Kiss of Steel (18 page)

Five vampires in a year. And it had cost the city more than ten thousand lives.

Since then, as soon as a blue blood even looked like he was approaching the Fade, he was swiftly beheaded. It was kept quiet, but she’d heard rumors. They called it mercy. She called it fear.

The city wouldn’t stand for another spate of vampires. People were already muttering about the drones taking their jobs, and how perhaps the French had done the smart thing in executing all of their blue bloods. The Echelon’s technology kept them under control, but the slightest provocation could set off the riots again.

“What are you thinkin’?” Blade asked.

Honoria blinked and looked up at him. He watched her face as though he could read every expression on it. But then he was
always
watching her, or so it seemed.

“I was thinking about the vampire.” She gave a small shiver. “It was awful—”

“Aye. Stinks like a knackery in the hot sun for a week. Filthy, ugly brute.”

She shook her head. “Of course it smelled and looked hideous, but the worst thing is that it was once a man, once a blue blood. Like you.”

Brilliant green eyes met hers.

“Aren’t you afraid?” she blurted. “They say it’s inevitable.”

“Ain’t no cure. So I guess that’s ’ow it ends.” Blade shrugged as though he didn’t give a damn. But his gaze dropped from hers. “I’ve given instructions to the lads. Will knows what ’e’s got to do.”

“That’s a terrible burden for him. He’s barely a man.”

“’E’s the only one as can.”

She hadn’t missed the burly man’s eyes, or the way he moved, almost as quickly as Blade. “He’s verwulfen, isn’t he?”

A flash of green eyes, wondering if they could trust her. “Aye.”

She sat very still. The Scandinavian countries were ruled by verwulfen, and the Germanic states leashed them and used them in the military. But blue bloods and verwulfen didn’t mix well. When the Echelon came to power, the first thing they did was strike at the Scottish loupe clans and wipe out the majority of them at Culloden. The only verwulfen she’d ever seen was kept in a cage, at the prince consort’s menagerie. A poor, maddened creature that paced constantly, its eyes gone wolfish in its human face.

“Where did he come from?” she asked.

“’E were sold by ’is mother when ’e first showed signs of loupe,” Blade explained. “I found him on stage in the East End, locked in a cage. They were cuttin’ ’im, tryin’ to bring on a berserker fit to thrill the crowd. ’E were ’bout fourteen or fifteen, mebbe. Broke ’im out.”

“I thought they were a blue blood’s natural enemy.”

“An enemy’s what you make of it. Only reason blue bloods and verwulfen don’t get on is ’cos a verwulfen’s the only one as can rip a blue blood apart—and do it easy. They’re a threat,” Blade said. Then he added softly, “And I guess I don’t like cages. Couldn’t leave ’im there, starin’ up at me with those feral yellow eyes.”

Honoria looked down at her hands. This conversation was veering into treacherous waters. She could admire a man who had broken a child out of a cage because he knew what it was like to be trapped in such a way himself. She didn’t want to soften toward him. When she was stronger, she’d be nothing more than chattel. A thrall. Kept to feed himself with. Still…

“How old were you when the Echelon put you in the Ivory Tower?” she asked.

“Dunno,” he said with a shrug. “Born in the rookeries. Weren’t the sort of thing we kept count of. I ’ad a sister.” Something about the way his voice softened made her look up. Blade stared at the wall, his mind a thousand miles away. “Vickers saw ’er sellin’ flowers in Covent Garden. Took a shine to ’er when Emily were only sixteen. Young enough to buy what ’e were sellin’. Only problem was, she refused to go anywhere without me. If ’e wanted ’er, ’e ’ad to take me too.

“I think I amused ’im. ’E liked the way I spoke. Like I were a bleedin’ novelty. Used to parade me out for all ’is friends. They ’ad fights, the blue bloods. Pittin’ boys against each other. Or against beasts. ’E used to wager big on me. Said as ’ow if I won for ’im, ’e’d reward me. I weren’t allowed to let Emily know, but by that point she were addicted to the feel o’ the feedin’. I don’t think she’d a protested too much.”

