Badlands (8 page)

Her right foot stepped back and she ducked an unseen blow. Her hands prepared to drive the imaginary blade through the chest of the man who had risen from the dead to hunt her when the present day intruded on the memory.

Birdsong erupted, and Ever’s vision righted on the inside of the cargo hold. She had the briefest moment to realize how odd it was to hear tweeting over the engines before a dozen winged creatures soared through the open portholes.

They swarmed around her head like gnats. Claws scratching, needle-sharp beaks pecking at her skin. She spun, swatting at them, but still they attacked. One landed on her forearm and held tight, its talons digging in. Ever raised her arm to yank it off. As it drove its beak into her flesh, she saw the glinting metal on its head and screamed.

Chapter Eight

Ever grabbed the bird and dashed it to the floor, crushing it under her boot.

But the others, bigger than the first, overtook her. One, a small raptor, bit into her wrist, the metal of its mechanized beak piercing deep into the skin. Blood spurted from the wound as another clockwork latched onto her hair and began pecking at her face. Ever dropped to her knees and curled in on herself, banging the raptor against the floor, attempting to dislodge it.

Over the flurry of wings and her screams, Ever heard one sickening crunch after another. A voice broke through and tried to calm her, but she couldn’t make out the words, only the soothing tone. Something grabbed her arm, pinned it to the floor. She struggled against the hold. Then the thunk of an axe sounded near her and she risked peeking out. The raptor lay on its side, its head severed in half, brain matter and blood mixing with oil inside its skull.

She shook as she tried to sit. All around her, the crew demolished what remained of the clockworks. Ever grabbed the part of the raptor’s head still attached to her wrist to yank it out. A hand fell on hers.

“No,” Spencer whispered in her ear, the same quiet tone he’d used to break through her screams. “We need Henri to take it out. You’re bleeding a lot. I’m not sure what it hit.”

All she wanted was the last of the evil machines off her, but she nodded. With a strength she hadn’t guessed he possessed, Spencer lifted her off the ground and held her tight to him. As much as she’d endeavored to stay away from him, in that moment she clung to his body and the safety he represented. When he laid her on the cot in the infirmary, she clutched at his fingers.

Henri swept in, an apron over her fancy clothes. She paused when she saw them, staring at their twined fingers. But only for a moment. “You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?” She turned the wrist over, and Ever saw it for the first time.

Thank God Spencer had stopped her. Beyond the risk that it had hit a major blood vessel, the beak hooked around one or more of the tendons in her wrist. Had she jerked it free, she would have torn them. She’d have lost use of the hand—death to someone in her profession.

Henri leaned over the wrist, examining it through the aid of a magnifying monocle. “We’ll need to pry the beak open, but I have to rinse the wound clean first to ensure where the blood loss is coming from.” She glanced at Spencer. “Ezekial smuggled some absinthe aboard. This would be an ideal time for you to confiscate it.”

Spencer nodded gravely, but a voice came from the doorway. “You don’t need to take it. I’ll get it for you. A good drunk ain’t worth Ever dead.”

Ever raised her head to thank him, but Zeke was gone before she could say a word. When he returned, he met her eyes and nodded. Nothing needed to be said.

“This will hurt.” Henrietta uncapped the bottle and poured it over Ever’s wrist.

The alcohol burned like liquid fire. Ever clamped her lips tight against the pain. Her entire body went rigid and she crushed Spencer’s hand in her own. Her vision blurred as something scraped back and forth along her skin.

She didn’t want to look. More that she didn’t want to see what was left of the clockwork than fear of what Henri was doing. Finally the motion stopped and she felt the beak ease from her skin. Then it caught and she inhaled sharply as something inside her gave way.

Henri uttered a very unladylike curse under her breath. “I’m sorry, I was trying to avoid the artery.”

Ever risked a glance. Henri was bent over the wrist once more, and now Spencer held her fingers in a death grip. The doorway stood empty, Zeke gone. “How bad is it?”

Henri sat back and rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “The beast nicked a vein, but not badly. I’m afraid I did more damage when I pulled it out. It tore the second tendon.”

Ever twitched her fingers one at a time. Agony flared when she moved her index finger. Her trigger finger. She lay back against the cot, staring at the ceiling.

