Heart of Iron

Two

“How spectacularly…gaudy.”

Lena glanced away from the curtained platform, her attention drawn by the dripping malice in her friend’s tone. “Whatever do you mean, Adele?”

Adele Hamilton—a former diamond of society—leaned closer and turned her lip up. “They’ve got puppets. I’m surprised Miss Bishop hasn’t invited an entire menagerie to perform for us this evening. Or a circus troupe.”

“You’re just jealous because she signed a thrall contract with Lord Macy and you thought he was going to offer for you.” Lena turned her head to the balcony where Miss Bishop was sipping champagne and glowing with happiness. Having signed a thrall contract with Lord Macy, Miss Bishop was now set for life. It was the highest ambition of any debutante. To be protected. Showered in diamonds and fancy golden steam carriages. Dripping in pearls.

All it cost was a little something in return.

Blood.

Lena shivered and looked down into her half-empty glass.

“As if I’d accept someone like Macy.” Adele sniffed and drained her glass. Yet her pretty almond-shaped eyes watched the pair on the balcony like a hawk.

Macy rested his hand on Miss Bishop’s gloved one and slowly stroked her fingers. Even from the gardens below, Lena could see her breathing quicken and Macy’s eyes darken with desire. He seemed so much older than Miss Bishop in that moment. So much more powerful. It made Lena feel sick to her stomach.

Stop it, she told herself sharply. Don’t think about it. It was Miss Bishop’s choice. She wasn’t being forced into this.

Except by circumstances.

“I can’t believe they’re carrying on so in public,” Adele continued. “He might as well throw her down now and have her.”

Caught in her own discomfort, Lena’s voice was sharper than she intended. “Sheathe your claws before you cut yourself.”

Adele shot her a devastating smile, one that had won half the hearts in the Echelon. And then broken them. “Miaow,” she purred.

Despite her unease, Lena couldn’t stop an answering smile from tugging at her lips. Adele was the kind of friend you certainly couldn’t trust, but after the debacle last year where she was caught in the gardens with Lord Fenwick—who later refused to contract her—Adele was also an outcast of sorts. She’d clawed her way back into society via an icy heart and an unwavering smile, but her time, like Lena’s, was running out. And unlike Lena, who was here for a purpose, Adele had no other options in life.

A crowd was gathering in front of the curtained stage. Service drones hovered, the silver platters fitted on their heads offering an array of beverages. Lena slipped another pair of champagne flutes from the tray, avoiding the drone’s steam vent. They were highly practical, rolling quietly through the crowds, but more than one young lady’s dress had been ruined and Lena was wearing crushed violet silk.

She kept an ear open as she moved through the crowd, idly listening—and then discarding—conversations. Being a debutante was the perfect disguise. In a way, she was almost invisible. People said things in front of her that they would otherwise have kept quiet.

It was a most convenient way to spy. She barely had to do anything at all.

“Puppets.” Adele shook her head. Yet, she too gathered in front of the stage, desperate not to miss a thing.

The night was mild, stars glittering overhead. Lena looked up, her vision adjusting to the light. A thousand diamonds, her mother used to say when she was a little girl. “All for me,” Lena would cry, and her mother would laugh and kiss her good night.

Now the stars seemed to have lost some of their luster, and the diamonds too. The world around her was too bright, too shiny, all silk and gold and malicious laughter. The world of the Echelon had once been the only thing she’d ever wanted, and now that she danced along its verge, she couldn’t help wondering if there was something more out there for her.

Not that she would ever admit that.

She’d begged her sister, Honoria, for this chance when it became clear that there was nothing left in Whitechapel for her. Pleaded for weeks to be allowed back to her former life, and the possibility of making a thrall contract.

Strangely enough, an ally had come from an unexpected source: Leo Barrons, her half brother. As heir to the Duke of Caine, Leo could never reveal the truth of their connection—and his own illegitimacy—but he’d offered to take her as his ward and Lena had gratefully accepted. When her father had been alive, she’d hovered on the edge of the Echelon. Now, with a man as powerful as Leo as her guardian, she was embraced completely.

And she’d never felt more alone.

An uneasy feeling lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. The sharp, horrible sensation of being watched. Lena looked around but there was no one there. Something hissed and she flinched. It sounded like a kettle giving vent to its rage. The crowd pressed closer and conversation dimmed. On stage, the tinny sound of an organ grinder began to play.

