him.
"Bastard," he breathed, trying to blink through
the ringing in his head. "Little bleeding pissant.
You could have used your human hand."
"Leech," Kincaid replied, giving him an evil
grin—and offering his hand for Byrnes to help
himself to his feet. "What are you whining about?
You're not even bleeding. And I'm only a poor
weak human. I'm not as strong as you. Or as fast.
Or as adept at healing. I can't even jump off a
twelve-foot roof without risking a broken leg."
Byrnes tested his teeth as he grabbed
Kincaid's hand and hauled himself to his feet.
"Okay. Maybe I deserved that."
" Maybe?"
"That's as humble as I can be," Byrnes
replied. He itched to touch his swollen nose, but
wasn't about to give Kincaid the satisfaction.
Kincaid grunted under his breath. "Look, I'll
deny this to my dying breath, and I still don't like
you very much, but..." He looked pained. "You
aren't entirely as bad as the rest of your breed."
"Did that hurt?"
Kincaid merely shook his head and walked
on. "Smug bastard."
Byrnes laughed, but as he breathed in he got a
trace amount of scent that slid through his chest
like a stiletto. Instantly he turned, staring into the
night, trying to smell the air. That scent came again,
like sweet rot fresh out of a graveyard.
Byrnes shoved his hand out, slamming it into
Kincaid's sternum. Kincaid grabbed his wrist, as if
thinking it an attack, but Byrnes hushed him.
"What?" the mech murmured.
"Can't you smell that?" Then he realized. "No,
of course you can't. I barely can, thanks to you."
"What is it?" Kincaid's nostrils flared.
Byrnes turned in a slow circle, examining the
foggy rooftops. They'd been using them to hunt for
the vampire's scent trail that Charlie and Kincaid
had lost earlier. "You remember that thing we were
hunting? Well, I think... we're not the hunters
anymore."
A pistol clicked in Kincaid's hand. "Shit."
Sweat sprang up along the man's temples. "Are you
sure it's not the trail?"
"Not unless it's a fresh one."
A pale shape skittered out of the corner of his
eye. Byrnes unholstered his own pistol and tracked
the darkness, the sensation of a trickle of icy-cold
fingers trailing down his spine. Kincaid's back met
his. Both of them barely breathed.
Another sound whispered through the night,
like claws scrambling on a roof. To the left. Byrnes
swung that way, pistol raised, his eyes tracking the
darkness. Kincaid was a wall of warmth at his
back. A ghost whispered through the night to the
right. Dashing close enough to be seen, then darting
out of reach.
"They're playing with us," Byrnes breathed.
Sweet Jesus.
"They?"
"Two of them, I think." Something else was
moving out there, something that wasn't as albino
pale as the vampires. "Why the hell aren't they
attacking?"
"I don't like any of this," Kincaid muttered.
"Vampires not going on a killing spree is
unnatural."
"For once we're in agreement." He'd never
thought he'd see the day where he wished for
something
uncomplicated
like
a
vampire
slaughtering its way through the population. But
this made his skin itch. It wasn't right. It went
against all of the natural laws. What if they'd...
evolved somehow to start thinking like predators,
rather than indiscriminate killing machines?
They'd be unstoppable.
A vampire's only weakness was its lack of
rational thinking. The only way to get close enough
to one to kill it was by waiting until it was so
glutted on blood that it didn't see you coming.
A flute sounded.
And that's when the first vampire slunk out of
blindness and its monstrously long claws skittering
on the tiles. It hissed as it heard his sharp intake of
breath and paced back and forth, looking hungrily
at him, even if it couldn't see him. Byrnes lined it
up in his sights, swallowing hard, but movement to
his right made him hesitate and glance that way.
To where a tall, pale-haired woman stepped
out of the shadows, outlined by moonlight.
"You," Byrnes said, lowering the pistol but
not easing his guard one inch.
"Me," said Ulbricht's mistress, with a smile
as sweet as a knife’s edge.
TWENTY-FOUR
"WELL, IF YOU were a blue blood," Byrnes said
to Kincaid, taking a stealthy step backward. "You
might be able to survive the ensuing encounter.
Me? I don't like my odds. Not against two
vampires. You however, have no odds. Unless I
take pity on you and decide to protect you."
"Do you ever bloody shut up? And nobody
asked you for protection." Kincaid punched his
mech fist against his thigh and a knife slammed
through the gauntlet of steel that he wore as his
hand. "I can watch my own back."
Ulbricht's mistress glided toward them, one
hand patting the vampire's head at her side whilst
its thin leash trailed up to a gold band around her
wrist. Long silvery-white hair draped over one
bare shoulder. It wasn't the coarse whiteness of
age, but a spill of moonlight silk. A tight black
corset spanned a narrow waist, with chains and a
holster hanging stylishly from it. Everything about
her was sleek. Even her black velvet skirts, which
were embroidered in gold with a kraken by the
look of it.
"How the hell do you move in that?" Byrnes
asked. Their only chance of survival lay in getting
her to start talking and keeping those vampires on
their leashes. Kincaid's shoulder pressed against
his own. Despite his words, the fellow's heart rate
pounded like a train's engine fresh into the station.
The woman's leg thrust out through a well-
designed slit in her skirts, revealing trim
stockinged calves and heeled boots. The side lunge
held traces of the martial art, batitsu, in it. He'd
barely seen the movement, it had been so swift.
This was going to hurt.
"Christ," Kincaid said under his breath, his
gaze locking on that leg.
Byrnes's smile held no humor. "Some vipers
are pretty. Doesn't mean you take them to your
breast."
As if he'd just graced her with the most
delicious compliment, the woman's smile curved
higher as she slowly undid the leash around her
wrist and dropped it. "Oh, I do like you." Then she
turned to the nearest vampire, and hissed, " Stay."
Just smashing. There was a hint of insanity in
those pretty blue eyes.
"May I have a name?
" Byrnes asked, settling
into a defensive stance as his gaze flickered
between her and the now untethered vampires. "Or
do I just refer to you as Madame Viper?"
"You may call me Zero, although once upon a
time I was Annabelle Underwood." Her smile was
dreamy. "I like this better. Much better. Nobody
rips Zero's heart out of her chest—not like
Annabelle's. Care for a dance, Caleb Byrnes?"
She knew who he was. His eyes narrowed to
thin slits. "Is that why you're here?"
"No. I'm here to discover if you're worthy or
not. You killed one of my vampires. Nobody's ever
managed that before."
Worthy of what? But he thought it through.
"You were watching. At the grotto."
Her smile sent tremors down her spine. "I
could have killed you then and there but you caught
my eye. I decided to spare your life so that I could
learn more about you."
"Like what?"
"This—"
He barely saw her coming. The first kick took
him in the shoulder as he twisted out of the way,
and Byrnes stepped under her guard, slamming
both hands flat against her chest. Zero staggered a
step, then a knee drove directly for his balls.
Byrnes twisted, taking her knee to his thigh,
barely managing to disengage . Hell. He winced as
he put all his weight on that leg and felt that hard
knot in his upper thigh.
Kincaid's fists were raised, but he hovered
there, a constipated look on his face.
"What the hell are you hesitating for?" Byrnes
yelled, ducking beneath a swinging kick.
Kincaid danced out of the way, his jaw
tightening. "I don't hit girls."
Zero laughed, then spun and kicked Kincaid in
the face. The second the kick landed, she jerked
her knee back, and kicked him again in the throat.
Bang, bang. The work of a second.
Kincaid went down. And stayed there.
Zero sneered. "Pathetic humans."
This was why he liked working with Ingrid.
She wouldn't have hesitated. And now it was two
vampires and one whatever-she-was against him.
Smashing odds.
Launching forward, she lashed out with her
other foot, and he caught it, locking her boot
against his upper arm and clapping his other hand
on her thigh. Zero's eyes widened as he spun, using
a twist of her ankle to take her to the roof. They
both went down, and he used his weight and his
elbow to slam her back into the tiles before he
disengaged and danced to his feet. The second she
rolled onto her fingertips and knees, she launched
toward him. Byrnes leapt lightly in the air,
hammering a punch into her solar plexus the
moment she came after him.
"Well, you're no gentleman." Zero pouted.
Then tried to kick his feet out from under him.
"Take it as a compliment. Gentlemen get their
throats ripped out in my world." If he let her get
close enough to him, she'd take him down and
make it hurt. That fall hadn't even winded her.
Another feint. Punches landed in a flurry of
pain along his arms as he deflected them, and
Byrnes used her momentum to head butt her. Zero
staggered back, and for the first time in his life,
Byrnes hesitated instead of going after her. She
was dangerously faster than he was, and if that last
punch was anything to go by, stronger. He might
have years of training on his side—that was the
only reason he suspected he was still on his feet—
but something about the way she moved told him
that she'd outlast him.
"What are you?" His breath came hard, and he
lowered his hands a fraction, inviting her to talk.
Zero wiped her nose, sneering at him.
"Haven't you worked it out yet? I'm the butterfly,
you're just a caterpillar."
"I've been called worse." Bastard sprang to
mind. Or weak. He'd hated that as a child,
especially considering it came from his father's
lips.
"You lack that one crucial element to your
transformation. I could give you that element, the
elixir. If you prove worthy to join my pets."
Elixir? Was this what that document in
Ulbricht's cabinet had meant? He flicked a glance
toward the patient vampires. "I've seen your pets.
Thank you for the consideration, but I'm not really
interested in being leashed like a dog."
"They're not my pets. They're the failures, the
ones who didn't survive the transformation. They
must earn back the cost of the elixir that was
wasted on them."
"Lady, they're vampires."
"Precisely. How do you think a vampire is
created?"
Byrnes paused. It wasn't something he'd ever
thought of before. Most blue bloods lost control of
their bloodlust once their craving virus levels
reached 80 percent or so and the effects of the
Fade set in. Then they began to devolve, their skin
paling and their spines curving like a cat's until
they loped along on all fours, stinking of rot. That
was how a vampire came to be.
Or so he'd always thought.
Slowly, as if explaining herself to a child,
Zero said, "You so-called blue bloods have never
been what you were meant to be. A blue blood is
the first stage of metamorphosis, and when your
craving virus levels reach a certain percentage,
you begin to transform."
"The Fade," he said.
"The Blooming," she chided. "Perhaps one in
a thousand blue bloods survive the transformation
without the elixir’s help. Most don’t. Most become
a vampire, an abomination that was never meant to
be. They're created when the creature dies during
the end stages of metamorphosis. That's why
they're weakened and crippled, with the
personality of a vicious dog. Their brains suffer
irreparable loss during the death stages, until all
that remains when the virus reanimates them is the
hunger."
Despite himself, Byrnes was fascinated. This
was the ultimate mystery. He straightened, his fists
lowering completely. "How the hell do you know
that?"
"I know a lot of things." Zero stepped back,
dragging her skirts with her. Fog swept around her
legs and those brilliant blue eyes watched him
from the shadows. "Such as the fact that Sir
Nicodemus Banks brought the craving virus home
from the Orient nearly one hundred and fifty years
ago, but not the elixir guaranteed to evolve a blue
blood as they were meant to evolve. He had stolen
the virus from the immortal Imperial family of the
White Court, and believed that by spreading the
virus through Europe he took away some of their
mythos, their power. He never asked himself why
they allowed such a thing to happen: they knew that
without the knowledge of the elixir vitae, they
would never be threatened. Blue bloods, after all,
are barely children in my world."
"Then what are you?"
Zero's smile grew as she swept up the
vampires' leashes. They moved instantly, straining
at her side. "Why don't you ask your good friend,
Malloryn? After all, he knows more than what he's
told you, doesn't he? You can tell him this from me:
we are vengeance, pure and simple, and he will
pay our price. We're here to watch the city burn,
and to make Malloryn, the Duchess of Casavian,
and all those who fought during the revolution
bitterly regret their roles in it." Pressing her fingers
to her lips, she blew him a kiss. "If you want to
know more about what I am—what you could be—
then you must prove yourself to me. Find me. Be
worthy, Caleb Byrnes. And I might just grant you
immortality."
With that, she took a step back and vanished
off the rooftop, taking the vampires with her.
Byrnes scrambled to the edge, but only fog greeted
him. Nothing moved.
Zero was gone. The vampires had vanished.
And somehow she knew his name.
TWENTY-FIVE
"WE HAVE A problem," Byrnes said, striding into
the house on Baker Street with Kincaid thrown
over his shoulder. The bastard was out cold, and
heavy as hell.
Ava looked up from the brass spectrometer
she'd been fiddling with in the parlor. "You're
bleeding." Her eyes widened when she saw
Kincaid. "What happened?"
"Think you can pack his nose? It might be
broken."
"I— Of course. My examination rooms, if you
please." With a swish of skirts, Ava headed for the
small room that she'd claimed as her own.
Fabric rustled. The baroness and Gemma
Townsend both appeared in separate doorways,
each looking extremely elegant. The baroness was
clad in dark green, something sleek and luxurious
with feathers and fur, and Miss Townsend wore a
frothy rose monstrosity.
"What happened?" Gemma demanded.
"A little tête-à-tête with the enemy. She
disapproved of Kincaid's manners. I tried to tell
her he had none."
"Is that supposed to be amusing?" Gemma
asked.
"Byrnes has the worst sense of humor," Ava
muttered. "Put Kincaid down in here."
Byrnes complied, laying the heavy oaf down
on Ava's examination table.
"That nose is definitely broken," Ava
muttered, tilting Kincaid's chin to the side to
examine the mottling bruise on his throat. Her