Heart of Iron (34 page)

“I wish that didn’t sound as if you were goin’ to drag ’em ’ere, willin’ or not,” Blade muttered.

***

Will pounded on the door of the manor that the Norwegians were leasing for the duration of their stay. Rain dripped incessantly, tangling in his hair and running down his face. The journey into the city had been a mindless one. He could barely remember any of it.

Glancing at his watch every few seconds did little to alleviate the tension riding him. It had taken him twenty minutes. Twenty minutes in which he didn’t know what was happening to Lena.

Footsteps finally sounded in the entrance and the door opened on a harried-looking butler. “Yes?”

He pushed forward, into the doorway. “Is the Lady Astrid in?”

“I’m afraid she’s not at liberty—”

He had the man by the throat in seconds. “You go and fetch her,” he said quietly. “Or I’ll rip your heart out through your nostrils, you understand?”

The man went sprawling as Will released him and scrambled back across the marble tiles.

“What’s going on here?” someone barked.

The Fenrir stepped out of the shadows of the library, clad in his court attire. The wolf fur was secured around his broad shoulders with a polished bead of amber, and his gray beard and hair had been combed. The menace in his eye nearly threw Will over the edge.

Don’t look him in the eye. Deep breath
…

“You dare come into my house like this?” the Fenrir asked in a deadly soft voice. “You dare treat my servants like this?”

“Uncle.” Astrid’s voice. Soothing and calm. She strode to Magnus’s side and eased a hand over his arm. “Look at him. He’s barely containing himself. Something’s set him off.” With an appeasing look, she turned to Will. “What is it?”

He took a deep breath, overwhelmed by the scent of too many of his kind. “It’s Lena.”

“Your woman?” She frowned, then understanding dawned. “She’s got the loupe, hasn’t she?”

“I were only five. I don’t remember how to deal with it, how to help her—”

“May not be any help, lad,” Magnus grumbled, subsiding. He stroked his beard. “She’s the small girl?”

Both he and Astrid exchanged glances.

“She’s strong willed,” Will blurted. “She’ll fight.”

“You should have stayed away from her,” Magnus said, lips thinning. “There’s a reason we don’t mate with humans.”

“I ain’t touched her.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Astrid said, shooting her uncle a look. “Let me fetch my cloak. I’ll come. Whether it helps or not…”

“Thank you.”

“Where’s your carriage?” she asked.

Will shook his head. “Came on foot. By rooftop.”

Astrid stared at him, her pale white skirts swishing around her ankles. Then a blinding smile crept over her lips. “How interesting. Let me change.”

Magnus caught her arm as she turned to go. “You’re not going alone.”

“Everyone’s supposed to be at what’s-his-name’s ball. That hatchet-faced vulture who thinks he’s amusing.”

“The Duke of Morioch,” Magnus replied dryly. “Take Eric. I’m sure he’ll relish the opportunity to avoid another night of boredom.” He turned his gaze toward Will. “I’m giving you my son and my niece. You bring them back to me or I’ll mount your head on a spike, you understand?”

He nodded. A man who spoke his language. “Perfectly.”

***

“The rookeries, eh?” Eric leaped off the rooftop onto the muddy streets below, his fur-lined cloak swirling around him.

Will followed, pushing past to lead the way. The warren came into view and some of the tension went out of his shoulders.

“I expected a manor,” Astrid murmured, landing beside them and staring up at the decrepit appearance of the building. “Do you have a cellar? Or ice?”

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered, shoving the front door open.

Rip guarded the front door, his hand straying to his belt as the door opened. Charlie and Lark sat on the bottom of the stairs, arguing over who’d won the game of jacks. Charlie’s jaw dropped as Astrid followed him in.

She’d changed into a pair of tight leather breeches, with a vest that cinched her waist to a ridiculous span. Her hair had been braided back tightly, leaving her cheekbones bare, and the fur cloak she wore turned her into a barbarian princess. Even Rip’s eyebrow rose.

Eric followed. The Norseman smiled, ruffling Lark’s hair as if she were a little girl. Charlie looked like he was contemplating a fur cloak and chain mail addition to his wardrobe.

“How is she?”

