sucked in an enormous lungful of air, surrendering
herself into Byrnes's grasp as he began to tow her
toward the shore. Behind her, fire burned in
patches on the river, and people were yelling and
shouting as they streamed from buildings on both
edges of the Thames.
"Guess that takes care of the workers strikes,"
Ingrid murmured, then rested her head on Byrnes's
shoulder. So tired.
Lifting her in his arms, he waded ashore, and
she didn't want to think about the stink of the river.
All she could see were his eyes, wide and no
longer icy, but very, very blue.
"The vampire?" she rasped, finally looking
over his shoulder.
Most of the bridge was gone. Just gone.
Sheared off like an enormous hand had reached out
of the sky and torn away iron beams and rivets,
leaving behind only the two stone towers in the
center of the river.
"Apparently there is only one easy way to kill
a vampire," Byrnes finally said, turning with her in
his arms to stare at the remains of the bridge. "I
wouldn't recommend it, however, and I'm fairly
certain Malloryn's not going to be entirely pleased.
He said to keep our heads down."
Ingrid simply stared. "Half of London
probably saw that."
"Indeed."
TWENTY-SEVEN
MALLORYN WAS not pleased.
Fortunately, he had other matters on his mind
and only gave them one snarled comment— “could
you possibly have found a bigger monument to
destroy”— before sending them off to tend to
themselves. The fact that someone had tried to
blow up the queen whilst she was at his
engagement party seemed to be the bigger affront.
Ingrid found herself settled into a steam
carriage driven by a member of the Nighthawks,
who were now combing the garden at Malloryn's.
She didn't care anymore. She'd done her bit, and
now the loupe was demanding payment. The
carriage rocked as Byrnes shouldered his way
through the door, and then he was settling on the
seat beside her.
"Zero was here," he told her, lifting up a note.
"She had this delivered ten minutes ago by some
street lad. It's to me."
Ingrid had just enough strength to lift her head
to read. "Congratulations, Master Byrnes. You do
prove resourceful—and somewhat vexing—though
I do not care for the company you keep. Never
mind, I'm enjoying this game far too much, and
people die—verwulfen die—such is life. We will
meet again. Zero." She looked up, blinking through
the heavy lassitude of the loupe. "She does seem
particularly taken with you. Are you certain you
didn't get up to anything I should know about?"
Byrnes looked affronted. "I've barely even
met the woman!"
"Well, something made an impression. I'm not
sure it's your charm."
"She's insane!" Byrnes screwed the piece of
paper in his fist. "And she just threatened you."
With a laugh, Ingrid rested her head on his
shoulder. "Don't get your drawers in a twist. She's
not coming after me yet. Wake me when we get to
Baker Street."
And then she stopped fighting the heaviness.
AS EVENING DRENCHED THE SKIES, a swift
knock came at Ingrid’s door. Even before Byrnes
opened it, he knew who was there. He'd recognize
that scent anywhere.
"Rosa," he murmured, keeping his voice low.
Rosa peered past him. "Is she all right?"
"Apart from a few scratches, she's fine." He
was not, however. Ingrid was going to be the death
of him. Watching her on that beam, with the
vampire at her heels.... "She's just tired. Hasn't
woken up yet."
Rosa slid onto the bed, curling Ingrid's hand
in her own. "She does that when she exerts herself
immensely.”
"Let's hope she doesn't fall asleep somewhere
when she's not yet made it to safety then."
"She won't," Rosa said. "The fact that she's
allowed herself to surrender to it means that she
trusts you. Byrnes... thank you. For looking after
her, and guarding her back."
"You sound surprised."
Fabric rustled as the duchess smoothed
Ingrid's hair off her head. "I'm not surprised you
protected her. You're a Nighthawk, after all. I might
be a little shocked to find you sitting here at her
bedside, however. The Caleb Byrnes that I know is
not the sort of man to hover at a woman's bedside."
There was a question in that.
"She asked me to stay the other night when
she was injured. I don't think she likes to wake up
alone in the middle of the night. I think—" He
stopped in his tracks. Why the hell was he
explaining himself to Rosa?
And the truth was, he was lying. He was here
because he wanted to be here, and because he
didn't want Ingrid to wake up alone in the dark and
not know where she was.
Rosa saw it all, judging from her expression.
"I thought we had an agreement?"
To hell with that. "I'm not giving her up,
Rosa."
The duchess's lips thinned.