It struck a chord in her memory; the raucous sounds and laughter of Whitechapel, the press of unwashed bodies, and the bawdy language that she’d pretended not to memorize. Music on the streets, in the penny gaff houses. A sound best forgotten. She’d left Whitechapel behind a year ago. It felt longer. In that time, she’d lost all of her youthful pretensions and realized exactly what type of world she lived in—and the fact that there was very little she could do about it.

But what she could do about it, she would. There was a movement brewing to restore humans to equal status as blue bloods—no more blood taxes, no more martial law, no more involuntary thralls—and she was in an ideal position to help them. Lena had access to a host of the Echelon’s secrets…if she kept her ears open.

“It seems Miss Bishop has a monkey after all,” Adele whispered.

“Shush,” Lena said, rising on her toes to see. As she did, she ran her gaze across the crowd, relaxing only when she realized there was no one watching her.

Just nerves… She was safe here, with the crowd and Adele at her side.

The curtains parted with a melodramatic jerk. On the terrace, the gas lamps suddenly faded, the muted flames casting a surreal blue light across the gathering. Steam curled out, obscuring a figure on the center of the stage. Its arms jerked into the air, the strings clearly visible against the gaslight.

“Marionettes,” Adele dismissed.

The Contract Ball of Miss Bishop had been talked about for the last month as the event of the Season. Gossip had promised delights and curios far beyond anything ever seen, but so far the night had been disappointing. Lena relaxed down onto her heels just as the crowd gave an appreciative gasp.

“Oh my,” Adele said. “Look, the strings have fallen!”

And so they had. The marionette gave a feeble jerk, its arms collapsing to its sides. And then slowly, with the mysterious steam curling around its feet, it began to straighten.

“It’s an automaton,” Lena said.

The metal creature began to move, his hands coming up as though he held someone in his arms. Against the tinny organ-grinder music, he began to waltz.

Lena’s mouth dropped open. She’d seen numerous service drones and dozens of the armored metaljackets that protected the streets and imposed the Echelon’s will, but she’d never seen anything like this. Why, the joints were streamlined, and the movement of the automaton was peculiarly fluid, almost human.

The performance came to an end, the organ-grinder winding down slowly. The automaton’s pace slowed and it began to falter in time to the music. Whoever the handler was, he was a man of great skill.

Lena clapped enthusiastically. She wanted a closer look. She was talented with her steel clockworks, but this was artistry on a level she could barely comprehend.

Unfortunately, most of the crowd wanted a closer look too. Lena found herself separated from Adele and eddied to the side, like a piece of flotsam in a raging current.

Dashing a feather out of her vision, she looked for Adele.

And that was when she saw him.

The warmth drained from her face. Alaric Colchester, the Duke of Lannister, watched her from across the crowd, a predatory smile on his thin lips as he sipped a flute of blud-wein. Her heart skipped a beat. Against the pale, powdered skin of his face, his red-stained lips flashed through her mind, reminiscent of a time long ago. But that time, the blood had not been watered with wine.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. She made certain of that before she accepted any invitations these days. With a meeting called in the Ivory Tower between the Council of Dukes that ruled the city, she’d been sure she’d be safe.

It must have finished early.

Lena tore her gaze away, her heart thundering in her ears. Don’t run. If she’d learned anything over the years, it was that fear roused a blue blood to uncontrollable hungers.

A swift glance showed movement through the crowd. The pale, shining blond of his hair as he stalked her. Lena strained on her toes. Where had Adele gone? There was sometimes safety in numbers.

If Colchester felt like playing by the rules.

He was a duke, after all. Head of one of the seven great Houses that ruled the city. If he wanted to take her here, right now, then he could drag her off and no one would dare say a thing. Her guardian, Leo, the only man with the strength to counter Colchester, had been at the Ivory Tower meeting, standing in for his father, the Duke of Caine.

Lena moved into the crowd, a smile pasted on her face. The patch of bare skin at the back of her neck tingled. Lifting her glass, she tried to catch a hint of his reflection, but the crowd was too dense.

Damn him. She shot a look over her shoulder.

Too many people, pressed together and laughing at the mechanized puppetry. No sign of Colchester.