Charlie blinked, tearing his gaze away from the exotic pair. “Don’t know. Honor won’t let me in. What’s goin’ on, Will? I heard Lena crying—”

He shoved past, heading straight up the stairs.

Soft whimpering sounds came from within Lena’s room. Rapping softly on the door, he poked his head in.

Lena writhed on the bed, her cheeks burning with fever. Her nightgown clung to her body with sweat, and Honoria hovered by her head with a cool cloth. Blade was trying to keep her still, a glass of water in his hand.

“Did they come?” Honoria asked, strain showing around her mouth.

He couldn’t take his eyes off Lena. “How is she?”

Honoria’s mouth twisted. “Her temperature’s getting higher.”

Something shoved him out of the way and Astrid pushed past. She took in the scene at a glance, slinging her cloak over a nearby chair. “You need to cool her. Fast. We’ll need ice, and something large enough to put her in.”

“A bath?” Blade asked.

“Do you have one?”

“In me rooms,” he replied.

“Perfect.” She pressed a hand against Lena’s temple, closing her eyes. “Very close to the peak, but not there yet. There’s time.”

“She’ll get hotter?” Honoria gasped.

“She dies if she does,” Astrid replied bluntly. “Will, fetch me ice. Lots of it.”

He spent the next twenty minutes smashing the heavy ice blocks to pieces, then carrying it from the deep cellars to Blade’s room. The cellars were freezing; Blade needed a continuous supply of ice in order to keep his blood chilled.

Astrid and Honoria had taken over the bathroom. Astrid filled the bath to the brim with cool water, then poured buckets of ice chips into it.

“Are you certain this is safe?” Honoria asked. “They used to do this to the inmates at the institute I worked at. It was awful.”

“It will hurt, yes,” Astrid replied, her expression unchanging. She met his gaze, knowing he’d be the one to protest. “Whatever she does, you must not interfere.”

“How much will it hurt?” he asked.

“Like fire.” She put a hand out to stop him. “This is her only chance. In Norway, we use the snow to quench the fever.”

He hovered on the balls of his feet. The worst thing was knowing how much pain Lena was in right now. How much pain would come. He’d spent two days clawing at the dirt in the cellar before the fever broke.

But there was no help for it. “How long?”

Astrid gave him a serious look. “Two or three days. Perhaps one has already passed. She seems halfway through it.”

This was her only hope, he reminded himself, though the thought of hurting her made him feel sick. “I’ll go fetch her.”

Twenty-three

The moment they put her in the water she started screaming.

Will held her down, despite her weak thrashing, his teeth clenched and his body tense. Astrid had said the shock of the cold might kill her, but without it her temperature would keep rising until she died.

The ice water burned his arms, his fingers eventually numbing. He could only imagine what it felt like for Lena. And it was all his fault. His eyes blurred with heat as he held her down, whispering to her that he was there, that she would be all right.

It didn’t take long for her thrashing to subside and her body to slump into his arms. “What’s happening?” he asked. “Lena?” There was no response. Only the slight quiver of her lip as she shivered.

“Bring her out,” Astrid commanded.

Will cradled her carefully in his arms, icy water splashing all across the marble floors. They dried her off, with Astrid monitoring her temperature and the timepiece Honoria had given her.

“What now?” he asked. “Is she better?”

“Her temperature’s dropped a degree,” Astrid said, taking the thermometer away. She exchanged a glance with Honoria. “Will, I need more ice.”

“More ice?”

“For next time.”

He shook his head. Lena lolled in his arms, her skin clammy with cold, yet burning with an inner radiance. “How many times?”

“Each time her temperature goes up. Until the fever breaks.”

The hopelessness of the situation hit him. “She’s not goin’ to make it, is she?”

Astrid stroked the wet strands off Lena’s forehead. “You told me she is strong willed, no?”

“Stubborn as rock.” Tears burned in his eyes.

“Then bring more ice, Will.” Leaning down, she whispered in Lena’s ear. “You must fight, little one. Fight for your man, as he fights for you.”

The night stretched out, hour after brutal hour. A never-ending vignette as he broke the heavy ice blocks into shards and carried them upstairs, then bathed her in the water. Honoria started crying, silent tears that streaked down her face. He couldn’t look at her or he would break. Lena barely stirred when they put her in the bath now.

“Come,
mo
cridhe
.” He kissed her forehead, wishing there was something, anything that he could do. But there was nothing he could kill here, nothing he could protect her from. His very uselessness battered at him.

Too late…

For so many things. Too late to hold her now. Too late to kiss her, to give himself over to her as he had always feared to do. To tell her that he loved her, as he knew she had longed to hear.

He had held her at arm’s bay, for fear of the very thing that was occurring now.

“I will give you the world,” he whispered, stroking the hair off her forehead. “I will protect you, I swear. I’ll never let you hurt again, I promise. Just come back, Lena. Come back and let me love you.”

But she didn’t hear him.

Lost to the fever, she didn’t hear any of them.

Too
late
.

***

“Her heart’s barely beating,” Astrid said in a quiet voice.

Morning had broken, sunlight streaming through the window. The room was drenched, as if someone had waged war in the bath. Perhaps, he thought, it
had
been a war of sorts. And now it was becoming apparent that they were losing.

He could hear the thready beat of her heart. Clasping her hand, Will held her close against his chest, waiting numbly for that horrible moment when Astrid would force him to put her back in the bath. He didn’t think Lena could take it anymore.

He barely could.

His hands were shriveled and he shivered as he held her wet body in his arms. He could barely see or hear the world around him, his body fighting to sleep, to renew itself.

All he could feel was the body in his arms, the heat of her skin as the fever raged, despite their attempts to contain it. In the last hour, her temperature had increased two degrees. A human would be long dead by now.

Come
on
. He rocked her, muttering lullabies he could barely remember from his youth. When his mother had not looked at him as if wondering how such a monster could have stolen her son.

Come
back
to
me
.

A soft hand touched his shoulder. Astrid. “Will, you must let her go.”

No!
He snarled and shook her away. If they tried to take her, he would kill them. All of them.

Quiet whispers. “…
too
late. He’s given himself to her… If she dies, he will pine away
…”

Honoria. Crying.

He forced himself to his feet and staggered toward the bath. It was easier now, for he barely felt a thing. Lowering himself into the bath, he dragged Lena against his chest, her cheek resting on his shoulder. The slow tick of her heartbeat pulsed against his chest. Ice burned across his skin until he was numb all over.

The world faded.

Then hands were dragging him out of the bath, dragging Lena out of his arms. He snarled and flung them away from him, trying to reach for her. Blade’s face swam into view. “Easy now, let ’er go, Will. Let ’er go…”

He grabbed Blade by the throat and tossed him aside. Eric was helping Astrid with Lena. He went for them, throwing Eric back into the mirror. It shattered and Astrid stiffened.

“Get out,” she cried. “Everybody get out. Leave him to her. Before he kills someone.”

Shoving Lena into his arms, she backed away, dragging her cousin with her. The door closed and he was alone, the bathroom a ruined mess.

“Lena,” he whispered, curled around her in misery. Why wouldn’t she come back? “I’m sorry. Gods, I’m sorry.”

The bath was half-empty. He couldn’t do it to her anymore. She was shivering as it was, goose flesh pebbled all over her skin.

Dragging himself to his feet, Will lurched toward the bedroom. If she died, then he didn’t want her to be cold anymore. Ripping off her nightgown, he laid her down on the sheets of the bed and dried her carefully. Every inch of her was white with cold, her cheeks and chest flushed with a red rash. Every time he touched her, he felt the icy chill of her skin and that burning furnace deep within. A heart of fire buried beneath the ice.

Starting with her feet he began to chafe the heat back into her. No more cold. He couldn’t let her die that way. Even now, her heartbeat was a weak echo in his ears.

It took a long time to rub the chill from her skin. Stripping off his wet clothes, he curled up beside her, dragging the blankets over the top of them. He dragged her into his arms, tried to use his own body heat to somehow revive her.

Long hours passed as he felt the heat burning deep within her. It answered his own, rising to the surface until they were both wet with perspiration. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, again and again, kissing her damp shoulder.

Sweat broke over her skin, along with a violent attack of shivers. Will buried his face against the back of her neck and breathed in the faint scent of her body. He was so tired. He just wanted to close his eyes and never wake up, but something was struggling against him.