"I'm not," he told her firmly, standing and
retrieving his coat. "Whether you like it or not." He
slung his coat over his shoulders. "As Ingrid's
friend, I respect your concern about our
relationship, but this is between Ingrid and me, and
I'll thank you to stay out of it."
Those dark brown eyes watched him as he
headed for the door. Then she smiled, very faintly.
"As you wish."
It was the smile that unnerved him. Far from
looking like she was about to leap between them
with pistols raised, Rosa seemed to be dwelling on
some secret thought that amused her.
"I'll give you a moment alone with her," he
murmured, slinking through the door and finding
Lynch in the hallway beyond.
"You've just cost me one of my finest bottles
of blud-wein," Lynch sighed.
It wasn't what he'd expected the duke to say.
"What?"
"Garrett," the duke replied, sliding his hands
into his pockets. "I should have known better than
to bet against that bastard. Come. Walk with me."
Together they strolled into the garden at the
back of the house. Fog lingered in the corners, and
a single gaslight lit the yard.
“Should I be worried about Rosa coming after
me?” Byrnes muttered, leaning against the wall.
“I think she’s reconciling herself to the idea of
welcoming you into the family.”
That disconcerted him a little. Rosa as a
sister-in-law. Jesus. Byrnes shifted. “Let’s not get
ahead of ourselves. Nothing’s been decided, and…
there are still some problems for Ingrid and me to
work through, as soon as we get a chance to
breathe.”
“Oh?”
His first instinct was to clam up, but to hell
with it. He couldn’t do this alone any more. "She
wants children. I've never— I didn't—" It was
uncomfortable terrain for him to stare into a future
he'd never examined before, never dreamed of.
"I'm not good with children, and I've never wanted
to be a father. I've never wanted to be a husband."
Not until she'd walked into his life and turned it
upside down. "But I cannot stay away from her."
"Mmm. This doesn't have anything to do with
your father, does it?"
Byrnes shot him a shocked look.
"You've always been the one I worried about
the most," Lynch admitted. "Emotion frightens you.
It's never been a problem until now, but it always
used to worry me that one day you wouldn't be
able to control everything you felt, and... you'd do
something stupid."
Byrnes swallowed hard as he rested his hands
on the wall. “I’m not going to do anything foolish.
It’s just—”
“You see too much of your father in yourself
when you get angry?”
Byrnes shoved away from the wall, pacing.
“Christ. How do you do that?”
“I’ve made human nature a study of mine,”
Lynch replied dryly. “It’s what made me a good
Nighthawk.”
“An
excellent
one,”
Byrnes
replied
grudgingly. Neither he nor Garrett would ever
compare. Lynch could see right through a man,
right through his motivations. Scrubbing a hand
through his hair, he swallowed hard. Memories
were starting to surface at the turn of the
conversation: his father’s swarthy face as he turned
and spied a young Caleb Byrnes watching from the
shadows as he took his rage out on Byrnes’s
mother….
"Is it the thought of being a father that
concerns you? Or the intimacy implied in such a
position?” Lynch asked. “Or does it have
something to do with losing everyone you cared for
at young age, and being afraid to be vulnerable
again?"
A little bit of each. Anger throbbed through
him. "If you think that losing my father bothered
me, then you'd be wrong."
"I'm not speaking of losing your father." Lynch
paused, a hesitation very much unlike him. "You do
realize that I was the one in charge of his murder
case?"
Byrnes froze. He couldn't help himself.
Instead he saw it flash before his eyes again, the
knife in his hands plunging into that bastard's chest
again and again, until it was a wet pulp.
Lynch had never said anything. Instead he'd
asked his questions about the incident, declared the
case cold, and after the funeral had pulled Byrnes
aside to offer him a position in the Nighthawks.
"I know you hated him. No, I was speaking of
your mother's loss. Of young Debney." Lynch
rested his hip on the window ledge, merely
watching him come to the conclusion the duke had
already reached. "Not the father you killed."
Byrnes pinched the bridge of his nose. "You
knew.”
"A crime of such passion? It was either you or
your brother, or perhaps even the viscountess.
Someone who hated him. The second I laid eyes
upon you, wary and mistrustful, with your emotions
so tightly locked away, I knew who'd done it. And
then there was the fact that you were newly
infected with the craving virus. You didn’t come by
that by accident."
"Then why did you let me join the
Nighthawks? You should have executed me." The
Echelon would have been baying for blood for the
murder of one of their own.
"You were thirteen, Byrnes. And I considered
it. The coldness you displayed unnerved me, but
then there was the funeral and the way that you
helped your mother hobble up to his grave to throw
her flower on top of the casket, despite the fact you
looked like you wanted to spit on it. You loved her.
You were kind to her, and she was clearly a
woman who'd seen the rough side of life. In that
moment I realized that you weren't hiding some
sadistic monster inside you. You were an injured
wolf cub, lashing out, trying to protect the one thing
that you cared for. You could have become worse,"
Lynch admitted, "without someone to guide your
choices, and your control of the craving virus. You
could have followed a dark path had I not taken the
chance to help you. When I adopted Garrett into the
Nighthawks—well, he was always easy to love,
but you... you're the one I'm proudest of. The one
who stood in the shadows and slowly hauled
himself out of them."
Byrnes's back hit the wall and he half slid
down it. He didn't know what to say. That young
blood-soaked boy inside him, terrified, hurting,
furious, and wild with emotion.... He'd spent so
many years trying to bury him. And he'd succeeded
in many ways. Succeeded in bottling it all up,
locking it all away. Emotion and passion frightened
him, because he knew what he was capable of.
He'd seen the blood all across his hands as he
slowly came back to himself that night and realized
what had happened.
“I’ve spent so many years trying not to
become him,” he admitted in a hoarse whisper
before meeting Lynch’s eyes. “How could I be a
father? Or a husband? I’m a good hunter, Lynch.
I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m not afraid of the
monsters, or of tracking them down, because I
recognize that darkness inside me. How do I
become something else?”
“No, it’s not the shadows you’re afraid of,”
Lynch said with a sigh. “But the light. And you’re
not seeing the situation clearly. I’ve seen you take
care of Ingrid, Byrnes. I’ve seen you protect your
mother. You’re so gentle with her. There’s another
side to you that perhaps you need to explore.”
Lynch sighed. "Fatherhood scared me too, did you
know? When Rosa was carrying Phillip… it was
absolutely terrifying, for I’ve never been around
children much. And then he was born, and it all
became very simple.” A faint smile quirked at his
lips. “All of that worry for nothing. The second I
held him in my arms, I knew I would shift heaven
and earth to protect him.”
It was easy for the duke to say.
“Did Ingrid tell you this?” Lynch asked. “That
she wants children?"
"It was fairly obvious at your dinner. And
your wife made some pointed remarks when she
tracked me down."
"But Ingrid never specifically said it? Rosa's
not always right. Though she's having a difficult
time admitting it to herself. Why don't you ask
Ingrid what she wants? She�
��s passionate and rash,
and living on the very edge of her emotions—in
some ways she's your exact opposite. But I think
that if there was anyone that could match the
darkness inside you, anyone who could handle it...
it would be her, Byrnes. The only problem is that
in order to get what you want, you're going to have
to expose yourself and risk the chance of losing
her. You must face your own demons head-on if
you want this."
Byrnes sank his head back against the wall.
This felt like old times, the pair of them coolly
analyzing a case. "Has anyone ever told you that
your omniscience is annoying?"
Lynch smiled. "Rosa. And frequently."
The pair of them both relaxed, however, as if
that one statement had defused the tension between
them.
He would... deal with Lynch's assessment
later. When he had time to pick it apart in his brain.
"So now that we've assessed your progress
with Ingrid, tell me what else is bothering you."
There had never been any point in fooling the
guild master. "You've heard?"
"About the assassination attempt?" Lynch
arched a brow. "Malloryn held an emergency
meeting of the Council two hours ago. We're aware
of what's happened."
Taking the note from his pocket, Byrnes
smoothed it out, then handed it silently to the duke.
"The woman behind the explosion left this letter
for me."
Once he'd read it, Lynch met Byrnes's gaze.
"She's formed some sort of connection with you."
"It's the threat that concerns me. If she thinks
that Ingrid stands between us...." He didn't bother
to add more. They both knew that even verwulfen
were no match for a dhampir. Not alone.
Lynch tapped the letter against his thigh.
"Ingrid will be protected. I'll involve myself if
need be, so set that from your mind. You're thinking
like a newly mated male. Not an investigator. What
else does this letter represent?"
That was the first time he'd ever been accused
of sentimentality. Byrnes twisted the problem
around in his mind, looking at it from another
angle. "A chance," he said slowly. "If she's formed
some sort of attachment or interest, or whatever the
bloody hell she thinks it is, then I can use that to
find her."
"She wants you to find her.”
"And if I can find her, then I can cut the head
off the snake before it becomes a problem. We can
find the missing people, kill her vampires, and stop