“I can stitch it together and it should heal, but you need to rest it. It would be best if it’s immobilized.” Henri’s face was grave. “If you never listen again, this is one time you can’t ignore me. If you want full use of your hand, you must rest it for several weeks.”

Weeks. Ever didn’t care about weeks. She had to get Laurette back to her throne, and after this, she could no longer pretend it was going to be easier once she arrived in Philadelphia. But she had little choice. “Do what you must.”

Spencer stayed with her while Henri repaired what damage she could. Then they strapped her wrist to a board padded with cloth.

Ever stopped outside the door to her quarters and turned to thank Spencer, but he shook his head. “You aren’t staying alone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Those things didn’t attack anyone else, Ever, they were after you.” His eyes shifted to the floor, hiding them from her view. “If you want to be with Zeke instead, I won’t argue, but I’m not risking something else happening to you.”

Stubbornness will be your undoing.

Henri’s earlier words echoed in her head and, as hard as she tried, Ever couldn’t banish them this time. She’d thought going to Spencer’s room the night before had been a mistake—a bigger mistake than Zeke even—but perhaps the true error had been leaving. Other woman or no other woman. She’d made the decision to follow through on her desires and had pulled away when she found she wanted more. If she went on patrol with such an attitude, she’d have been dead twenty times over by now.

She sucked in a breath and raised her head high. “No, Spencer, I want you. I’ve wanted you all along.”

He didn’t know what to think, what to feel, but he wasn’t going to let this chance slip through his fingers. Hand on the small of her back, he guided her into his quarters. The gaslamps already burned low, setting her hair alight once more. None of it had been a dream, she truly was that beautiful.

He eased her onto the bed, careful with her back and wrist. All these injuries for one mission, a quest someone seemed determined to keep her from completing. Half the men he’d known would have lain down and given up before this, but not Ever. Not this crazed woman who haunted his mind asleep or awake.

“Is there anything I can get for you?”

Her lips twitched at the corners, the ghost of a smile but nothing more. “There is nothing outside this room that I need.”

Spencer’s fingers caught in a gaping tear on her shirt. “You need new clothes. It will only take me a few seconds to get them from—”

Ever caught his hand and held it. “Until we disembark in Philadelphia tomorrow, I do not require other attire.”

He met her gaze and swallowed hard, vowing to not press his advantage. “You won’t rest comfortably in that.”

“Then I will do without.”

God, his self-control would never survive. He disentangled his fingers from hers, strode to his closet and pulled out one of his own shirts. “Will this work?”

Her smile grew by the smallest increment. “If you’d like.”

There were many things he would’ve liked, but this was one he needed. He laid it on the bed next to Ever and knelt in front of her, his hands finding the hem of her ruined shirt and lifting it. She raised her arms and, fingers brushing her skin, he slipped it over her head and eased it past her brace.

His pulse sped as he looked at her. That first day, he’d tried to ignore her pert breasts and small rosy nipples. Though she was still injured, this time she invited his gaze. Spencer wanted more. He wanted to touch, to taste, those ripe buds. Even as he swelled with desire, he tore his eyes away. This wasn’t the time.

Ever’s fingers pulled on his cheek, her palm rubbed against the stubble lining his jaw. “Am I so hideous you cannot bear to look at me?”

Mouth gaping open, he twisted his head back toward her. It wasn’t possible she was as insecure as other women.

Her eyes danced with merriment. She’d been teasing, nothing more.

But she took full advantage of the expression on his face, leaning forward and covering his mouth with hers, her tongue seeking his.

There might be some things he wouldn’t do yet, but he refused to stop this. He cupped her face in his hands, fingers tracing her jaw, memorizing the feel of her skin. His tongue caressed her lips, twined with hers, setting every one of his nerve endings on fire. His erection pressed painfully against the constraints of his pants, but he didn’t care. If this was all he could have tonight, he would revel in it. His hands trailed down her back, careful to avoid the bandages, and he pulled her tighter to him.

His erection rubbed against her, and she moaned against his lips. He drew back. “Ever, we can’t. I can’t. Not like this. Not—”

She brushed her lips against his, soft this time—there, then gone again. “I know. Too many things stand between us and that pleasure. I need to earn your trust after what I did.”

He froze. What was she talking about? When it hit him, he almost laughed. “I understand what happened with Zeke. Can’t say I’m happy about it, but I understand.” He did too. If she had been feeling half the turmoil he had, taking advantage of a willing alternative made perfect sense.