Music and laughter assaulted her ears. The crowd was a riot of bright colors as she whipped her head around, a fist clenched in her skirts. Don’t run. God, don’t run. But where the devil had he gone?

A large pink ostrich feather floated through her vision. Adele. Lena pushed toward her. A pair of ladies gossiped behind their fans and Lena staggered between them, straight into a firm chest. Gloved hands caught her shoulders, as if to steady her.

“So sorry,” she murmured, then froze as she saw the ink-black velvet coat, with its gold epaulets and a tassel draped from his right shoulder.

“You look pale, my dear.” Colchester smiled his shark’s smile and his hands tightened as she instinctively tried to draw back. “Like you need some air.”

His grip urged her to the side, toward the garden. Lena dug her slippers in and shook her head, a desperate smile pasted on her face. She couldn’t let anyone see her distress. It would only start rumors she couldn’t afford. A lady’s reputation was all that kept her from being claimed by any blue blood as his blood whore for the night.

Somehow she forced a laugh. It was her only defense. “Au contraire, Your Grace.” A swift gesture at the gardens around them. “I have nothing but air, it seems.”

His eyes glittered with dark enjoyment. The hairs along her spine rose, but somehow she managed an insouciant shrug. Colchester would scent the rising spike of fear, acrid on her skin. A delicate sauce, he’d once told her, to flavor the meal…

“Thank you for catching me, Your Grace. But I’m afraid I must find my friend, Adele. She was feeling poorly. I was supposed to fetch her some water.”

“A pity,” he soothed, his hand dropping to hers. He stroked her fingers through the silk of her gloves. “I was hoping you would save a dance for me. The assah, if you will.”

A dance designed to tempt, to best display a potential thrall’s assets to a blue blood. The smoky eroticism of it was something she’d never surrendered to in public, but to witness it… Oh, to witness it was something else. “I’m afraid I—”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Lena tugged at her hand, but his iron fingers curled around her wrist, a hint of shadow darkening his pale eyes.

“Don’t tempt me, my dear. I’m trying to be courteous, but I’m afraid your beauty quite drives me…out of my mind.” A smile, then he brushed the back of one hand against her cheek.

Laughter surged through the crowd, making her jump. They were so close and yet they might as well be in the Orient for all the good they would do her.

“Have you thought any more on my offer?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I’ve been terribly occupied—”

“It’s been a month.”

Not long enough. She would never be his thrall. Lena tipped her chin up and stared him directly in the eye. “It’s been a busy month, Your Grace.”

“Colchester. I told you to call me Colchester. After all,” a smirk, “we are rather well-acquainted, are we not?”

She wanted to smash the glass bulb from her champagne flute and stab him in the eye with the stem. The thought of Colchester with his mouth on her body made her stomach twist.

Never again.

“Must I wait another month for an answer?”

“Let me go, Your Grace. This is unseemly.”

“Answer the question.”

“Lena!” Adele’s cry came out of nowhere. “There you are!”

A burst of perfume washed over them, then Adele was there, the feathers in her hair tickling Colchester’s nose. He flinched away, his face tightening with fury. Adele clapped a hand to her mouth and giggled, seemingly overcome by champagne. “Oh, Your Grace! I didn’t see you there. My apologies.”

The crowd pressed upon them. He had no choice but to let her go.

Lena tugged her hand close to her body, as if he’d done her some injury. Fingers brushed against hers and then Adele squeezed her other hand.

Colchester gave her a curt nod. “Until next time. I will demand an answer.” Then he turned and strode through the crowd.

All of a sudden Lena couldn’t breathe. Adele took one look at her face and hustled her away, into the edges of the garden.

“Here,” Adele said, snatching a glass of champagne off a service drone’s platter. “Drink this.”

“I…I can’t…” The only thing holding her upright was Adele’s hand.

A small folly appeared, shadowed from the rest of the garden party. Adele spun her around, forcing her to put her hands on the railing and lean forward. Tearing apart Lena’s buttons, she loosened the strings on her corset.

Lena collapsed forward, sucking in a lungful of air. Her body was trembling from top to toe. She didn’t know what had happened. Only that she hadn’t been able to draw breath. Still couldn’t, really.