“I’m sure she would have,” Honoria said. If that were Charlie, she wouldn’t care how good being a blue blood’s thrall felt. One more reason to hate Vickers, as if she needed another one. The silence of the night felt as though it had grown, pressing in upon them. Her eyes were stinging with exhaustion, and yet she felt reluctant to take her leave of him.

Stupid
. She’d done her best. She’d washed his cuts and tended his wounds. It was the least she could do. Now it should be time to see him out.

To sit on her roof in the cold, foggy London night. Alone.

“Stay here,” she said, pushing her chair back. “I’ll fetch you one of my father’s shirts. And a blanket.”

Something that might have been surprise reared in Blade’s eyes. “You’re invitin’ me to stay?”

“Unless you’d prefer the roof. I gather you intend to remain the night, regardless of my protestations.”

He was suddenly on his feet in front of her. Far too close, actually. She took a step back, but the wall was there.

“Honor,” he murmured, reaching out, his movements deliberately slow, allowing her time to protest if she desired it. Her breath caught.

“I’ll just fetch that shirt, then,” she blurted, ducking beneath his outstretched arm. A low, husky laugh followed her.

Slipping into the bedroom, she caught sight of Lena diving for the bed. The small phosphorescent Glimmer they used for light cast a muted green shine across the room. It had cost two pounds, but it would never need replacing, unlike candles or gas lamps.

“Having trouble sleeping?” Honoria asked.

“He’s staying here the night?” Lena said in reply. “What about Charlie?”

Honoria held a finger to her lips, glancing at the door. Opening the small chest at the foot of the bed, she dug through. Her father’s shirt—the one he’d wrapped the diary in when he gave it to her—was buried in the bottom.

“That’s father’s!” Lena hissed.

“Well, he’s not going to need it now, is he?”

Lena sucked in a sharp breath.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was cruel.”

Lena’s dark eyes shone in the light. Her full mouth quivered. “You’re giving it to
him
?”

The shirt still smelled like Artemus Todd. Like ink and chemicals. Honoria hesitated, rubbing the worn cotton. “His own is torn. He…he saved my life tonight. And I have my memories of father. I don’t need his shirt to revere him by.”

“It’s all we have.”

“No,” Honoria whispered, sitting on the edge of Lena’s small cot. Running a hand over her sister’s shining, dark hair, she smiled. “He gave us each other. That’s far more important than a shirt.”

“You mean that?”

She hated that her sister had to ask her that. But it had been a tense couple of months. With exhaustion and hunger riding them both daily, it was hard to be tolerant. And Charlie’s illness didn’t help. Both of them had been on edge.

She leaned closer and pressed her lips against Lena’s temple. “Of course I mean it. You and Charlie are the world to me. I would never wish otherwise.”

A single tear slid down Lena’s cheek. She was still a child, really, trying ever so hard to be brave. Of the three of them, she’d suffered the most these last six months. Honoria was used to working long hours at the Institute, and Charlie was young enough that she could make the transition into a form of adventure for him. But Lena remembered her pretty dresses and friends, the sweet cakes always on the table and the flirtatious young gentlemen who hovered around her like butterflies. On the cusp of making her debut—with all the excitement of what to wear, who she wished to make a thrall contract with—she’d been suddenly thrown into a grim, dreary world where she was always hungry and had to work her fingers to the bone just to eat.

Lena caught her hand. “I would never wish it otherwise either.”

“I know. Move into my bed,” she told Lena, picking up the shirt. “We’ll have to share blankets.”

Her own blanket was gray and dreary but warm. Honoria snatched it up and headed for the door.

Her stomach dropped as Blade looked up from where he’d been studying Charlie’s door.

“My brother’s room,” she said unnecessarily.

“You lock ’im in?”

“He walks in his sleep. I’m afraid he’ll leave the house one night.” The lie came smoothly to her lips. So many lies she told now. Sometimes she felt as though she repeated them so often that a part of her started to believe them. “Here,” she said, holding out the shirt and the blanket.

