Skies of Fire (7 page)

“Yet you’re clean-shaven. Or were, earlier today.”

He scratched at his jaw, bristles already coming in. “Don’t feel the cold as much. The implants keep me warm.” Bodily, at any rate.

Despite his command to head belowdecks, she moved past him to stand at the rail. She made a straight, slim figure, silhouetted against the darker mountains.

“Careful.” He moved quickly to stand beside her. “The rail’s a dangerous place on an airship. One strong gust of wind and you could be thrown overboard.”

Despite his warning, she gripped the rail. “So it’s not just a plunge in cold water I have to fear.”

“You can swim, but you can’t fly.”

Hardly any lights flickered below, and those that did were tiny, isolated. Above stretched the dark blue bowl of night, stars as bright as wishes.

Yet his awareness was only of her, the pale shape of her hands upon the railing, and the dark tendrils of hair that blew across her cheeks.

He felt as though the tempest itself stood beside him at the rail—unpredictable, devastating. When no shelter was available in a storm, you had to just ride it out.

“At night,” she said, “it’s difficult to tell how far up we are.”

He did not take his gaze from her or the line of her profile. “Even I wouldn’t survive the fall.”

Chapter Four

T
HE EVENING MEAL at the captain’s table was a tense one. Difficult enough with the ship limping toward a place of relative safety so they could complete repairs. Their pace was slower than usual as the ship cruised low, close to the mountains so they could stay as unseen as possible. No one was much in the mood for pleasantries or storytelling, aware at all times that if an enemy airship should cross their path, the
Demeter
wouldn’t be able to truly defend herself.

Having Louisa at Christopher’s table, however, made dinner even more strained.

He tried to keep his attention fixed on the excellent roast partridge and potatoes set before him. Duffy the cook prided himself on setting a fine table for the officers. But the food tasted like pasteboard and coal dust. Over and over, his mind repeated,
She’s here. She’s sitting at my table.

Hardly anyone spoke as they ate.

Until, at last, Pullman broke the silence. “How long have you been behind enemy lines, Miss Shaw?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the specifics.” From the corner of his eye, Christopher saw Louisa offer the first mate an apologetic smile. “Suffice it to say that I’ve spoken more English today than I have for months.”

She’d always had a gift for language. Her mother, he recalled, was Italian Argentine, though he’d never met the woman. Louisa had grown up speaking English, Spanish, and Italian. Yet those were only three of the many tongues she knew.

His hands tightened around his cutlery as he remembered all the wicked things she used to whisper in his ear late at night. Even when he didn’t know the language itself, he’d known its intent.

“Shall I fetch you another knife and fork, sir?” asked Vale, the steward.

Glancing down, Christopher realized that he’d bent the cutlery into twisted shapes. Damned strength. He needed to keep aware of it at all times, especially now.

He felt Louisa’s shocked gaze on him, and his face heated. The other officers at the table also stared. As well they should. Always he’d been careful with what the Navy termed his
amplified potential
—or what he called his
bloody great strength—
keeping himself firmly restrained so no one was accidentally hurt. His losing control was a sight none of his crew had yet witnessed.

Simply having her aboard his ship was a threat. But the mission took precedence over his own wellbeing.

“I’ve got it.” He wasn’t interested in performing like a circus attraction, so he held the knife just underneath the table and straightened it out. The same service followed for the fork.

Another awkward silence descended as everyone resumed eating. The only sounds came from the hum of the engines, the footfalls of crewmen, and the clink of knives against plates.

Louisa took a sip of wine. She made a small hum of appreciation. “This wine is excellent. Grüner Veltliner?”

“One of the spoils taken from a Hapsburg dreadnought. We’d engaged them in the skies above Luxembourg.” Young Lieutenant Brown beamed proudly. “Captain Redmond gave ’em a drubbing even their grandbabies wouldn’t forget.”

“Did he, now?” A smile warmed her voice.