Warmth splashed down her cheeks and she dashed at them with her gloved hands. Adele rubbed small circles on her back.

“Thank you.” She’d never have expected Adele, of all people, to come to her rescue.

Adele’s hand paused. “I just wish there’d been someone there…for me.”

Lena looked up and met her gaze, her breath shuddering through her. “I thought you went willingly with Lord Fenwick?”

“That was the rumor he put about. They all know, of course.” Adele’s lips thinned. “It’s become sport amongst the younger circles. They think taking a woman as thrall is old-fashioned. Why support her for life when you can take what you want from her then cast her aside?”

“But…that’s appalling!”

“One step removed from a blood slave.” Adele shrugged a slim shoulder. “The reason I was chasing Lord Macy is because he’s a traditionalist. He believes in protecting his thralls. If I were you, Lena, I would look to someone older. And don’t settle for anything less than a thrall contract. It’s the only protection you or I have these days.”

“Why doesn’t anybody say something?”

“Who would dare?” Adele laughed, but there was no humor in it. Her expression hardened. “And why should any of the Echelon stir a finger to help us? We’re food, Lena. The only interest they have in keeping us alive or taking us as thralls is because it’s easier for them. We’re like penned livestock.”

Anger flared. “They’re not all like that. My guardian, Leo—”

“Knows what’s going on as surely as we do. And has he said a single word about it?”

Lena opened her mouth. And said nothing. Everything she saw on Adele’s face was but an echo of how she herself felt. Trapped. Prey.

No. Not prey. She took a deep shuddering breath. Prey didn’t fight back; they didn’t find a way in which they could make a difference, and that’s what she was doing.

“Take my advice,” Adele continued. “I saw the look on Colchester’s face. You need protection. Your guardian isn’t enough—he’s not even here, is he? If I were you, I would find some old decrepit lord with enough power to stand up to Colchester and beguile him into taking you as his thrall.”

“That shouldn’t be the only option I have.”

“Unfortunately, for girls like you and me, there isn’t any choice. The sooner you open your eyes to the world you truly live in, the better. Otherwise you’re nothing but a fool—and fools don’t survive very long here.”

***

“What’s wrong with you this morning?”

Lena opened her eyes, her head resting against the carriage’s window. Her companion, Mrs. Wade, peered at her over the top of her crochet. There was no sign of the attack of the megrims that had plagued her last night, keeping her from Lord Macy’s ball.

Rubbing at her aching eyes, Lena sat up. “Nothing. I didn’t sleep very well last night, is all.”

“Perhaps we should return to Waverly Place.” Concern rounded Mrs. Wade’s eyes. “You could do with some more rest.”

Lena’s eyes narrowed. “Your motivations are utterly transparent.” Leaning forward, she peered through the velvet curtains of the steam carriage’s window, her fingers tapping on the box in her hand. She hadn’t dared let it out of her sight.

Mrs. Wade had the good grace to blush. She had her own feelings on what constituted as appropriate recreational pursuits for ladies. Designing clockwork toys was not one of them. “I’m simply concerned about your reputation. If anyone saw us at that shop…”

“Who would see us here? And if they did, I’m only purchasing a new clock.”

The steam carriage rattled to a halt outside Mandeville’s Clockwork Emporium. Her eye skipped over the dirty ragamuffins playing tumbler in the alleys and the coal lasses slipping through the crowd with their pails balanced on their shoulders. She’d seen all too much of it during her sojourn in the rookeries of Whitechapel, after her father’s death. Indeed, that had once been her, before Mr. Mandeville took her on as his apprentice.

Sympathy choked her. No matter the dangers of her own life at court, they were nothing to what the coal lasses risked, walking the streets unprotected. At least in society she would never be left to die bleeding in the gutters, her life worthless to the blue bloods. Her position saw to that. She was potential prey—but she was also protected prey.

The door opened and a footman appeared. “Miss.”

“Thank you, Henry.” Lena accepted his hand and stepped down onto the cobbles. Mr. Mandeville saw her coming and opened the door for her. With the curled ends of his waxed moustache, the pair of magnifying glassicals perched upon his windswept gray hair, and a distinct patchwork quality to his waistcoat, he would never be received within the great houses. Yet he was one of the finest clockmakers she’d ever seen.

And so much more.

He’d also been her savior, dragging her out of the gutters—when she’d been that bleeding, discarded coal lass—and tending her in his shop. Offering her respectable work. Then later, giving her some sense of hope when she had first begun to realize that her life at court wasn’t the safe world she’d been searching for.

She could remember only too well the day she’d returned for her cloak and overheard him discussing secrets that could get a man hanged. The shock had nearly floored her. Mr. Mandeville, a humanist? She’d kept the secret to herself for days, tossing and turning at night as questions started to gnaw at her. Excitement. Finally she’d confronted him and demanded to join the cause.

“Miss Todd,” Mr. Mandeville greeted, though he’d once called her “Lena” and threatened to rap her knuckles if she knocked over any of his clocks.

“Mr. Mandeville,” she replied, proffering the box. “You’re looking well. The summer air must be agreeing with you.”

“Is this it?” His eyes lit up as he saw the box.

A warm spark of something sinfully proud reared itself in her chest. There were very few things she’d ever been good at. “It is,” she breathed. “Oh, you should see it. It works exactly as I’d planned.”

“May I?”

At her nod, he ushered her toward the counter. The walls seemed to encroach the farther one went into the shop due to dozens of hanging, ticking clocks that loomed off the plaster. As his apprentice, Lena had grown used to the sight of them. Mrs. Wade, however, hovered near the windows, glaring at the swinging pendulums from the safe depths of her bonnet.

Mr. Mandeville placed the box on the counter and slid a glance toward Mrs. Wade. “Old Dragon-Breath is still in the dark?”

“She thinks I’ve come to see if you’ve any orders for me.” The work was steady enough to keep her occupied, though she had to do so under her brother’s name. A Charlie Todd original clockwork toy went for a rather generous price. They weren’t always for children either, though Lena took the most pleasure from those commissions.

“Hmm.” Mandeville opened the box and slid his long fingers under the foot-high clockwork. He lifted it reverently and set it on the counter. “Oh, my. Oh, Lena, this is your finest work. He’s utterly magnificent. Wherever did you come by the inspiration for such a thing? I assume it walks?”

Steel overlapping plates drew the eye, burnished to a polished gleam. The clockwork sculpture was a man, a burly figure carved from iron sheeting and seething with an interior of springs and coils. It stood on a metal plate, with a windup key at the back. Heat crept into her cheeks. The last thing she could admit was her inspiration. She’d never before dared take this image from the sheets of paper she sketched upon to work in iron sheeting. “It does more than that. Here, let me show you.”

The key grew tighter and tighter to turn. The figure trembled, his rough-hewn face jerking almost with violence. How apt, she thought, then let the key go.

For a moment nothing happened. The virile iron man quivered, and then slowly the gears started turning. The plates slid back upon each other, revealing a swift glimpse of the cogs within. Then a creature began to form, just as wild and fierce as the iron man had been.

Mandeville sucked in a breath. Lena watched his face as he tugged his magnifying glassicals up and peered closer. “My goodness, Lena! It’s incredible. Look at it transform! One moment a man, the next a wolf.”

She put her hand on his. “Wait.”

Breathlessly they both watched as the wolf slid back into the man, the clockwork gears grinding slower and slower, until finally it stopped, caught in transition, the man’s face scowling out over a hint of the wolf’s jaws.

“Well? What do you think?”

Mandeville let out his breath and cleaned his glassicals. “You truly have a gift, my dear. This is beyond compare. Beyond!” Her heart swelled, until she saw him shake his head. “However, you’ll never sell it. What on earth possessed you to create such a thing? The Echelon will have you thrown in the dungeons of the Ivory Tower!”

“Maybe a year ago,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder at Mrs. Wade. Her voice dropped. “Times are changing, Mr. Mandeville. There’s talk of the Scandinavian Empire sending an embassy to London.”

Mr. Mandeville stilled. “Where did you hear that?”

“There’s a loose grate…in the ceiling of my guardian’s study,” she admitted. “I often do some of my work in the solar above.”

A conspiratorial smile. As though her ingenuity had surprised him.

“Leo was entertaining the dukes of Malloryn and Goethe yesterday morning. It’s not common knowledge yet, but the Council is concerned.”

Mandeville leaned closer, peering at the clockwork transformational through his glassicals. His attention, however, was all upon her. “I still don’t see how this changes matters. The Echelon exterminated the Scottish verwulfen clans at Culloden. This…this piece stirs dangerous sentiments toward an ancient enemy.”

He picked the clockwork back up and began to nestle it safely in its box, where it might never again see the light of day.

“The Duke of Malloryn said that the Echelon were considering a peace treaty with the Scandinavian clans,” she blurted.

Mr. Mandeville froze. Both his eyebrows slowly vanished into his hairline. “That’s unheard of. The Scandinavian verwulfen have been at odds with Britain since Culloden. There’s no chance they would agree to a treaty.”

“That’s all I know. Mrs. Wade discovered me and I was forced to go look at bonnets.”

“Goodness,” Mandeville whispered. “I shall have to pass this information on. At once.”

Lena glanced at Mrs. Wade, who was tapping her reticule impatiently. “Do you think I should meet with Mercury? To tell him what I know? Firsthand?”

For months Mercury had been only a dashing figment of her imagination. As the mysterious head of the secret humanist movement working right here in London, he was little more than cloaks and shadows. Rumor had it that the Council of Dukes had posted an extravagant reward with the infamous Nighthawks for his capture.

“No. No, I’ll pass the information on. It wouldn’t do at all to have you involved any further. The fewer people who know of Mercury’s identity the safer he is.”

“I would never tell a soul.”

“Oh, Lena, you’re so terribly innocent still.” He gave her a sad smile. “There are ways for a blue blood to make a young woman tell them everything they want to know. Especially those rotten bastards in the Ivory Tower.” He patted her hand. “I’ll pass the message on. Hopefully we can use this information. If this alliance between the Echelon and verwulfen clans goes ahead, there’ll be little chance for the humanists to defeat the Echelon. They’ll be too powerful.”

He slid a folded envelope toward her, beneath a sheaf of orders. “The usual spot, if you will?”

Lena palmed it, pretending to rifle through the orders. Her voice rose. “Of course. Thank you for the commissions. I shall select which ones I deem appropriate.”

“Let me know if you hear more.” A frown crossed his face. “I am most curious about why they’re talking of peace.”

“I will.”

Lena picked up the box with the snubbed clockwork inside and turned her back on him. Pasting a smile on her face, she ignored the curiosity that lit Mrs. Wade’s face and gestured toward the carriage. She was about to make her companion’s day much worse.

“Oh look, we’ve time to visit my brother and sister,” she said lightly, though in fact she’d planned on it.

Mrs. Wade paled. “Not the rookeries, Lena. If anyone sees—”

“We’ll be discreet. And they’re my family, after all—even if they are considered persona non grata to the Echelon.” She stepped through the shop door into the warm sunshine. “I’ve a mind to gift Charlie with this toy. Mr. Mandeville doesn’t want it.” And she couldn’t bear to let it go to waste. It was the finest thing she’d ever created, even if it bore striking familiarity to a certain hulking brute that she knew.

Not that she’d be seeing him this time of day. She’d lived at the warren long enough to know the times that Will came and went. Midday usually found him asleep after his nightly sojourn guarding the rookery.

Which suited her perfectly.

She wouldn’t care if she never saw him again.

***

If Honoria was surprised to see him so early, she gave little sign of it. Will growled a greeting and strode past. Sunlight spilled through the attic window, dust motes swirling through its beams. The stink of chemical took his breath, with the faint, underlying tang of blood and chamomile tea.

“Blade’s still in bed,” Honoria said, brushing a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “He’s recovering well, though not as quickly as I’d like—”

Nor as quickly as he once had. Will nodded brusquely. “I seen him.”

“Of course.”

It was the first place he would have gone.

Tugging off her magnifying glassicals, she began to remove her apron. The attic had been sectioned into two rooms, one for Honoria’s laboratory and the other for Blade’s boxing saloon. Will’d never been in here before. It was solely Honoria’s domain, and while he’d expected sterile benches and equipment, he was surprised by the pair of cozy, overstuffed armchairs by the hearth and the mounds of paperwork. Honoria struck him as someone who was obsessively organized.

“Can I help you with anything?” No doubt she was almost as surprised to see him here as he was.

Will dragged the letter from his pocket. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but Honoria’s inquisitive little mind took to codes like a duck to water. “Can you decipher this?”

