creatures.
" One problem at a time, Miller. Free
Debney."
Throwing all of her weight into the lever, she
felt it hover on the verge of shifting, and then
finally launch down, the last chain on Debney
falling apart in two pieces as the guillotine sliced
through it.
Something exploded behind her. Blue bloods
screamed, then three of them went down. Hemlock
bombs. "Debney!"
He was scrambling to get on his feet.
"Ready!"
Yanking him up by the arm, she dragged him
through the crowd. Byrnes had detailed their
escape route to avoid most of the hemlock bombs
he'd planted. They ran, Ingrid barging through
panicked blue bloods and shoving them out of the
way with her verwulfen strength.
Another bomb exploded. Fiery pain lashed
her arm as two of the hemlock spikes drove into
her flesh, and the flash-fire burn in her blood
indicated the loupe virus was attacking the poison
with prejudice. It was good to be verwulfen.
Not so good to be a blue blood. Debney
jolted, staggering as his right leg suddenly
stiffened. "Hit," he gasped, and went down on one
knee. "Leave... me...."
Like hell.
Straining under his sagging weight, Ingrid
dragged him over her shoulder, and started running
up the slope, her thighs burning. Every hair down
the back of her neck rose, as if she could feel
something hunting her.
Screams broke out behind them. Then a
strange fluting trill pierced the air. "Hunt, my pet!"
Another low, eerie tone from the flute.
"Byrnes!"
" Coming! "
A lithe black shadow broke out of the trees,
and Byrnes caught her, wincing as one last hemlock
bomb exploded behind them.
"What are we going to do?"
"Can you carry him?" Byrnes glanced over his
shoulder, flicking his pistols into his hands.
For a while. She ground her teeth together.
"I'll manage."
"Head for the folly. I've planted some more
bombs there, on a remote detonating charge." He
gave her a shove in the back and turned, both
pistols lifting.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Double barrels spat
bullets, the sound shearing through her eardrums.
"There are two of them! I've got this one!"
As if the odds could not get any worse.
Panting, with sweat dripping down her face,
Ingrid forced her way up the hill toward the marble
folly. Something snarled behind her and she threw
herself over the edge of berserkergang, letting the
fury, the fierce rush of the loupe consume her. It
fired through her veins, granting her an extra burst
of speed, even as the fierce cold-hot rush bled
through her veins.
A heavy weight hit her and Debney squealed.
Ingrid went to one knee, as a flash of something
rocketed past. Dumping Debney off her shoulder,
she spun just in time to face a nightmare. The
vampire had overshot them, but now it loped
toward her then paused, as if it sensed that she'd
turned, and lifted its head to sniff. Crab-walking
sideways, it made a series of high-pitched clicking
noises that somehow helped it to see, considering
the blind film covering its eyes.
Ingrid moved with it, trying to force it back to
the main entrance up the slope. "Come on," she
whispered. "Back you go." There was no fear now,
only a tempting lure of violence. Let's see if you
bleed. "Back, you ugly bastard."
Back where the glittering gold hemlock orbs
waited, lying forlornly on the grass. In the distance,
she could see flames flickering as if something was
burning, but Byrnes was nowhere to be seen. The
vampire took a single step forward, hopping on
three limbs. Nearly there. Nearly.
"Byrnes," she said softly, gaze locked on the
vampire as it made one more step. "Anytime you're
ready with those detonators."
The golden orbs made a faint clicking noise,
and the vampire looked down. Ingrid threw herself
behind the folly wall as they exploded. Iron spikes
flew past, embedding themselves in the marble,
and the vampire gave a high-pitched scream.
"Got you."
Hemlock couldn't be entirely trusted; its
effectiveness differed depending on the levels of
craving virus in the blood, and a vampire's would
be coming in at 100 percent. But it might slow it
down, just for a few seconds anyway.
Blades in hand, she launched herself down the
slope. The creature was staggering, shaking off the
effects of dozens of the iron spikes. Ingrid lashed
out, raking her knife through its maggot-pale flesh.
Black ichor splashed and it screamed, its claws
lashing at her, just as a wave of putrid stench
enveloped her. Forcing herself not to gag, Ingrid
sank her second knife into its guts, and wrenched it
upward, toward its sternum. Heart. Where was the
heart?
There. She felt it on the tip of her blade, and
the vampire's efforts redoubled, its back claws
hooking up between them and raking down her
side. Hot blood burned her knuckles; somewhere
in the back of her mind she was aware of the pain
and the hurt, but the berserkergang had her in its
grip now. Lashing out, she drove her main knife in
deep to join the second one. Again. Again. Then it
kicked out, and the force of the blow knocked her
feet out from under her.