“Aye, ma’am. Didn’t look too good for us at the beginning. Dreadnoughts are damned—I mean extremely—big. Far bigger than a destroyer like the
Demeter
. But the captain, he wouldn’t back down. Got us to fly
under
the Hun ship, and we softened up the hull. When they were limping, he led the boarding party himself. Faced off against their captain. It made quite a sight, I can tell you. Man O’ War against Man O’ War.” He whistled. “Like one of them battles in a Greek myth.”

“Mr. Brown,” Christopher growled. “Miss Shaw only asked about the wine. She doesn’t want to be bored by your prattle.”

The lieutenant reddened, turning his chastened gaze to the table. “Beg pardon, sir.”

“I found Lieutenant Brown’s recounting of the battle fascinating,” Louisa said. “By the time I learn the details of most engagements, they’ve been whittled down to the driest, most bureaucratic language imaginable. Naval dispatches don’t attempt to compete with serialized novels.” She glanced around the table. “I don’t suppose anyone on board has a serialized novel I might borrow? My reading material has been sorely lacking since I’ve been undercover.”

Immediately, several officers offered the use of their personal libraries. Taking a drink of wine, Christopher fought the urge to roll his eyes. Having a woman onboard, especially an attractive one like Louisa, could turn the most battle-hardened sailor into a babbling boy.

In his case, her presence turned him into an angry, snarling beast—not the man, or commanding officer, he wanted to be.

“What of you, Chris—Captain Redmond?” she asked. Her fingers curved over the top of her wine glass. “Have you any books I might borrow?”

“Planning on doing much reading, Miss Shaw?”

“Only if I need help sleeping.”

An unfortunate picture of her in his bed sprang into his mind. She’d never needed much sleep, and had kept him busy into the early hours of the morning.

“There’s nothing on my bookshelves that would appeal to you.”

She raised her brows. “I didn’t know that your telumium implants gave you the ability to read minds. How else might you know what stories I want to hear or what books might interest me?”

The men seated around the table stared back and forth between Christopher and Louisa, fascinated by this exchange.

Bloody hell
. He needed to control himself.

“You’re welcome to any book, of course.” He reached for a platter of more roasted partridge and dished several servings onto his plate. “Except my personal log. That I keep under lock and key.”

“Never tell a spy something is locked away.” She smiled. “We treat it as a dare.”

God—how he wanted to smile back.

Instead, he returned his attention to his food. Louisa and the other officers chatted politely about mutual acquaintances in the Navy, and at her urging, Dr. Singh, the ship’s surgeon, recounted the plot of a popular clockwork melodrama that had lately played at the Gaiety Theater in London. She laughed at all the comic parts and slapped the table approvingly when the villain of the piece was apprehended. By the time the dessert of pears poached in brandy had arrived, Christopher felt ready to combust.

So many damned memories. And the longing . . .

He dragged in a breath. This was unacceptable. He was a grown man and the captain of an airship. More important, he was the captain of an airship deep behind enemy lines. He needed to master this, for the sake of the mission. And his own sanity.

When the plates had been cleared, he cleared his throat and stood. “Miss Shaw, grab your coat. I want you to join me topside.”

She raised her brows. “Why?”

Right. He needed an explanation. “Your fieldwork in the area can fill in gaps in our charts.”

“Is that an order, Captain Redmond?”

“Please,” he said belatedly.

The officers assembled around the table all gazed at her, seemingly eager for her response. And when she rose, every man got to his feet. “Five minutes,” she said. “I’ll meet you there.”

He made a stiff bow in Louisa’s direction and strode quickly from the room.

On the top deck of the ship, with the cold wind in his face, he felt some degree of control return. He greeted the sailor manning the helm and paced along the deck, hands interlaced behind his back and eyes on the stars.

He knew without turning around that she had come topside. His sensitive hearing detected her footsteps, but more than that, he had a vivid awareness of her at all times.

“Christopher.”

Turning to face her, he watched her approach, and he was grateful for her heavy coat’s oversized fit.

“Your invitation was unexpected.”

He exhaled roughly. “The implants. They . . . stoke emotions. Things dwell closer to the surface, and it can be difficult to control myself.” His palm scrubbed over his closely shorn hair. “Usually I can keep a tight rein, but you . . . challenge my restraint.”