She took it, scratching her thumbnail through the waxy substance that coated it. “Hmm. I can try. It might take a while. Is it important?”

“Could be.”

She shot him a look.

“Found it on the men as stabbed Blade.”

The color drained from her face and she glared down at the letter. “I’ll do my best then. When did you retrieve this?”

“This morning,” he muttered. “Tracked ’em into the sewers.”

“Are they still breathing?”

“Aye.”

Surprise widened her eyes—then they narrowed with an expression that was quite bloodthirsty. “May I ask why?”

“The Nighthawks were on me heels. They’ve got ’em in custody, no doubt.”

“That’s not like you, leaving an enemy behind.” Crossing to the bench, she tapped the letter against her lips.

His cue to leave.

As if sensing it, she glanced over her shoulder, eyelashes shuttering her luminous eyes. It felt like a punch to the gut, the gesture so reminiscent of Lena that he swallowed hard. Definitely time to get out of here.

But as he turned, he heard a set of footsteps on the stairs.

“May I ask a favor of you, Will?”

His hand hovered over the doorknob, nostrils flaring. The scent of leather and blud-wein assaulted his nose. Blade. Which meant Honoria had him neatly trapped. He couldn’t be rude and make his escape. “What?”

“Blade suggested I should take a sample of your blood.”

Of course he did. She’d spent the last three years sticking holes in her husband. No doubt Blade thought it high time she turned that obsessive little mind toward someone else. A chill ran down his spine. Needles. Frigging needles.

Seeing the look on his face, she hurried on. “To see if there’s any chance of finding a cure. Or vaccination.” With a sigh, she added, “My work here has stalled. Charlie’s not responding to the vaccinated blood the same way as Blade did. And Blade’s results have reached a plateau for the moment. His CV levels are sitting as low as forty-eight and have been for six months, thank goodness.”

The door opened. Honoria’s gaze shot straight past Will. For once, he was grateful not to be the recipient of that diamond stare. “What the devil do you think you’re doing out of bed?”

Blade kicked the door shut with his heel. White as parchment and moving stiffer than an eighty-year-old man, he struggled to catch his breath. “Good to see you too, luv.”

“I gave strict instructions that you were to remain bedridden for the next three days. Then we would renegotiate.”

“Which means she’ll decide if I can or can’t get up.” Blade winked at Will. “I couldn’t stand to be without you another moment, luv. Me ’eart were breakin’.”

Honoria pointed. “Chair. Now.”

Handing Will his bottle of blud-wein, he settled into one of the armchairs by the fireplace whilst Honoria clucked and scolded him. Blade bore it with goodwill, but his eyes sparkled whenever her back was turned.

Will shifted on his feet, but Honoria saw the movement and looked up from where she was tucking a footstool under her husband’s feet. One delicate eyebrow arched in question.

“What’s up, luv?” Blade asked, catching the look.

“I asked Will if he’d consent to having some of his blood examined.”

“You don’t ’ave to,” Blade hastened to assure him.

That was the thing he hated the most now. The hesitant way they spoke around him, as if fearing he’d walk out the door and never come back.

Folding his arms over his chest, he glared at Blade. As if he’d ever abandon him. Without Blade he’d probably still be trapped in a cage, reduced to little more than an animal.

A hot little coal flared to life inside him. If only he hadn’t bloody been there that night. If only he hadn’t heard Honoria ask if he was dangerous, if he could be trusted around Lena…

And then the hesitation.

He’d never doubted himself before. Never doubted his control. Years in the cage had taught him to leash the anger, the beast within. He choked it down, trapped it in solid iron bars—a manifestation of the cage he’d spent ten years in. Nobody could reach in there.

Until Lena came along.

She’d driven him near insane. It was nothing but a game to her, a flirtation, a tease. A way to test her burgeoning womanhood on someone she thought was safe. But he wasn’t safe. And he didn’t play games. After two years of living with it, the edges of the cage had started to grow ragged. If Blade had noticed the restless prowl of the beast within him, if Honoria had… Then how close had he been to losing control?

How long had they watched him? Not trusted him?

“Will?” Honoria asked.

“Do it,” he snapped, somewhat harsher than he’d intended. “But hurry up. I’ve got things to do today.”