Zoe Archer - [Ether Chronicles 03] (11 page)

“I remember.” She swallowed hard, but whether it was his touch or the possibility of shooting an ether rifle that seemed to put her on edge, he didn’t know. Yet she raised the rifle and took aim, grounding her footing to keep stable.

As she lined up her sights, his attention strayed to the coarse black silk of her hair, pulled back into a simple knot, fragrant with something both floral and musky. Was it her soap? Her natural scent? All of his senses had been heightened with his telumium implants, and right now, they all focused on her.

But he forced his concentration back to her and the rifle. She was handling a dangerous firearm. Either of them—but most likely her—could be hurt if he wasn’t vigilant.

“I’m firing now,” she whispered. “In three, two, one—” She pulled the trigger.

Two things happened at once. The kick from the gun threw her back, but his body kept hers steady, his grip at her waist tightening, and she barely moved. At the same time, a rock at the base of the pile of stones exploded from the bullet’s impact.

“Damn it,” she muttered, lowering the rifle.

“Try again. It’s a tough shot.”

She nodded and reloaded. Without hesitation, she lifted the gun again, and aimed. This time, when she fired, a rock closer to her target shattered. She drew a steadying breath, in and out, but it didn’t steady him, feeling the expansion and contraction at her waist, the movement of her muscles along her back and shoulders.

After reloading, she paused, then shot again. The rock atop the pile of stones turned to dust.

She didn’t shout or squeal or make girlish exclamations of success. Instead, she nodded once—a quick confirmation that she’d done what she’d set out to do—then lowered the rifle.

“Good showing,” he said.

She turned to face him, his hand still at her waist. “I’ll never make for a prize sniper, but I shot the damn thing, and I finally hit my sodding target.
Take pleasure in small victories
. That’s what my father would say to me.”

“I like my victories big,” he said.

Her lips pursed. “Of course you do.”

“How’d it feel?”

Finally, the opaque look on her face broke apart with her radiant smile. “Brilliant. I could feel the power of it, and I certainly would’ve been right on my bum if you hadn’t been there to shore me up, but a person could get to like the feel of that strength. They could like it immensely.”

“I’ve created a fiend.”

She laughed. “I’d rather build things than shoot things. Still, I’m pleased I gave it a try. To truly know what it’s like.”

“Glad I could help you feel that.”

Awareness hit them at the same time. He still held her. Less than a foot separated them. If he stepped forward just a little, they’d be pressed against each other. There were no witnesses, no one within miles to see them.

His gaze fell to her mouth. For all her sharp words, he didn’t doubt she’d have soft lips, lips that would yield and take.

Glancing up at her eyes, he mentally groaned. She was looking at
his
mouth, too. And damn him thrice if she didn’t lick her lips.

Instantly, he let go of her. Though his body was naturally hotter than hers, the imprint of her warmth lingered in his hands.

For several moments, she just stood there, still holding the rifle, staring at him as though he was a piece of machine’s design she just couldn’t figure out. He didn’t understand himself, either.

Once, he’d thought himself an uncomplicated man. He’d basic needs like anyone: food, some sleep, a drink and a laugh now and then. He wanted to serve his country, protect the land he considered home, and the people who lived there. He’d loved the sea, and then he’d loved the sky. The sky had come at a price, though. He’d lost Emily. So his duties as a Man O’ War became the definition of himself. Until he learned to hate even that.

Since crashing here, however, he’d changed. Continued to evolve. He’d learned he could endure silence and isolation. Paring life down to its most essential components. The sky wasn’t his any longer. He became earthbound. Not a captain. Not a weapon. Only a man scraping out a means of survival.

Then she’d arrived. And everything changed again. Like all Man O’ Wars, he didn’t need much slumber, but when he lay down in his bed, her clockwork cricket shedding a soft glow from its place on his desk, he did sleep and he dreamed of her. Nothing specific. Only glimpses of her, or the sound of her voice. Yes—his body wanted a woman. But something else about her haunted him as he slept or prowled his empty, flightless airship.

