Kiss of Steel (11 page)

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. Blade had been kind to her so far. And though he was not classically handsome, still he made her breath catch and her body heat at the mere sight of him. They said that sometimes a woman could even find pleasure in it, though the very thought made her cringe inside.

Who was she trying to fool?

***

“Problem?” Vickers inquired as he stared out the windows, the sunlight highlighting his pale, powdery skin and blond, almost white curls. As was the custom in many of the older blue bloods, he wore powder in his hair. His lips were a girlish pink. Even his eyelashes had faded to a coarse white.

Leo closed the door behind him with a soft, controlled click. “Not at all. One of my thralls.” He gave a slight smile, knowing Vickers would smell the blood on his breath. “She missed me.”

The creak of the floorboards whispered outside. An overpowering waft of his aftershave caught Leo’s nose as Honoria crept past. Vickers’s eyes tracked the movement, but his face remained impassive.

“You should teach her not to interrupt.” Vickers’s tone held no inflection.

Leo quirked a brow and slung himself into his chair. He lazed back in it, one leg slung over the arm of the chair. “I did. She won’t bother me again.”

Vickers nodded. “Good. Now, have you made any progress on the whereabouts of the Todd family? It’s been six months, Barrons. Anyone would think you weren’t looking hard enough.”

From anyone else it might have been only a comment, not the threat it was. Leo toyed with his ring, watching the light gleam through the emerald. He wanted Vickers gone. His men were still searching, but Leo knew that so far no sign had been found of the vampire.

They’d find it soon enough. Or traces of it. The creature wouldn’t be able to resist. It would start tearing its way through London, and then the Echelon would have a problem on its hands. It would be the last breath of air to knock down the house of cards that Leo was desperately trying to balance. Everything relied on saving face in his world, and if any of his many enemies could prove that he had known about the vampire, the House of Caine would be destroyed along with the creature.

Knowing a man was close to the Fade and not alerting authorities would earn a severe reprimand from the council, at the very least. If they learned he was directly responsible for the vampire, for causing his infection in the first place…

He had no time left for Honoria or the others. They would simply have to fend for themselves.

“Your precious Nighthawks can’t find a sign of them,” Leo replied, knowing damned well why. Honoria had left little trace, but what there was of it he’d buried long ago. “Patience, Vickers. They will come up for air. And when they do, I will be waiting for them.”

A slight frown flickered through Vickers’s pale gray eyes. There and then gone again. He examined his manicured nails, the lace dripping from his sleeves. “You’ll fetch me first. Just locate them. I’ll deal with the ungrateful brats.”

“And the girl? Honoria?”

This time Vickers couldn’t quite hide the flare of lust in his eyes. “Honoria.” His voice caressed the word. “Honoria is mine. It’s about time I broke that arrogant little bitch.” He stood with a snap of his fingers. “Find them. Then send word.” Without further ado, he strode past in a cloud of perfume. The strong scent couldn’t quite hide the faint trace of rottenness that lingered about him.

Leo watched the door shut, chewing idly on his fingernail. He caught sight of his hand and paused. In the light the skin looked almost gray. The effects of injecting himself with colloidal silver were starting to show. He couldn’t keep it up forever, or else the Echelon would recognize it for what it was—a desperate attempt to allay the virus.

He needed that diary. Before he too started to smell like rot. But if Honoria didn’t have it, then where was it?

Chapter 6

Honoria rapped on the door, her stomach tying itself in knots. Around her, thick fog swirled. She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, then tucked her new shawl tight around her arms.

She’d sold all of her dresses this morning and her mother’s brooch. It was enough to see the doctor’s outstanding bills paid and a handful of coins left over for the month’s rent. She’d bought a pair of decent work-a-day dresses made of scratchy brown and gray wool and a pair of sturdy shoes. When Lena saw what she’d done, she’d cried.

