Heart of Iron

Fifteen

“Anythin’ on your mind?” Blade asked.

Will smashed another fist into the punching bag, earning a grunt from Blade. He followed it up with a left-right-left combination, his knuckles burning. “Not a thing,” he grunted, unleashing an uppercut that drove the bag—and Blade—back a foot.

“Hold.” Blade held up a hand, breathing hard. “Need a moment. You bin at this an ’our. Not all of us ’as the stamina these days.”

Will raked a hand through his hair. He was barely winded. And still on edge. The memory of Lena’s lithe little body was imprinted on his skin. He’d spent half the night with a cock-stand, unable to keep his mind on his job. Rip had been prowling the rooftops of the rookery with him, keeping an eye on things. Finally, the other man had told him to buy a whore and get his mind back on duty before stalking off in disgust.

No woman. Not for him. He should never have gone to her last night. Never given in to the temptation.

He needed to ease the pressure the only way he knew how. A safe way.

“You want a bout in the ring?”

“Absolutely not.” Blade looked up from where he was bent over, his hands on his knees. “Don’t know what’s set you off this mornin’, but I ain’t goin’ anywhere near those fists today.”

Will turned, snatching at his towel. He loosened his collar and dragged the towel over the back of his neck. The urge to ask Blade for advice was nearly overwhelming. But Blade had his own worries, his own concerns. The last thing he needed was Will telling him he’d nearly lost his mind last night and f*cked his wife’s sister. Or about the curious letter he’d found on Lena and the threat of Colchester.

Neither of them could afford to have Blade drawn into a confrontation with the Echelon.

Blade raked his light brown hair out of his eyes. It seemed to be darkening with every passing day, courtesy of Honoria’s vaccinated blood. Will scowled. He’d been the one Blade had turned to when he feared he was close to becoming a vampire; the one who was supposed to kill him before that happened. He could thank Honoria for taking away the burden of that heavy task, but now another problem loomed.

Straightening up, Blade sighed. “Don’t look at me with those bloody eyes. Fine. Mebbe a quick bout. Just remember, I ain’t whoever’s been givin’ you grief.”

Will kicked off his boots and stepped onto the soft carpeting, tossing his shirt over a nearby chair. Blade stripped down too, rubbing at his knuckles. Though shorter than Will by nearly a foot, he was lean and well-muscled—and dangerously quick. There wasn’t a trick he didn’t know, and no sign of the knife wound he’d taken. The craving virus had healed it completely.

“Ain’t seen much of you this week,” Blade said, drawing his fists up.

“Been busy.”

Blade stepped forward with a right hook that Will bobbed out of the way to avoid. “Who is she? You’ve never ’ad a woman as I can recall.”

“Not got one now.” He ducked a tricky combination and slammed his fist forward, under Blade’s guard.

Blade staggered back, grinding his teeth together. “Fine. Let’s just pretend you’re strung up tighter ’an a lute for no reason. Only thing as leads to that is woman trouble.”

Will ducked another right hook and stepped straight into Blade’s left fist. The punch snapped his head back, but it lacked the force it once had. Years ago, Blade’d been able to take him down to the mats at nearly every session. Now he was lucky if he could do it once a month.

Will shook his head and dodged a foot that Blade snapped toward his face. He barreled forward, his shoulder driving into Blade’s midriff and his arms wrapping around him. Both of them went down hard.

Blade locked his legs around his waist and flipped him. Will took another punch to the face and tasted blood. Kicking Blade off, he rolled to his feet and wiped his mouth.

“You’re gettin’ slower.”

Blade’s eyes narrowed and he drove a fist into Will’s side. The breath expelled from Will’s chest and he grunted, avoiding the next blow by an inch.

“Slow enough?” Blade snarled.

Will looked up, his blood boiling around his ears. “You have to stop drinkin’ her blood.”

The words fell into the suddenly silent room.

“What the ’ell do you mean by that?” Blade asked, his hands lowering.