He crossed toward her, all lean, fluid grace. A man comfortable in his own skin. And there was rather a lot of it at the moment.

“Thank you.”

Blade took the blanket, placing it on the table behind him without looking. The shirt was another matter. He took it, letting the soft folds drift through his fingers. “I’ll be gone in the mornin’. See if I can track the vampire to ’is lair.”

“I’m sorry,” Honoria said.

“For what?” One of his eyebrows arched up. They were thick and tawny, very strongly defined on his face. The look gave him a diabolical appeal.

“You could be hunting it now if it weren’t for your promise to protect me.”

“You don’t ’unt a vampire at night. And not alone. I need Will at me back. ’E’ll be dead asleep for most o’ tonight and tomorrow. So I’m goin’ to do some scoutin’.”

At least the daylight would keep him safe. With their white, sensitive skins, vampires couldn’t tolerate the sunlight. But if it was hiding in the tunnels of Undertown, where the rookery spilled under the ground for those families enterprising enough to live there, then Blade might go in after it.

“Be careful,” she blurted.

“Worried about me, luv?”

“Who else will pay me what you do?” she replied. Then she added softly, “And I’ve no wish to see you hurt. Or any of your men.”

A smile touched his lips, carving dimples in his cheeks. Blade was actually very handsome when he smiled. She couldn’t help feeling just a little breathless.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll pass your good wishes on to the lads. As for me…” He took a step closer, his voice roughening. “I’ll thank you meself.”

There was no time to step back. He moved with blurring speed, his lips brushing against her own. A cool, whispering touch, capturing the protest she opened her mouth to voice. The shirt still hung in his hands as he stepped back, his smile turning to something else…something almost wistful.

Honoria blinked, her hands hovering in front of her as if to ward him off. Or perhaps, if she were honest with herself, to touch him. “Why did you do that?”

That smile was driving her to madness. Her gaze roved his mouth, the imprint of his touch burning against her lips like a ghostly caress. She was afraid she’d never stop feeling it.

Blade shrugged, turning around and tugging the shirt over his back. “Just in case I die tomorrow. I’d ’ate to ’ave me regrets, and I’ve been wantin’ to kiss you since we first met.”

His brutal honesty shocked her. Somehow her fingers found her lips. She stared at him and said, “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“No, it weren’t.” He shook the blanket out and looked at her. “Sweet dreams, luv.” His smile suddenly blazed as though he knew what her dreams would be full of. “I know mine will be.”

Chapter 10

The message came early the next morning. Blade was strapping on a knife sheath around his wrist when Lark hurtled in. “Whoa, kitten!” He snagged her into his arms, giving her a hug. “What’s the ’urry?”

Her nose wrinkled at the smell of his body armor. “There’s a blue blood,” she said. “’E wants a word with you.” She handed him a thick piece of folded parchment.

Blade put her down and ruffled her hair. “A blue blood, eh?” So his message the other night had been received. He looked at the parchment, but it meant nothing to him even if he sat and tried to focus on the jumble of letters.

“’E were comin’ by steam carriage.” Lark jerked the curtains aside and peered out.

Blade tugged his boots on, checking the knife tucked into the side. Its edges were serrated. Last night had only proven that he needed to cause as much damage as possible to the vampire before its wounds would heal. “Aye, I’m goin’. Get Rip on the rooftops with a rifle.”

Lark bolted into the warren, searching for the big lieutenant.

Blade tucked a pistol in the small of his back, because he wasn’t stupid, then tossed his knife kit aside. Time to go dance with the devil.

The horseless steam carriage was pulling up just as he crossed the threshold. A fancy coachman in blue livery sat on the high seat at the front, working the steering with impassive aplomb. The rest of the carriage gleamed in the weak sunlight, the inlaid panels covered in mother-of-pearl. Gilt curlicues scrolled over the surface, and as Blade watched, somebody twitched the blue velvet curtains aside.