Honoria had thought it would hurt more. The final cutting of ties with her former, privileged life. No going back now. But strangely enough, she’d felt nothing as she handed the dresses over. Nothing more than concern about how much she could get for them.

She could have waited. She had enough money now to see them through the month, but there was no point holding out, hoping for a miracle. If she didn’t make this offer to Blade now, she feared she never would.

The door sprung open and the small boy who’d accosted her in the square peered out.

“You ain’t s’posed to be out after dusk,” the child said. “It’s martial law.”

“I need to see Blade.”

“He ain’t ’ere.”

Still
time
to
get
away
. She crushed the thought down ruthlessly. “What do you mean he’s not here? Where is he?”

“The Pits,” the child said. For a moment there was a softening of expression that gentled the child’s heavy jaw.

“The Pits,” she repeated. A blood-thirsty arena where men pitted themselves against each other or animals. The ultimate in blood sports in the city. And the last place a decent woman would go.

The child caught Honoria’s arm as she turned. “’Ere now, where you goin’? You ain’t s’posed to be out without an escort. Where’s Will?”

“Will? I don’t know. Why?”

“’E’s s’posed to be watchin’ you.”

Honoria’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

The child’s mouth opened. Then shut. “Nothin’.”

Honoria took the grimy wrist in her hand. “What did you mean, Will’s watching me?”

“Watchin’ your ’ouse!” The child pulled out of her grip, giving her an insolent look. “Keepin’ you safe from the killer.”

Keeping them safe? The only one who could have ordered that was Blade. But why? She was technically under his protection, but so were a lot of citizens, and none of
them
had a burly bodyguard.

“What is Blade up to?”

“’E protects what’s ’is.” The child gave a shrug that could have meant anything. As it did, its coat pulled tighter, revealing the slightest hint of curves. A girl.

“What’s your name?” Honoria asked.

“Lark.”

“Do you know how long he’ll be gone, Lark?”

“Most o’ the night, mebbe.” Lark squinted up at her. “’Ere, now, you ain’t still goin’.”

Honoria took a step back into the fog. She had to do this tonight, before she lost her nerve. But there was a murderer out there, and she wasn’t foolish enough to venture so far by herself. “Where is this Will? I might as well make use of him.”

“Right behind you.” A voice came out of nowhere, startling them both.

The big youth jumped off the rooftop, landing beside her with his fingertips touching the cobblestones. Leather braces rode over his massive chest and broad shoulders, and his once-white shirt had been hacked off at the shoulders, leaving his straining biceps bare.

Oh
my
. She’d seen her share of near-naked men in Whitechapel, but none of them had his…quality of muscle.

Honoria looked up as he straightened. And up. His yellow eyes met hers and she shivered. “I need to see your master.”

“Tol’ you not to open the door, Lark. Get back inside and stay there.” Will’s gaze swung to her again, his jaw stiffening. “You’re bad for him, you know that?”

The cockney in his voice wasn’t as pronounced as the others. Indeed, she could sense a vague Scottish burr within certain words. He took a step toward her and Honoria held her ground, though she was tempted to back away. “How?”

“He ain’t thinkin’ right with you. You’re one o’ ’em, all high in the instep. A fancy lass, who’ll do his head in and not give a damn, ’cept what you can get from him.”

Honoria took a step back. He was right. She had been thinking of what she could get from Blade. But then she remembered his words in the pub.
You’ll beg me to take you in…
Any sense of guilt fled. This was purely a transaction between them. Nothing more.

“He wants blood. I’m prepared to provide it,” she replied stiffly. “Are you going to escort me or not?”

Will’s eyes narrowed, a thin slit of lambent gold. “Aye,” he said. “But you hurt him and you’ll have me to reckon with. Just you think on that.”

***

Noise washed over him, a roar from the crowd as someone in the ring went down. Blade leaned back in his chair, boots kicked up on the rail of his private box in the Pits as he peered through the haze of smoke from his cheroot.