Cursing the reckless urge that had made him blurt it out, he shook his head. “Naught.”

“Aye, you do. You know exactly what you mean.” Blade stared at the back of his hands, stretching out his fingers. “Me skin’s gettin’ darker. Me hair too. And I’m gettin’ weaker. Weak and slow.” Barking a laugh, he ran his hands through his hair. “Three years ago I’d ’ave killed to be more human. They says you ought be careful what you wish for.” Sucking in a deep breath, he admitted, “I’ve only bin takin’ enough of her blood for her not to be suspicious. The rest I drink cold, out o’ the icebox. Honoria thinks me CV levels have reached a plateau.” He looked down. “If the Echelon finds out, we’re dead.”

Will nodded. The Devil of Whitechapel’s reputation was the only thing keeping them out of the rookery. If they thought he had a weakness, they’d be on him like a pack of dogs.

“How long ’ave you known?”

“A year. Once I started beatin’ you regular-like, I began to wonder,” Will replied.

“Shit.” Blade turned around and stalked off the mats. “I bin thinkin’, maybe I oughta go back to drinkin’ normal blood for a bit, get me CV levels up. But ’ow do I tell ’er that? She’s obsessed with curin’ me.”

Will followed him, his muscles still distended. He wanted more work in the ring before Lena arrived for their lesson—if she arrived—but it was clear Blade was done with it. “The last thing I can offer is advice on women.”

Blade barked a laugh. “God’s truth.” He snatched his shirt up and tugged it over his head. Unlike Will, his skin was dry. A blue blood didn’t sweat.

“But you don’t need to worry ’bout the Echelon. You ain’t the only blue blood we got now. There’s Rip and Charlie. And me.” Will picked up his towel.

“And what’ll the Echelon see? A rogue blue blood with a mech arm, a boy strugglin’ to control his blood urges, and a beast that ought to be caged.”

It was the truth, but it still rankled. Will slung the towel over his shoulders and hung onto both ends. “Might be true. But remember you ain’t alone. They come for you and they’ve got to go through me first.”

“You won’t be here forever.”

Will stiffened. “Didn’t know I were leavin’.”

Blade gave him a knowing look. “You need more than this, Will. I think you’re just startin’ to figure that out yourself.”

Will opened his mouth to retort, but Blade’s head cocked. Will heard the sound the second after. Skirts. Swishing on the stairs.

“Honoria.” Blade looked around guiltily. “She can’t know.”

“She ain’t no fool.”

“Not yet,” Blade snarled and moved to open the door. “Not ’til I work somethin’ out.”

Will turned, dragging the towel over his chest. Behind him, the door opened and Honoria’s scent bled into the room. With a slight aftertaste of honeysuckle. His gut clenched. Lena. Directly on Honoria’s heels. She’d come for the lesson.

A part of him hadn’t expected her to show up. Not after last night. With guilt and desire burning a ragged hole in his insides, he wiped the scowl from his face and reached for his shirt.

“Goodness,” Honoria murmured to Blade. “Is that blood on your knuckles?”

“Aye. Will forgot to duck.”

His gaze went straight past the pair of them. Lena hovered in the doorway, looking every inch the society lady in lemon yellow. Her hair was artfully curled over one shoulder, hiding the bite mark on her neck, and a jaunty little bonnet set off the gleaming highlights in her dark hair.

Lena’s gaze dropped, darting over the shirt in his hands and his bare chest before she looked away. A frozen little smile was etched on her full mouth. Her defense, he realized. The way she hid from the world, from her own family even. From him.

Her confession the night before made his chest ache. He’d wanted to go after Colchester with an ax, but the sound of her pain tore something deep inside him. He’d crushed her close, trying to hold the hurt away, but it was bone deep.

Alone. She’d been alone through all of it. Unable to tell her family—to burden her sister. Keeping that pretty little smile fixed in place as if nothing had ever happened when deep inside the wound festered and grew.

He tore his shirt over his head as Honoria lifted on her toes and pressed her lips affectionately against Blade’s. It was too tempting right now to grab her by the shoulders and ask her where she’d been when Lena was lying bleeding in an alley. He knew it wasn’t her fault; circumstances had been what they were then, but the fury in him didn’t recognize that. Instinct fought logic and he’d been too long a wolf at heart not to go with his gut. He had to get out of here.

“Where are you going, Will?” Honoria asked, catching his movement out of the corner of her eye. The smile she wore was almost the same as Lena’s, but far more genuine.

“Got a lesson with Lena.”

Lena’s head jerked up and crimson infused her cheeks. She looked him in the eye, her chin tilted with icy disdain. Cool. Untouchable. Carefree.

With the razor edge of hurt souring her scent.

“Don’t you want to know about that letter you brought me?” Honoria asked. “I’ve made some progress with the code.”

The brief flash of color drained out of Lena’s face and her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Later,” he said. “After me lesson.”

Honoria murmured something to Blade as he strode to the door. Lena leaped out of his way as if afraid he’d actually touch her. Too late for that, sweetheart. He’d had his hands, his lips, his teeth all over her.

And it couldn’t happen again.

Her presence drove him right to the edge and threatened to shove him off. She was too dangerous, too rousing. Even last night he’d come back from the fury of passion to see the bite marks and bruises all over her pale skin. Verwulfen had walked through fire and lost arms and legs in such a state without even realizing. The fury, the wild, drove him to actions he couldn’t remember, let alone control.

There would be nothing worse than seeing her blood on his skin. Or fear in her eyes. As much as he wanted her—as much as he always had—he could never trust himself.

And then there was the threat of the loupe itself.

Taking a deep breath, he offered her his arm. “Comin’?”

This was all he would ever have of her. Stolen touches, stolen glances. And the desperate, longing ache in his chest and cock.

“Of course.” Resting her gloved fingertips lightly on his arm, she followed him out the door.

They’d taken barely three steps before Lena wrenched her hand off his and spun to face him. “You told her?”

“Not ’ere.” Not with Blade’s hearing.

Anger stiffened her shoulders. Seizing a fistful of her skirts, she swept ahead of him. “Where to?”

Considering her question, he placed a hand on the small of her back and directed her toward the kitchen. “The yard. Wait for me there. I’ve somewhat for you.”

Dark eyes glared back over her shoulder in suspicion. “What is it? This is wasting valuable time, Will. You did well the other night, but there are a few things I need to go over with you.”

“This is important.”

After a searching gaze, she threw up her hands and sighed. “Why not? Go and fetch it then. The sooner we’re done, the sooner I can return home. I’ve got to get ready for the dinner Leo’s hosting.”

He’d hurt her last night. And done it deliberately. For a moment he wanted to step forward, catch her wrist, and tell her he’d been wrong, that he was sorry. To lift her face to his and kiss her until she was gasping for breath again, her body turning molten under his touch.

But perhaps it were better if she were angry with him.

For the both of them.

Waiting until she’d turned and departed for the yard, he thundered up the stairs and fetched the small bag he’d left in Blade’s sitting room. By the time he arrived in the yard, Lena was pacing, her arms crossed under her breasts and a sad, pensive little look on her face.

When she saw him, the expression melted as if it had never been there. With a disdainful lift of one eyebrow, she glanced at the bag. “I can’t accept any personal items. They’re not the sort of things a man gives a woman he’s not courting.” Her tone turned frosty. “We wouldn’t want any more mistakes of intention, now would we?”

Perhaps giving her a pistol in this mood was tantamount to suicide.

He bit his tongue and dragged a small Hessian sack out of the leather bag. “Bought this for you. I ain’t finished tinkerin’ with it, but the sooner you learn to use it the better.”

“What is it?”

He opened the sack. The pistol gleamed against the rough cloth, the mother-of-pearl inlay fracturing the weak sunlight into a half-dozen rainbows.

“A pistol?” she said stupidly. “You’re giving me a pistol?”

He caught her hand and eased the handgrip into it, closing his fingers around hers. “Small enough to fit in your reticule. You ever fired one?”

“Don’t be absurd.” Her dark eyes widened. “When on earth would I have ever used a pistol?”

“Honoria knew how to use one.”

“Father taught her. He had no time for me.”

Will stroked his thumb over her gloved knuckles. “Why?”

“I was never clever enough to understand his work or half of what he said. He was a famous inventor. We had little in common.”

“You’re clever. All that tinkerin’ with clocks.”

“A useless hobby.” She lowered the pistol. “He wouldn’t have been impressed. He would have been able to do it himself in half the time I could. You don’t understand.”

“Don’t I?” The quietness of his words made her look up. “I couldn’t do it. I used to watch you playin’ on the rug with all them scattered pieces, puttin’ them back like they was a puzzle. Baffled me.”

“Yes, but you have other talents,” she replied. Somehow he didn’t think she’d realized that he was still stroking her hand. “You’re strong and not afraid of anything. You could kill a man with your bare hands.” Something dark came into her eyes. Shadows that made his hackles rise. “You could kill a blue blood. I envy you, you know?”

“With this you can be strong. You can be fearless.”

Her rancor faded. She looked at the pistol, seeing it with new eyes. “Do you think I could kill a blue blood with this?”

He tried to ignore the way her words stirred his temper. “When I’m finished with it. I’ll modify it like your father done with Honoria’s pistol. She taught me how to make them firebolt rounds. I’ve seen ’em take a blue blood’s head off before. Explodes like rotten melon.”

Lena shivered. “That sounds dreadful.”

“You only have to use it once.”

A strange light came into her eyes. She was picturing it. Picturing Colchester’s head exploding as the smoke from the pistol cleared. “Teach me,” she demanded.

Will faced the yard. It was brick, the walls that enclosed it almost eight feet high. Puss, the enormous mangy cat that considered Blade his servant, strolled along the wall, keeping an ugly green eye on them.

Ivy clung to two of the walls and a scrolled iron gate cut into the brick. Little pots of herbs and flowers gave it a sense of warmth, signs of Esme trying to turn the warren into some semblance of a home.

He rolled a wine barrel up against the far wall, then fetched one of the old milk bottles that Esme had set out for collecting. “Here,” he said, setting it on top of the barrel. “We’ll practice with this.”

“But won’t people worry?”

“In the rookery?” He cocked a brow. “People hear gunshot at the warren and they’ll turn and walk the other way. Fast. Just in case they get caught up in whatever mess they think’s spillin’ over.”

Lena aimed the pistol wildly in the direction of the barrel. “How do we start?”

“With bullets,” he said, unable to take his gaze off her. He’d put that smile on her face. Chased the shadows from her eyes. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a handful. “And by learnin’ each part of the pistol’s mechanisms.”

The wild light in her eyes was intoxicating. He fumbled with the bullets and placed one in her outstretched palm. She was oblivious to his breathlessness, peering at the pistol as though wondering what to do with it. He’d never seen her like this outside of the bedroom last night. So alive. So passionate. Almost exuberant with delight.

Fearless.

He wanted to keep that look in her eyes forever. Colchester had threatened to snuff it out, but he wouldn’t let the man. He’d kill him first.

Lena felt his stare and looked up. The glow faded a little. “What is it?”

Not yet forgiven. Perhaps he never would be. Will sucked in a breath and gestured at the pistol. “You’re holding it wrong. Here. Let me show you.”

He’d protect her. Or teach her to protect herself.

From Colchester.

From the world.

From himself.

***

Honoria swept her skirts to the side and nestled in her husband’s lap. Blade leaned back in the armchair, watching her with a knowing look in his eye.

“What ’ave you got planned?” he muttered, a smile curling his lips.

“Nothing,” she replied, toying with his collar. Running a finger down his shirt, she tried to look innocent as the texture changed from silk to the rougher velvet of his waistcoat. He’d never outgrown his love of gaudy materials, despite her guiding influence. And she found she quite liked it. Where once the embroidered red waistcoat would have made her lift an eyebrow in sheer bewilderment that someone could truly wear such a thing, now it was as familiar to her as the sight of his face.

And the texture of it, the feel of the velvet and the roughened threads of embroidery against her skin… That was something she’d grown far too fond of.

“Really?” he drawled, snagging her wrist. “I know when that devious little mind’s tickin’. I can practic’ly hear the cogs—”

An explosion of sound shattered the silence.

Honoria tumbled into the armchair as Blade leaped for the window, her foot striking the tea service and sending a cup tumbling. It smashed, porcelain shattering across the floor.

“What is it?” she cried, her slippers crunching on the pieces as she sat up. “Are we under attack?”

Blade yanked aside the curtain of her laboratory’s window, his face grim and his hand straying to one of the razors he carried at his belt. Then he leaned closer to the glass, a frown dawning. “Bloody ’ell.”

Another gunshot sounded. Honoria jerked to her feet and hurried to his side. His stance relaxed, calming the erratic beat of her heart. If Blade wasn’t concerned, then neither was she. She trusted his instincts implicitly.

“What?” She lifted on her toes, trying to see. The window ledge hindered her, pressing into her waist. One too many crumpets of late, she suspected. After the months she’d spent starving herself to feed Lena and Charlie, Blade had taken it upon himself to fatten her up, to good effect. He hated the thought that she’d once been one step removed from selling her blood to the Drainers on the street out of sheer desperation.

With an amused smile, he directed her gaze to the yard below. “Your sister’s tryin’ to murder a milk bottle. I suspect it’ll survive some’ow.”

Honoria peered closer, pressing her face against the window. She could barely see for Will’s broad shoulders. His body was curved around Lena’s, his hands on her hips as he showed her the proper stance. Taking her sister by the wrist, he lifted the pistol, staring down the length of Lena’s arm. Lena was not watching the target at all, her feelings written all over her face as she stared up at him.

“Oh.”

Blade swung her up into his arms with a laugh. “Now where were we?” He swept her back to the armchair and settled her in his lap.

Honoria straddled him in an entirely unladylike manner, her gaze straying to the window. “But—”

“No.” He caught her chin and turned her face to his. For once he looked entirely serious. “It were your decision to let them at this for once. She’s older now. Old enough to deal with ’er own consequences. And you said you trusted ’im.”

“Do you?” she asked bluntly. He knew Will far better than she ever would.

Blade stroked the back of his fingers against her throat. “’E won’t ever mean to ’urt ’er.”

“But if he does?” She’d never forgive herself.

“We been o’er this.” His green eyes met hers. “We tried to separate ’em once and it were disastrous.” He paused for a deep breath. “I know she’s your sister, luv. But I can’t lose ’im. Not again. I’m nearly there. ’E’s thawin’ to me. Spent more time under this roof in the last week than ’e’s done in a month.”

“For her lessons,” she replied quietly.

“For her.” He kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry so much, luv. Will’s verwulfen. He’d die before ’e ever ’urt someone ’e considered ’is.”

“Then why were you so wary about them at the start? Why did you warn him away from her?”

Another light kiss against her lips. She knew him well enough to know when he was trying to distract her. “Blade,” she warned, shoving at his chest.

“Ain’t nothin’ much. Just an ole story I once ’eard.”

Honoria gave him her direst look and he held his hands up in defeat.

“It’s a Scandinavian law. They says no verwulfen can ever mate with a ’uman. On pain of death.”

“That’s all you know?”

He nodded.

“What a strange custom,” she said. “I wonder why they’d make a law like that?”

“You can ask ’em if you want.”

She considered that thought. “I believe I will.”