“It’s not my intent to rile you.”

“Yet you do, simply with your presence.”

“Would it help if I said that your presence riles me, too?”

He snorted. “Not much of a balm, no. But that’s why I asked you to join me here. It would do us both some good if we got used to each other. Desensitize ourselves. We can develop a callus, so that there aren’t any blisters.”

“You’re likening me to a foot,” she said drily.

He hadn’t thought of that, and gave a brief, rueful chuckle. “It wasn’t my most flattering analogy,” he acknowledged. “The intent remains the same. Acclimatization.”

“Very logical of you.”

“I’m trying to be.” God knew he didn’t feel logical whenever she was near.

She inclined her head. “Let us develop our calluses. Shall we walk?”

“Not going to offer you my arm, though.”

Now it was her turn to snort. “I always hated that custom. As if a woman didn’t have strength enough to walk without leaning on someone, lest they topple to the ground like a collapsed soufflé.”

In a kind of amity, they began to walk side-by-side. He nodded at several crewmen as they went about their nighttime duties.

“Can’t make a decent meal out of a soufflé,” he said.

“Certainly it wouldn’t be enough for a Man O’ War.” She sent him a sideways glance. “You took three servings of partridge and four helpings of potatoes. And I’ve a feeling that, had there been more, you would have eaten that, too. I remember that you always had a good appetite, but it’s increased. Because of the implants?”

Direct, at all times. Years had passed, but she was very much the same. “We require more nutrients than normal humans. I’m almost always hungry.”

“And as captain and power source of this ship, no one will argue or complain if you receive more food.”

“Admiralty makes special arrangements for the provisioning of airships.” He slanted her a questioning look. “You seem awfully interested in the functioning of Man O’ Wars.”

“Gathering intelligence is engraved in my nature. I used to think about becoming a journalist, but I found spying a more reputable profession.”

He choked back a laugh.

“But I confess,” she continued, “I’ve never known a man before he underwent the transformation. Only afterward. I find the changes . . . fascinating.”

“Fascinating? Or freakish?” More than a few angry letters had been delivered to Admiralty as well as the
Times
, decrying the “twisted” and “aberrant” use of technology, the combining of man and machine. He ignored those complaints, glad to be of use to his country, but the idea of Louisa believing he was an aberration made his gut clench.

She scowled. “Again, you’re speaking for me. When I say that I find Man O’ Wars fascinating, that’s precisely what I mean. Everything I know of them comes from newspapers and books.”

“But you’ve met others like me.”

“One can’t be in Naval Intelligence without having dealings with Man O’ Wars. Still, there’s never a moment when I can ask them questions, discover what it’s truly like.”

Familiar with the
Demeter
as he was, he knew without seeing that in the darkness she might trip over a cleat. He took her elbow.

She started.

“Easy.” He guided her around the cleat, thankful for the bulkiness of her wool coat. It kept him from feeling the warmth of her skin or true shape of her arm. As soon as he’d helped her navigate the obstacle, he released her.

“Don’t want your hungry mind to starve,” he said.

Her eyes were wide behind her goggles. “Are you offering me a chance to sate myself?”

He lifted his shoulders. “Take advantage of the opportunity. It won’t come around again.”

For a moment, she was silent. Then, “Can you feel it? The ship using you as its power source?”

“It’s a constant hum. Didn’t like it at first, but I got used to the feeling.” He glanced toward one of the metal panels embedded in the hull. “The telumium implants channel my energy, which is absorbed there and throughout the ship and sent to the batteries belowdecks.”

“The batteries that power the turbines that keep the ship in motion.” She bent and examined one of the steel conduits running from a metal panel. “These lead to the battery. But where is the ether collected?”

“There are more tubes that run off the battery that connect to the main ether tank, which is how we’re able to fly. Surplus ether is collected in additional tanks which are used in our weapons. Ether pistols, rifles, and cannon.”

She knelt down to have a better look at the tubing. “Blast these goggles.” She pushed them back and fished her spectacles out of her pocket. “Wish I had your night vision. It’s too dark to see anything.”