmoil was inside him.
There was no future with Gemma.
There never had been, but despite all that was lost to him, the sudden sharp ache of yearning took him by surprise.
He barely remembered her, and yet, some part of him felt like he'd known her for years. To be in her company was like stepping into warm, golden sunlight, a welcoming embrace of heat he hadn't felt in years. Like being a marble statue brought to life; a man whose heart finally beat in his chest after years of stillness.
He missed the sunlight.
He missed warmth.
He missed her.
And he couldn't go back to his brothers.
If there'd been dhampir agents in Mably House, then they knew what he'd been up to with Gemma.
And if they knew, then Ghost was aware of everything.
Th
e door crashed open, letting the blustery wind of night inside. Barely anyone glanced that way, but Obsidian ground out his cheroot as Silas finally slipped in through the front door.
Silas paused when their eyes met. He nodded, dragging his long scarf from his throat, and then crossed the packed tavern to slink into the other side of the red leather booth as if he'd been expecting to see Obsidian here all along. This was his favorite drinking hole, a vice both Obsidian and Ghost abhorred.
"What the hell was you thinkin'?" Silas growled, shoving the damp wool scarf on the table. "Are you mad? Ghost is furious."
Fury never quite described Ghost's rages.
"Hence why I haven't returned," he said, with a faint, unamused smile though his fingers still shook with the shock of it all.
"I swear to God, you're goin' to put me in an early grave." Silas shook his head. "I knew it seemed unusual. Two dhampir agents sent after Gemma Townsend and none of them survived? I kept askin' myself: Is she that good? Trained ex-Falcon or not, she's still only a blue blood. But then I began to wonder... what if there was someone watchin' over her? A guardian angel, if you will? Someone who could handle two dhampir with ease. Someone with an interest in keepin' her alive."
"You betrayed me to Ghost."
Silas looked away, capturing the barmaid's eye and holding up a single finger. "He already knew. He's had two of the acolytes trailin' you from a distance."
Obsidian looked at him sharply.
"You wouldn't have seen them. They were instructed to track the beacon and stay a distance of five clicks from it. Ghost became curious about why you was spendin' so much time at Mably House."
Just how long had Ghost been having him watched?
And why?
"You don't find that bothersome?" he asked.
Silas sighed and slumped back against the seat. "Course I do. Cut mine out months back. I leave it where I want them to think I am. Usually a place like this. I don't actually like this pig swill."
His gaze dropped to Obsidian's ruined gloves.
"Looks like you've had a hell of a day. Miss Townsend stick you a few times?"