Winterblaze
Page 35

Understanding washed over him, and it had his heart flipping over in his chest. “It had nothing to do with my bargain.”
“No. It never did. I hadn’t wanted to fall in love with you. It was too dangerous. But I fell despite myself.”
He reached out for her. The soft press of her br**sts against his chest was the sweetest sort of pain. Her smooth cheeks were cool under his palms. “Poppy.” He leaned his forehead against hers and gave a helpless laugh. “Why do you tell me this now? When we are here?” When he couldn’t pull her to the floor and touch her the way he needed to?
“I’ve always had bad timing.”
Her lower lip pouted, and he gave in, suckling it between his lips for one gorgeous moment before letting go. “Yes, I know.”
Her breath turned unsteady. “But I wanted you to know.” Searching his face, she wrapped her hands around his wrists, holding him steady just as he held her. “I needed you to know. Isley is not responsible for our life.”
“To hell with it.” He was done resisting. He kissed her then. A gentle sip that shaped her lips against his like warm wax. He lapped at her wide bottom lip, nipped her shapely upper lip, and his body swayed, and only her hand upon his heart could keep him steady. He brushed his lips over her cheek and she sighed. The smooth column of her neck was cool against his mouth. Cool and fragrant. The scent and feel of her blindsided him, and he found himself simply holding her as he pressed his lips against her skin and inhaled. God she smelled good, like no perfume man could devise. It was simply her, unique and irreplaceable. She trembled and he gathered her closer, only to realize that it was he who shook. How could he have let her go?
“Win,” she placed a soft kiss upon the scar near his eye, “give me more. I need more.”
The desperation in her touch, so similar to his own, had him hauling her closer. They fell back against the shelves. Her hands were at his jaw, holding him still as she went at him with hot, luscious little bites that had him groaning. He fisted the coiled mass of her glorious hair and kissed her back, all lust and need, no finesse.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he said against her lips. “Missed this.” She tasted of Poppy, dark spice and cool water. It was a taste that haunted his dreams. So utterly familiar and so long denied that he drank her in like a man stumbling out of a desert. His body seared with need, and his hold upon her turned greedy. He wound his fingers further into her silky hair and opened her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue into her warm recesses. It was nearly anger, this feeling that coursed through him and made his movements too rough, too clumsy. His hands fisted her skirts as he stepped between her thighs. Desperate, he grabbed onto the bookshelf for leverage, ready to haul her up and take her there.
“Poppy…”
A book slammed to the floor beside them and they both jumped. Jesus, but Winston had forgotten where he was. For a moment, they both panted, then Poppy’s arms slid from his neck. He leaned in, wanting to snatch up that maddening mouth of hers once more, but she held him fast and he blinked, trying to pull himself out of the haze of lust. He laughed but it came out as a choking sound. “Right. Not here.”
Her smile was wry yet wobbly. “Not unless we really want to scandalize old Grevis.”
Win took her hand in his and held fast. “Come along then. I think I’ve figured out the last piece to the puzzle.”
She was half-smiling, half irate. “And you didn’t say so!”
Laughing a bit despite it all, he nipped her bottom lip. “A certain glorious redhead distracted me.”
Chapter Thirty-three
I am assuming you have a weapons room,” Win asked Poppy as they left the library.
“Of course.” She found herself grinning widely. “A ridiculously large one.”
His chest rumbled against her side as he chuckled. “Bloodthirsty girl.”
The weapons room was in another sector, so they returned to the Fleet River craft. Win took over punting once again.
“Tell me we are going demon hunting,” she said as they glided down the dank tunnel.
Shadows slid over his features and along his trim length. “I fear we are, sweeting.”
“You need not sound so dour.” She leaned back a bit in the seat so that she could look up at him properly. “I, for one, am itching to lay into that bastard.” Her jaw ached where she clenched it. “After what he did to Talent.”
“Mmm.”
Aware that he wasn’t truly listening to her, Poppy raised her voice. “Darling, you are aware that your ‘mmm’s’ can drive a person to distraction.”
He grinned. “And here I thought it was part of my charm.” He plunged the pole into the murky waters and stared off into the distance, where the tunnel disappeared into a wall of black. “I was reading about demons, how there are different types.”
“Yes.” Impatience colored her tone. He ignored it.
“Let us go back to the beginning.” He guided the craft around a bend. “The first demon I saw aboard the ship was in the process of procuring blood from the ship’s officer.”
“Yes.” Poppy knew better than to hurry Win once he was on an exposition, but she wanted to.
The corner of his mouth quirked as if he knew her thinking as well. “And then it used Mary’s blood to assume her appearance and get close to Talent. Not to mention that Mrs. Noble was drained of her blood as well. And yet Isley does not need blood to assume a new appearance.”
“All correct. So he had help. We know this.” Unease tickled along her spine. Win had a theory, one he was reluctant to share. She could tell by his even gaze and the way he made her think the process out.
“Isley’s eyes are white or crimson when he reveals them,” Win went on. “The eyes of the demon I beheaded turned yellow. And Archer’s eyes, when he was changed, went silver. I remember thinking how remarkably different his eyes were back then.” He smiled a little. “Only I hadn’t any idea the extent of it.”
“What is your point, Win?”
“I assume that the color of a demon’s eyes gives away what type of demon it is?”
“Yes.” Her voice was cautious now, the heavy dread increasing within.
He ran a finger along the edge of the pole. “Mrs. Noble’s eyes flickered to unnatural black.”
Poppy plunked her chin into her palm. The ugly sensation within her grew but she could not quite acknowledge what was knocking about in her mind. Not yet. “There is a sort of demon whose eyes go black,” she said with reluctance. “The sort who feeds off of sexual congress and blood.”
The pole stilled in his hand. “Do not say it. Do not…”
Her smile was grim. “You might have heard of them referred to as vampires, or nosferatu.”
“You said it.” He sighed, leaning slightly on the pole.
Despite herself, she laughed. “It is simply a name, you know. They are pure demon. Only they favor blood for nourishment. It is because they yearn for human contact, usually in the form of sexual contact, that the human world has developed stories and myths about them. Too much interaction has led to leaks in information.”
Slowly he nodded, but his focus was on the oily water beneath them. “Here is what bothers me.” He softened his tone, which made Poppy’s skin tighten and her fingers grow cold. “Your lieutenant Lena has such eyes. She knew we were onboard the Ignitus, did she not? And she knew we’d interviewed the komtesse as well.”
The temperature dropped so quickly that Win’s next breath came out in a puff of white steam. Cold pervaded Poppy’s insides. No, it could not be. But it was there, dangling before her like a signpost.
“Is Lena a demon?” But he knew the answer. It was written in his sad eyes.
“Yes.” Her voice lowered. “She was the one who brought me Isley’s threat. The undead followed us to the komtesse’s house, and she knew we were going to Farleigh…” Her fist struck the side of the boat. “I should have seen it.”
“Why? You trusted her.”
A sharp laugh rang out. “Hell, Win, you know as well as I that trust is merely an illusion.”
An awkward silence fell over them, but he broke it with a softly spoken, “I know, sweet.”
Queasy in the rocking craft, Poppy drew in a breath of dank river air. Lena was more than a lieutenant. She was her mentor, a surrogate mother—albeit a rather cold one. “But why?” Poppy hated that the question came out in a pathetic warble.
Win’s scarred countenance hardened like mortar, and Poppy shivered at the sight of him standing tall and glowering, yet she felt at once protected and glad to have him on her side. “That, sweeting, is what we shall find out.”
Poppy frowned at the smoldering wreckage that used to be the gaming club and brothel known as Heaven and Hell on dilapidated West Street. Thick smoke billowed up into a pale grey sky, and the facade of the burnt-out building appeared like a leering, blackened skull. The street was abandoned, thieves having long since scavenged anything of value. It felt odd, though, to stand in the middle of London’s East End and not see a soul. A timber groaned as she and Win made their way down the blackened steps to the entrance of Lena’s Hell.