“That’s Grady’s bout!” O’Shay laughed, holding up his wager slip. “Told ye ’e’d win!”

Blade flicked the ash from the tip of his cheroot. “Scurvy’s down. ’E ain’t out yet. Watch.”

O’Shay peered closer just as Jim Scurvy kicked out, his steel-plated boots striking Grady in the kneecap. There was an audible crack and Grady went down, a look of shock and pain on his grimy face. Scurvy was on him in a second, drawing back his meaty fists and pounding the claret out of Grady. It splashed across the white sand, drawing another appreciative gasp from the crowd.

“Bleedin’ useless cur!” O’Shay snarled, tearing up his ticket. He threw it out over the crowd like a handful of snowflakes.

Movement caught Blade’s eye from the boxes across the arena. He ground out the cheroot, slinging his feet to the floor. “Themselves is ’ere. Watch me back.”

O’Shay looked up, the purpose of the visit forgotten in the bloodlust. “Oh. Right.” His gaze narrowed on the three men who were seating themselves across the arena. A pair of bodyguards stood behind the chairs, eyes roaming the crowd and hands held low, most likely on weapons.

Blade put a hand on the rail of his box and leapt over it, sinking into the sweating throng of heaving bodies. The heat of the crowd’s lust surged through him, sending his heart racing. Blood everywhere. He could smell it. On the sand, on the men’s knuckles, old blood lingering in men’s clothes and even on some of the few women who joined the crowd.

He’d already fed tonight, but the hunger lingered near the surface, threatening to slide through the cracks in his control. Always present. Always keeping him alert. One slip and
he’d
be the monster carving up the crowd, raining more blood down on the arena than they could ever desire.

Yet they were oblivious to the threat among them. He was too well known, a tiger in their midst that they no longer feared because of familiarity. Some cast a wary eye on him, but none backed away.

More gazes drifted toward the perfumed trio in the other box. Debney was there, a scented handkerchief held to his face as he peered toward the limp form being carried from the ring. At his side, the young, dashing Leo Barrons, heir to the duke of Caine, and the third…

The world narrowed as Blade stared at Alaric Colchester, a scion of the House of Lannister. Vickers’s young cousin.

The world went gray. Then red. Blade fought it off, breathing hard through his nostrils.

“Blade?” O’Shay bumped against him.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Don’t touch me.”

O’Shay stepped back, wary of Blade’s deadly soft tone. He knew what that meant and kept the crowd out of his way while Blade brought himself back under control.

It wasn’t the time. Vickers would pay, and his House with him, but not yet. Not here.

The hunger clawed as Blade forced it down, swallowing hard. Plastering a mocking smile on his lips, he continued forward. The crowd parted around him, as though finally sensing some of the danger.

He bounded up, balancing on the edge of the rail. Barrons saw him, those unusual obsidian eyes sliding over him and away. He murmured something to his companions, and their heads swiveled toward him.

Blade walked along the rail, grabbing hold of the edge of their box. He swung over, giving a brief nod with his chin and leaning back against the box’s rail with his arms crossed over his chest. “Evenin’.”

Debney lifted his silk handkerchief again, as though Blade’s scent offended him. It was a blue blood’s way of saying you smelled like a vampire.

The bodyguards behind Debney stiffened, hovering on the edges of their toes. They were only human. The real danger lay in the three seated blue bloods who relaxed with feigned nonchalance in front of him. Debney he could take, and maybe Barrons, but Colchester was a vicious bastard, well trained in the use of the sword.

“Go away, you cur,” Debney commanded. “And we’ll forgive the insult. This once.” His gaze remained on the fight, as though bored by Blade’s intrusion. Thick white curls swept back from his high brow, heavily powdered in the Georgian style that most of the older blue bloods had not yet shaken. Sometimes he wondered if they did that to hide just how close they were to the Fade—those last few months when all color bleached out of their bodies and they became the blood-thirsty creatures they despised.