She shook her head, her long hair tickling his arms and sending a shiver through him. “Most men would condemn me.”

“I’m not most men.”

“Perhaps that is what draws me to you.”

“Perhaps.” His fingers still ached to touch her, but she was right. Their time would come. He picked up the shirt and held it out for her to slip into. With her incapable, he was forced to fumble his way through the buttons when all his hands wanted was to slide under the cotton.

She shifted herself onto the bed, and he climbed in next to her. He held his breath, letting her take the lead. Only when she leaned against him did he start breathing again, his hands tracing random patterns on her skin.

“Those…machines. They do not just randomly attack like that, do they?” Her voice was small, like a child lost in the dark afraid to attract the monsters under the bed.

“Clockworks? No. They have masters, someone who tells them what to do.” Spencer’s mind went to Elsbeth and the puma, and he had to push the memory away. “They really terrify you, don’t they?”

She nodded against his chest. “As a child, they fascinated me, like elaborate toys. Then something went wrong with one, and it tore up a room in the fortress, like it was looking for a way out. I never cared for them after.” She shivered, and he pulled her closer.

His brow furrowed. What he’d seen in Ever hadn’t been dislike of the technology, it had been fear. He opened his mouth to say something, but she continued.

“I can tolerate the early machines. But since then I never trusted those that still had a brain. Then—” her voice sank to a whisper, “—a violent man who I thought I’d killed came after me again a year or so later. He’d found someone to implant him with machines. He’d been a crazed murderer before, and someone had given him more power. He almost killed me.” Her fingers gripped her side like it hurt.

Spencer remembered seeing a scar there, but she had so many he hadn’t given it much thought. “That would make any sane person distrust the technology.” And he was sure today’s attack wouldn’t change her mind at all.

She gave a mirthless laugh. “About five years ago, my sister and I were camping and came across one of those abominations—severely injured, on the verge of death. I wanted to kill it. She insisted on nursing it back to health. I slept with one eye open the rest of our trip in case it attacked, but it followed her around like a pet. It loved her.” She heaved a sigh.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Yes, she is younger and more refined than I. As with the clockwork, she answers challenges with diplomacy, whereas I reach for a weapon. I was born a warrior just as she was born a—” She shifted uncomfortably. “Do you have siblings?”

“One.” He inclined his head toward the tintype. “She died several years ago. We were hunting and she was attacked by a clockwork someone had set free. Henri tried to save her, but even if the transfusion hadn’t gone wrong, I don’t think she would have made it.”

“Oh.” Ever blinked at the image. “I am very sorry for your loss. I don’t know how I would cope if my sister died.”

He wanted to ask questions. After she’d opened this little window into her soul and shown they had something in common, even if it was hatred of the machines, he wanted more, but her breathing was slow and steady. He wasn’t about to drag her from her rest.

“Spencer?”

“Hmm?” Her voice had startled him. To cover, he inhaled the scent of her hair, the scent of her.

“How did those machines find me?” She shivered against him again. “How…how did anyone know I was even here?”

He started to shake his head. Then he stopped. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know. “The telegraph.”

“What telegraph?” Her body went rigid in his grasp.

So he told her about the extra charge to the ship’s account. “I didn’t think much of it beyond being angry someone would spend the money and not own up to it.”

“And now?”

He squeezed his hands into fists, afraid of hurting her further with his anger as the faces of his crew flashed through his mind. “And now, it means someone on my ship not only betrayed my trust but wants you dead.”

They discussed it in low voices. Every name came up, and each one was summarily dismissed.

“None of them have any reason to hate you.” Spencer wanted to get up and pace. His blood was boiling and he couldn’t quiet his mind. Yet he couldn’t bear the thought of not having Ever in his arms.

“Henrietta does not think very fondly of me.”

“Not enough to kill you.” He couldn’t believe that of Henri. She was too focused on propriety and her status. Ever didn’t threaten her in any way. Of course, Ever wasn’t a threat to anyone on the crew.

They batted around ideas deep into the night when sleep finally overcame them both. Ever’s head rested on Spencer’s chest, her brace lying across his stomach. His arms wrapped around her as if she would disappear if he didn’t hold on to her for all he was worth.