Water dripped from above, landing in hard plops upon Poppy’s shoulders. A trickle of it ran down her neck and under her collar. The smell of smoke was so pervasive that it coated her tongue with its acrid flavor. The heavy iron gate that served as the doors to the underground nightclub was jammed shut, and she stepped aside to let Win wrench it open. He did so with surprising ease, and a little base feminine thrill shot through her.
“You’re certain about this?” he asked, his hand on the knob of the inner door.
“Lena started this fire.” Poppy lifted her skirt away from the diamond-bright shards of window glass that had fallen from above. “Sanguis demons might be known for their feeding habits, but they also have the ability to manipulate fire much like Miranda does.”
“Sanguis demons?” Win’s mouth turned down at a corner. “Is that what you call vampires?”
“I told you, they are not vampires. That would imply that they are reanimated human corpses, when they have never been human, or dead, for that matter.”
“Of course,” he murmured dryly.
From one of the deep pockets sewn into her skirt, she pulled the foot-long stake made of Christ’s thorn wood she had procured from the weapons room. “For you.”
Win held the thing loosely in his hand. A slight frown marred his features as he studied it. “Not vampire, eh?”
She ignored the irony in his voice and focused on practical matters.
“Gold will cut through a demon’s skin quite well,” Poppy explained. “And it will adversely affect them. But each type of demon has a particular weakness that will kill them instantly. The trick is to know it beforehand and be prepared. The sanguis demon’s weakness is Christ’s thorn wood. Hit straight under the chin and into the brain, or through the heart.”
“If all demons have weaknesses, what is Isley’s? How can we kill him?”
“I don’t know. He is pure Primus and older than any other I’ve encountered. Perhaps he has evolved into a true immortal state.” Poppy looked at the stake in Win’s hand. The unpolished point was as sharp as a blade. “Now, as to method of attack. I prefer the chin. The torso is too well-fortified with ribs and cartilage, and one might miss with the first hit.”
Heat and humor lit Win’s stormy eyes. “Would now be the wrong time to tell you that I get as hard as this stake when you talk shop?”
Warmth suffused her cheeks, but she refused to look down. “Your timing is worse than mine, Mr. Lane.”
Grinning, he tucked the stake into his inner coat pocket. “Tit for tat, Mrs. Lane.” His expression slid back to seriousness. “You do not think that she has left town? Given that she torched her own home?”
“Lena would not run. She knows I am coming. She must have known the moment Mrs. Noble scattered into tiny spiders. Masters can mentally communicate with their acolytes.” She brushed an errant flake of soot off of Win’s shoulder. “Now, may we proceed? I can feel her down there, waiting for me.”
That did not appear to please him, for his shoulders tensed and he held his walking stick more securely. However, he opened the door without argument. “So you know,” he said as he took her hand and guided her through the threshold, “I will not hesitate to destroy this woman should she try to hurt you.”
Poppy thought of Jack Talent hanging from iron spikes, and her blood heated. “I am tempted to do so even without any outward threat. But let us speak to her first.”
The door opened, releasing dank air and the scent of smoke. The air grew cooler as they descended. Water damage stained the crimson silk walls with dark patches, and the rug underfoot was rumpled as if kicked up by a stampede of feet. The emptiness of the place was pervasive, a living thing that had Poppy’s senses heightening. Gaslights hissed and threw off shadows that seemed to move as she went by. Side by side, she and Win walked along the abandoned corridor, passing quiet rooms where expensive furniture lay tipped on its side or knocked askew.
Down another flight of stairs they went, the acrid tang of smoke giving way to a headier perfume of incense and blood. Win visibly tensed, his hand staying close to his coat where he’d tucked the stake.
“Her parlor is there,” Poppy said in a low voice as she gestured toward the red lacquered door at the end of the corridor. A white slipper lay abandoned and forlorn in the hallway. She stepped over it, her gaze set upon the door.