Kiss of Steel (49 page)
Authors: Bec McMaster
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Paranormal, #Science Fiction, #Steampunk
Will stared at the fire in the distance, still raging out of control. Something bothered him about the attack. The mysterious device. The flame-thrower. Two men who had been prepared to face blue bloods and incapacitate them.
He breathed deeply through his nose. It was hard to pick up a scent trail with the overwhelming cling of ash in the air, but not impossible. Moving east, he loped across the rooftops, his unease growing as the men circled back toward the north. Toward Whitechapel.
Just before the wall that circled the rookery, they dropped off the rooftops and disappeared into an alley. Will knew the area well. It was a dead end.
He followed them in and stared at the brick wall. The ripe scents of the rookery spilled over into the surrounding streets. He wrinkled his nose and looked around. There was a grate in the cobbles, but surely they wouldn’t have gone down. That led to the sewers and from there into the notorious sprawl of Undertown. Weren’t nothing living there now, only ghosts and whispers. People had tried to move back in once the vampire that had slaughtered its residents was killed, but something drove them back out.
If they came back at all.
All that space, the caverns and homes carved into the old underground tunnel scheme. Empty. Or was it?
Will hauled the grate out of the cobbles and dropped down into the dark, landing lightly on the pads of his feet. His nose told him there was nothing nearby. Nothing but refuse and the odd rat skittering away.
Without the ash or a breeze, it was easier to follow the trail. The men weren’t moving fast, probably thinking they were safe from the Echelon and their metal army down here. Will shook his head. Dead men walking. The Echelon didn’t just rely on the metaljackets. Give them an hour and the tunnels would be full of Nighthawks, the infamous guild of trackers that did most of the thief-taking in the city. Rogue blue bloods who could smell almost as well as he could and track a shadow over stone, or so it was said.
Not a lot of time if he wanted to get his hands on them first.
He waded into the sluggish stream, his nose almost shutting down. He’d smelled worse things—the vampire sprang to mind—but right now they were only a distant memory. It was the curse of heightened senses. He could smell everything, from a woman’s natural musk to the slight hint of poison in a cup; he could see for miles, and if he listened, he could hear things people didn’t want him to hear.
Like stealthy footsteps, a few hundred yards in front of him.
Will made no sound as he stalked them. Whispers echoed and then a light appeared. A shuttered smuggler’s lantern by the look of it.
“Got him,” the short, fat one crowed. “Right in the chest. Won’t be so high-and-mighty now, will he?”
Will’s eyes narrowed.
“Shut up,” the taller shadow snarled. The acrid scent of fear-sweat washed off him. “Didn’t you see his bloody face?”
A shrug. The short man sloshed through the water carelessly. “All looks the same to me. Pasty-faced vultures.”
“It was him,” the other man replied with a shudder. “The Devil himself!”
“The Devil of Whitechapel?” The shorter man’s face stretched in a delighted grin. “Cor, Freddie! All them years, and the Echelon themselves ain’t been able to get near him! And you done him in! You’re famous now!”
“I’m bloody dead is what I am,” Freddie snapped back. “If that were the Devil, then you know who the other one was!”
Will took another step forward, drawing the blade at his side. He smiled.
That’s right, you son of a bitch. You’re in trouble now
.
“Who?”
“The Beast,” Will hissed, his voice echoing out of the darkness.
Acknowledgments
A huge thank-you to my editor, Leah Hultenschmidt, for taking me on and giving me this wonderful chance, and to my agent, Jessica Faust, for helping me navigate these new waters. To my wonderful critique partner and one-woman cheer squad, Michelle de Rooy, who helped whip it into shape. Your turn’s next, mate. And to Kylie Griffin for all of her insight and advice. Couldn’t have done it without you two! Last but not least, to all of my friends and family, for putting up with my writerly ways.
About the Author
Bec McMaster lives in a small town in Victoria, Australia, and grew up with her nose in a book. A member of Romance Writers of Australia, she writes sexy, dark paranormals and steampunk romance. When not writing, reading, or poring over travel brochures, she loves spending time with her very own hero or daydreaming about new worlds.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents