Heart of Iron (London Steampunk #2)

Heart of Iron (London Steampunk #2) Page 34

With tears sliding down her cheeks, she looked up. Rosalind made a disgusted growl and aimed the pistol at the ceiling.

“It seems there is some small scrap of mercy left in me after all. I know I shall regret this.”

Lena let out a shuddering breath, her heart rabbiting behind her ribs. “I promise you won’t.”

Grabbing her by the arm, Rosalind hauled her to her feet. “Come. I’ll blindfold you and have Jack or Ingrid dump you out near the stews.”

“Not Ingrid.” Lena had a feeling if Ingrid found out about this moment of leniency, she’d take care of the matter quietly.

Rosalind’s lips thinned. “You’re not in the position to be making demands. Come—”

A scream sounded in the distance.

Both of them froze.

“That had better not be friends of yours.” Rosalind’s eyes narrowed. She shoved the lantern into Lena’s hands and pushed her through the door, holding the pistol against her back. “Or all deals are off.”

The sound of steel on steel echoed through the tunnels, then a roar of earth-shattering fury.

It couldn’t be… Lena’s heart started ticking, her breath catching in her lungs. She wanted to run toward the sound, but something held her back. Rosalind’s gauntleted hand on her arm.

Rosalind shoved her against the wall and glanced around a corner. Evidently sighting nothing, she hauled Lena after her. “That’s coming from the guard room.”

Lena didn’t dare hope. He couldn’t have survived that fall, could he?

Another roar filled the air and something that sounded like a chair smashing against the wall.

“Get out of the way!” a woman called. “Let me handle this.”

Rosalind hissed between her teeth. “Ingrid.” She started running, which was precisely what Lena wanted too.

The door ahead of them flew open and a man crashed through it, sliding across the tunnel’s smooth floors. Blood matted his hair and he struggled to roll over. Rosalind swore under her breath and knelt down, cradling his chin as she examined him.

The open door revealed chaos. Pieces of chair were scattered like matchsticks, and a booted foot lay motionless, the rest of the person lost to sight.

Will stood in the middle of the mess, breathing hard. His fists were clenched at his sides, his shoulders shaking from barely restrained rage. Blood smeared his wet shirt where it was plastered against his side and his hair hung wetly against his scalp.

Lena sucked in a sharp breath, coming to a halt. “Will,” she whispered, her heart swelling within her chest. She stumbled, grabbing onto the wall. He was alive! She could barely believe it. Then her eyes narrowed on the blood that stained his side. Alive and hurt.

Scalding amber eyes looked up. The shock as their gazes met swept right through her. His fist curled tight around the shiv he held. “Lena,” he growled, and it was a tone she’d never heard from him before.

No time to savor the sweetness of the moment. Through her tears she saw Ingrid come out of nowhere, the leg of a chair held in one hand. She swung it hard and Will caught her wrist with a contemptuous snarl.

It should have been the end of it. But Ingrid moved faster than Lena believed possible and snapped a palm into the joint of his elbow. As Will roared in pain, she followed through with a leg, sweeping his own out from under him.

Will hit the ground hard and Ingrid swung the chair leg at his head. He kicked up, snapping the piece of timber out of her hand and then arched back onto his shoulders and kicked himself to his feet. Snarling with rage, he hit Ingrid around the waist and carried her to the floor.

Lena took a cautious step forward, surveying the room. He’d made a mess of it. Groaning men littered the ground, clutching at broken bones and bruises. Not one of them was dead though.

Yet.

The blur as he and Ingrid fought was too fast to follow. Using his brute strength, he forced the other woman flat to the ground, tearing her shoulder up behind her and kneeling on her. Ingrid snarled, her face ground against the floor and her eyes molten with anger.

Bronze eyes.

Another verwulfen.

Will forced her arm higher. Ingrid’s body shook and she winced, her other hand clawing at the ground. His gaze darkened and he set one hand against the joint of her shoulder, his intentions clear.

“No,” Lena cried. “Don’t do it!”

Leaping forward, she grabbed his arm and tugged ineffectually. Will snarled at her, all wild eyes and teeth and her heart leaped into her throat at the madness she saw there. For a moment she wasn’t sure if he would go for her too. She saw it in his eyes, saw the need, the desire to kill glaring back out at her.

“Will,” she whispered, sliding her wrist in front of his nose. If he smelt her, recognized her, he would never hurt her.

He eased back on Ingrid’s arm. Her hands shaking, Lena gently touched his cheek. “Will, look at me. It’s Lena. You know me.” Caressing the line of his jaw, she swallowed hard when he turned and gently bit the fleshy pad of her palm.

One bite and her blood would flow, mingling with the blood that stained his fractured cheekbone. One bite and she’d be infected. Quivering violently, she gave a breathy little cry as his tongue rasped over the sensitive flesh. Then he let go, his teeth sliding gently over her skin.

Behind her Rosalind snapped to someone, “As soon as you get a clear shot, take it.”

“The girl’s in the way. Want me to shoot her?”

Lena froze and glanced over her shoulder. Jack stared down an enormous rifle at her, focusing through the glass monocle.

“If you shoot me,” she said, surprised by how calm her voice sounded, “you’ll never stop him.” She slid a steadying hand over Will’s shoulder. “He came for me. Because of the way Mendici took me. I can stop him.”

Rosalind’s nostrils flared. Her gaze flickered to Will and back. “He’s beyond stopping.”

Sliding her body between them, trying to cover as much of Will as she could, Lena shook her head. “He’ll listen to me.”

Rosalind wavered. Lena could see it in her eyes.

“I’ll talk to him,” she said. “Calm him down. Then we both walk out of here. I’ll keep your secrets.”

“Or we could kill you both,” Jack said.