"Ingrid! Clear!"
Ingrid threw herself aside, relief flooding
through her, as Byrnes suddenly appeared, pistols
raised.
THERE WERE a few moments in his life that had
branded themselves on Byrnes's brain; the moment
when his mother had fallen that last time, her head
striking the edge of the fireplace and making that
sound, that horrible sound; the memory of cold rain
drizzling down his face as he stared impassively at
his father's casket and hoped the bastard was
rotting in hell; and now Ingrid, backlit against the
blaze below, runnels of sweat marking her face.
Blood. And pain in her eyes. And a white
blur, moving toward him with impossible speed.
Byrnes stepped back, his heel catching on
something, his eyes going wide as he fell....
Tumbling onto his back, he jerked the trigger
as the vampire launched itself at him. Acid blood
sprayed across his face as the pistol retorted, the
creature falling heavily across him. Byrnes
scrambled backwards, still fighting, still wrestling,
until he realized that he was fighting a dead weight.
It was over.
Half of the vampire's head was simply... gone.
The firebolt bullets in his pistol had exploded upon
impact, and its chest was a mess from where Ingrid
had cut it.
"I killed it."
A vampire. He'd killed a vampire. Pure
bloody luck, that was what it was; the pistol in the
right place at the right time, his finger already on
the trigger. His heart wouldn't stop racing.
Then the pain of the blood burns washed over
him. Vampire blood was like acid. That, and the
recollection that he hadn't been alone.
"Ingrid!" Byrnes wiped it off, scoring his
sensitive skin and ignoring the flash of pain as he
searched for her. Ingrid watched him warily, those
amber eyes flaring bronze-hot. She was kneeling,
one hand pressed gently to her side.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded.
Ingrid shook her head, staring again at the
vampire's body. "Just... shaken."
And she was so rarely shaken. Those long,
dexterous hands trembled and blood marred her
bodice. She'd never looked so bloody beautiful.
Nor so vulnerable.
"And Debney?"
"Alive." She pressed her hands over Debney's
chest. Sharp slashes gouged a bloody ruin in his
brother's skin.
"Oh, God. I'm dying, aren't I? Caleb? Caleb?"
There was a note of panic in Debney's voice as he
searched for Byrnes.
"Not dying, Debney. Not today." Byrnes knelt
at his brother's side, assessing the damage. "You
probably won't even have a scar, courtesy of the
craving virus."
"Not dying?" The words gurgled in Debney's
throat; an incredulous laugh.
"Not dying."
For some reason, Debney caught his hand.
"You came for me."
"Well, you were squealing like a stuck pig in
my ear. I couldn't just leave you there." Though he
tried to sound disgusted, their eyes met. Byrnes
looked away. "No more debt, Francis," he said
softly. "You were very brave. If you hadn't lied
about my presence, we probably wouldn't have had
a chance."
Sitting up with a wince, Debney nodded,
looking quite overcome. "What happened to the
other vampire? Did you kill them both?"
"She recalled it with her flute." Byrnes ran a
hand through his hair.
"Bloody hell." Staggering to his feet, Debney
nearly took a swan-dive into a stand of bushes.
"Just let me... get my feet under me." He headed off
in a slow circle around the folly, shaking off the
hemlock.
And then they were alone, the feral need in
Ingrid's eyes matching the sensation in his chest.
Nearly dead. Both of them.
Want kindled in his veins, fanned to hot
flames by the exhilaration of what had just
happened. The blaze of post-battle fury brought
with it the need for physical release, or simply
even the touch of her skin.
Fuck it. He gave in to the urge, closing the
distance between them, cupping her face and tilting
it up toward him, his thumbs wiping the blood from
her cheek. Ingrid made a growling sound in her
throat, but he didn't think it was denial. An echo of
the lust slamming through him, perhaps.
"Think I've earned that kiss yet?" It came out
rougher than he'd intended. Hell. He wasn't feeling
at all himself. Shaky perhaps, in ways that he didn't
understand.
Sliding a hand behind his nape, Ingrid yanked
his face down, her lips brushing against his and
sending an electric shock through him. "I think
you've more than earned it."
Then she claimed his mouth in a kiss that lit
the very soles of his feet on fire.
A year. An entire year in which he'd yearned
for this, dreaming of that last time she'd kissed him
and ridden his hips with only her breeches
between them and the hot scent of her need
dampening the air. Byrnes had locked it all away—
every last memory—but he hadn't been able to
forget. Not completely. It all surged to the surface,
but the sensation of this, the realness of it, blew his
memories and his expectations out of the water.
Muscling her backwards, he felt the jolt as
her back came up against the marble column of the
folly. Kissing each other, their mouths warring, no
finesse, only hunger... it burned through him.
Sliding his hands down her hips, he rocked against
her. Tongues clashed, hers faintly teasing—
"Ahem." Debney made a faint coughing sound
behind them.
Byrnes froze. He was going to kill his brother.
Slowly and painfully. A thousand ways to do so
sprang to mind, even as tension slid through
Ingrid's lithe body.
But this wouldn't be his only chance. No. He'd
won a precious step toward earning her trust today
and this contest of wills between them. He would
have her. All he had to do was remain patient.
With a sigh, Byrnes lifted his face, reluctantly
releasing her. It hurt to let her go. Darkness
slithered through his vision, the hunger—the
predator
within—asserting
itself.
Mine,
it
whispered, and Byrnes actually blinked.
Then it was gone, his vision sliding through
shades of black and gray, until color flooded back
into his world and he had to wonder if he'd
imagined that.
Because, if he wasn't mistaken, the darker
side of his nature had just stamped its claim on the
most frustrating woman he knew.
"Let's go." Ingrid's voice was sharper than
expected. He could almost hear the sound of her
putting up those guarded walls around herself so
that he could never, ever get in. "That woman had
discover if there are any more out there in the dark,
hunting us."
"Agreed," he said softly, and shook off the
unusual sense of connection that he'd momentarily
felt.
That way lay danger.
And Ingrid wasn't the only one who guarded
her heart.
TEN
"HOW'S DEBNEY?" Ingrid asked, rapping her
knuckles against the door of the passenger cabin
that Byrnes occupied.
She paused awkwardly as Byrnes looked up
from beneath those thick, indecent black lashes, his
blue eyes locking on her with that intensity with
which he viewed everything. Something heated lit
his gaze, then he returned his attention to his bare
arm, which he was wiping the blood from.
Bare arm. Bare chest... rippled abdomen.
Ingrid looked away, her gaze locking on his
discarded shirt and valet's coat and staying there.
Far safer than letting it wander back to the man
himself as he tended various wounds. The blood
burns from the vampire had long faded, leaving
only a reddened mark on his skin, but there were
various cuts and bruises. Much like her own,
though she hadn't had a chance to tend them. The
one along her side burned as the loupe virus fired
through her
blood.
"Most likely in some sort of alcoholic stupor
in the main cabin," Byrnes replied, and she could
hear fabric rustling as he dragged his shirt off the
chair and slid into it. "I had to force half a bottle of
blud-wein into him before he'd even start to make
sense." Byrnes suddenly sounded disgusted. "He
kept telling me how brave I was to come back for
him. And he's in awe of you."
"You were brave," she said, deciding to tease
him a little. A glance revealed that he was decently
covered and struggling impatiently with the buttons
on his shirt. "Sweeping in to rescue your brother
like that."
Byrnes's eyes narrowed to thin slits and
Ingrid crossed toward him, brushing his hands out
of the way and doing the buttons up beneath his
chin.
"Thank you," he murmured, and their eyes
met.
She lowered her hands. "You came back for
me too."
Odd words. She felt like she stood on the
edge of a precipice with that sentence, and from
the uncertain look on his face, he knew it too. This
truce was new to both of them.
"Well, I couldn't have you stealing all of the
glory," he finally said, as if to settle them safely
back within the familiar realms of their
relationship. "Single-handedly defying Ulbricht
and his cronies; dashing headlong into the reach of
four vampires to pull Debney out, and then
carrying him over your shoulder. It's almost
embarrassing. Had to do something."
"Maybe Debney's been rubbing off on you.
You sound half in awe too."
"Well, I did have the other half of the bottle of
blud-wein. Garrett's personal stock."
"Why do you enjoy pulling on Garrett's
whiskers so much?" she asked, sinking into one of
the chairs. She'd met the guild master a year ago
when he'd first commissioned her help during the
Vampire of Drury Lane case.
"Because I can." Byrnes shrugged and
dragged his coat up his arms and over his broad
shoulders.
Which wasn't quite the entire truth, she
suspected.
"You're bleeding," he declared. "I can smell it
on you somewhere."
The wound along her side was painful, but not
overwhelming. "I've bandaged it up. Just an idle
claw mark or two. Not going to bother you too
much?"
Blue bloods, after all, liked blood. A great
deal. But Byrnes had always seemed in control of
his darker half. Brutally so.
"I can manage it." At that his expression