Heart of Iron

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.”

Sixteen

The heat of his body imprinted itself on her skin. Lena swallowed hard, lifting the pistol and staring blindly at the target. How on earth did he think she could focus with him pressed against her like this? Her bustle was poor defense; even the corset did little to still the hard feel of his body. Especially when the memory of that body pressed against hers last night kept playing over and over in her mind.

His mouth on her breasts, teeth tugging at her nipples. Callused hands sliding between her legs and pressing the heel of his palm to the wetness there.

“…through the sight like this… Here… Ease your finger over the trigger…” His breath warmed her ear.

Lena pulled the trigger with a soft groan. Dust showered off the brick wall.

“Don’t worry,” Will muttered. “You’ll get it.”

She wanted to hurl the bloody thing at the milk bottle. Maybe she’d have better chance of hitting it.

With a growl of disgust—and frustration—she turned and shoved it at him. “I’ve had enough. We’ve been at this for nearly an hour and my aim’s growing worse.”

“You’ll get it—”

The excitement of the pistol had long since worn off with his nearness. It only served to remind her of last night, and the mistake, as he called it. Her body was flushed with heat and her head had begun to pound. “I think I’m coming down with a chill. And you still haven’t explained why you told Honoria about my letter. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that.”

Will’s gaze shuttered. “I’ve no head for codes meself.”

“So you involved my sister?” she demanded. “My insatiably curious sister who can’t help sticking her nose into other people’s business?”

“I didn’t have a choice.” A hint of anger flared in his eyes. “If you’d told me what you were involved in from the beginnin’, I wouldn’t have had to resort to drastic measures.”

“So this is my fault?”

A strangled sound came from his throat. “I ain’t sayin’ it’s your fault. I just wish you’d told me. Damn it, Lena. I’m tryin’ to help you. Do you know what it were like, seein’ that message and knowin’ you’d got yourself in trouble? That you wouldn’t tell me how to deal with it? How to help you?”

“I never asked for your help. I can handle this.” Somehow. She crossed her arms over her chest, not quite able to meet his eyes. She’d told him what she could.

“I don’t care if you want my bloody help or not, you’re gettin’ it.” He clutched her by the arms, grimly determined. “No matter where you go, I’ll be watchin’. I ain’t lettin’ no one near you. Not Colchester. Not the humanists. Not the Nighthawks.”

“Then why are you so determined to teach me how to use a pistol?”

His eyes flickered to the amber-bronze of the wolf and back. “The only reason I won’t be there is if I’m dead,” he said quietly. “You’re the last line of defense. I ain’t goin’ to leave you without a weapon or the means to use it.”

The words were chilling. “No.” The thought of him lying at her feet, the warmth drained from his body, was almost enough to undo her. This was exactly what she hadn’t wanted. The reason she’d tried to keep him from discovering her secrets. She gripped his shirtsleeves in distress. Damn her resolve to keep a distant attitude today. This was his death he was speaking about. “I wish I’d never told you.”

She should have kept lying to him, kept him in the dark. But she’d been vulnerable last night, made so by revealing the secrets of Colchester’s attack. The feel of his arms around her had undone her. She’d never been able to share the attack with anyone, or grieve for the hurt it had caused. She’d locked it up deep inside and pretended nothing was amiss.

“Too late now.”

Too late… Perhaps. Lena shook her head. She had to find some way to contain this disaster. “If you’re going to involve yourself—”

His eyes gleamed. “There ain’t no ‘if’ about it.”

“If,” she repeated, “I let you involve yourself…then you will do so at my command. I mean it, Will. We work together—under my direction—or I’ll cut all ties and stop this lunacy in its tracks. That means you don’t breathe a word of this to Honoria or Blade. I don’t want anyone else involved. It’s bad enough that you are. I don’t want anyone’s blood on my hands.”

He scrubbed at the roughened stubble on his chin. No matter how often he shaved, he always seemed to have the shadow of growth along his jaw. “What do you mean by workin’ under your direction?”

Lena let out a ragged breath. She hadn’t been certain he’d agree. “I make the decisions. You don’t go off on your own”—a sure way to get himself killed—“unless I say so. I need to work out what the humanists intend. I didn’t fully understand the consequences of what I chose to do. Damn it, Will, I was so angry. I didn’t ask enough questions. I don’t think I wanted to know. And now I’m involved and I don’t know exactly what I’m involved in.” She took a deep breath. “I need to work that out before I do anything else. I know what they stand for—the abolition of the blood taxes, equal rights for man, and a voice to vote with. I just don’t know how they intend to go about that anymore.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">