Lena’s eyes narrowed. “Try it and you’ll find out why nobody dares cross a verwulfen. You have to shoot me first and he’ll kill her.”

“Do it,” Ingrid snarled.

“Shut up.” Jack lowered the rifle slightly, cold gaze considering. His expression softened slightly as he looked at Ingrid and Lena realized there was some sense of compassion, some weakness within him. “One condition. We want the transformational. Complete the project and deliver it within five days. That’s the cost of our cooperation.”

Yesterday she might have simply agreed. “Why? What do you intend to do with it?”

“It’s a gift. For the Scandinavian ambassador. We’ve already made contact with them. They’re expecting it.”

The transformational was only a toy, really. Granted, a very life-sized one by the time she was finished. “I’ll never complete it in five days.”

The rifle twitched. “You don’t have a choice.”

Hours of work, soldering steel plate to steel. She’d finished most of the clockwork mechanism that drove it, but still…

Will’s shoulder quivered beneath her touch. Without thinking, she stroked his arm, leaning closer. “Agreed,” she said. “I’ll contact Mandeville and get him to help. When it’s ready I’ll have it delivered to his shop.”

“You’re cautious of us?” Rosalind asked.

“I only make a mistake once.”

Their eyes met. Rosalind lowered her pistol and nodded. “Jack.”

“Talk him down first.” He never took his gaze off Ingrid.

Lena swiveled around. Will was shaking, his eyes clenched tight and his teeth bared as if he fought some internal battle she could never understand. She’d seen him do this before though, knew how he controlled himself.

“I’m safe,” she whispered. “I just need you to come back to me, to help me get out of here and go home. Breathe, Will. Deep and slow. That’s it.” Caressing his face, his jaw, she leaned closer, letting him scent her. “And another one. That’s the way.” Sliding her hand down his arm, over the rough linen that was rolled up to his elbows, and the sleek bronzed skin of his forearm, she licked her lips. Her hand slid over his, curling between his fingers. “Let her go, Will. Take my hand. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Sliding her fingers between his, she drew his hand back, knowing that he let her. Ingrid’s shoulders relaxed and her eyes shot toward Lena murderously.

“I wouldn’t,” Lena said. “Even wounded he took you down easily. I won’t be able to talk him out of this again.” She slid Will’s hand over her knee and pressed it there, then turned for his other one.

Will’s fingers quivered over Ingrid’s wrist. Lena leaned closer, nuzzling her face against his jaw. His scent filled her nostrils, dark and musky. She wanted to press her lips against his skin, to confirm that he was really here, that he was alive.

Damn it. There were no society rules here and she was beyond caring what anyone else thought. Turning her face, she pressed her lips to his cheek, her hand sliding over his other cheek. Alive. Warm. The pulse pounding in his chest. A cry caught in her throat. So close to losing him… Tears burned in her eyes. Never again.

The rasp of his stubble burned over her too-sensitive lips. Blinking away the tears, she eased his grip away from Ingrid’s wrist, her fingers bloody from his cheek. “Come home with me, Will. Take me home.”

His hand sprang open. His eyes were still tightly ground together.

Ingrid’s body collapsed on the floor and she winced as she drew her injured arm up.

“Don’t move,” Lena warned her, sliding her arms around his neck. “Stand up, Will.” She breathed the words in his ear. “Take me home. Your home.”

He looked up then, the madness leeching from his gaze. The beast had not faded completely though. He looked at her with hunger, a madness of its own, and her nipples tightened painfully against the rasp of her linen chemise.

“Yes,” she whispered. “When we get home.”

“Home.” His voice was hoarse. He looked around, realizing he was still kneeling on Ingrid. Then he looked up and something dark flickered through his gaze.

“Put the rifle away,” she cried out as Will shoved her behind him.

There was no chance of stopping him if he decided to go for Jack. Not now. Pleading with her eyes, she tried to slide her arms around Will’s waist. Anything to slow him, to remind him of his humanity.

Jack slowly lowered the rifle. “Didn’t think you could do it.” He nodded sharply at her. “Five days.”

“Five days,” Lena promised, her body relaxing with a sigh of relief.

Jack glanced warily at Will. Whatever he saw on Will’s face it made him take a half step back. “You’d best go.” Another glance, toward Ingrid. “Because I can’t guarantee I can talk her off the edge.”

The fury that had kept him moving began to fade by the time they reached the surface. His weight was too much for her to bear alone.

“Come on,” Lena said in a cheerful tone. “Not much farther.” She took a desperate look around. The warren was a good half mile. In these streets, with Will unable to defend himself, it was a dangerous half mile.

Will staggered against a brick wall, the blood on his side drying. He’d never make it all the way to the warren. Lena bit her lip, then glanced toward the small side street where he lived these days. She’d never been inside, but she knew its location.

“This way,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and trying to guide him toward the stairs that led to his door.

A pair of boys smoked cheroots on the base of the stairs. A year or two younger than Charlie, she didn’t like the way they looked at her.

“Hey there, lady. Why don’t you ditch the old man and come sit with us?” One of them called.

No way past them. Will stiffened as if he’d heard the insult, and she stroked the lean muscle of his back. “They’re only boys,” she whispered. “No danger.”

She hoped.

Raising her voice, Lena looked the one who’d spoke dead in the eye. She’d faced down blue bloods and humanists. This was only a boy, trying to impress his friend. “Here now. Care to earn some coin?”

“How ’bout I offer you some tin?” Another smirk.

Lena grabbed Will’s shirt. “Don’t you dare.” Stepping forward, she kept a wary eye on him. He might be dangerously close to collapsing, but if the fury overtook him, it might be enough to rouse him to the killing edge. “I need a message delivered to my sister.”