And here they stood, an ether rifle and uncertainty between them. He
never
felt unsure. Except with her.

Finally, she spoke. “Show me what you can do, Fletcher.”

K
ali knew from experience that one was never reckless with volatile components. Even a single drop of the wrong chemical could cause an explosion. Every step of the engineering process needed to be carefully monitored, thoroughly contemplated, the various outcomes considered.

She’d felt the tension in Fletcher as he’d held her while she shot. He’d kept himself perfectly still, but she sensed it like a low frequency humming through her body. And he wasn’t alone. His nearness made her heart race, like an overheating engine. It wasn’t just his size, his tightly controlled strength, his
otherness
. They shared something, the two of them. Histories that were unalike, echoed each other—as if a composer had taken the same notes of a melody and rearranged them into a different tune.

Fletcher stared at her now, a bright fire in his aquamarine eyes. She hadn’t meant her words to sound provocative—or maybe she had. She’d lost the blueprint to herself three months ago, and this island—and the man she shared it with—left her without a pattern or plan.

But there was one thing she knew she wanted.

She held the gun out to him. “In my hands, this is still little better than an ordinary rifle. But if wielded by a Man O’ War . . .”

“So, it’s a scientific experiment.” The fire in his gaze banked. He took the weapon from her, handling it with the ease of a trained warrior. “See what both machines are capable of: the ether rifle and me.”

“I never said you were a machine. But you and the weapon are each extraordinary. You can’t blame an engineer for her curiosity.” She laid her hand upon his forearm. “If it makes you too uncomfortable . . .”

To her surprise, he offered her one of his rare smiles. “Pass up an opportunity to swagger and show off in front of a pretty lady? Not bloody likely.”

Her pulse fluttered at the compliment. Maybe he was lonely. After three months without seeing another human, let alone a woman, a toothless, pockmarked crone might look pretty to him. Still, he’d been nothing but respectful of her person since they’d met. He couldn’t be that desperate.

Perhaps he really does think you’re pretty. Ever consider that, Miss Clever Knickers
?

“Impress me,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’d wager you could hit that pile of rocks on the first try.”

He snorted. “You trying to be insulting? No, I’ll need a better target than that.” He scanned the landscape, his eyes sharp. Most of the terrain around them was the moor, offering few worthwhile targets. He turned toward the southwest where the ridge of rocky peaks began. At the summit of the nearest peak stood a coppice of alders.

“The tree closest to us,” he said, lifting the rifle to take aim. “I’ll shoot the top leaf off.”

She gaped at him. “That’s nearly a mile away. I thought you said the ether rifles were only accurate to a thousand yards.”

“In the right hands, they can shoot up to twenty-five hundred yards. The accuracy might not be perfect, but hell”—he grinned—“I’m up for the challenge.”

From her satchel, she took a brass spyglass and pulled it open. When one of his brows rose, she explained, “Not everyone’s got a Man O’ War’s eyesight. You could shoot and miss by a mile, but I’d never know. This is simple empirical method.”

“You can take the woman out of the laboratory . . .” he murmured.

She shrugged, but it wasn’t an apology. “Let’s begin.” She aimed her spyglass at the copse of trees. Even though her glass was highly advanced, manufactured in Scotland by the best opticians in the world, the spyglass could only do so much, and she couldn’t make out each individual leaf. Still, it was better than trying to see with her naked eyes.

“Ready?” he asked.

“At your discretion, Captain—I mean, Fletcher.” Difficult to call him by his Christian name when he could sound so very authoritative.

“I’ll count off so you know when to look. Three, two, one—” then he fired.

For a moment, nothing happened. The trees didn’t move. No branches shook or leaves flew into the air. Disappointment weighted in her stomach. She’d hoped, perhaps foolishly, that he’d be something grander than life. A myth come true. But she already knew that, despite the telumium implants, he was truly just a man, with any man’s limitations—

A leaf at the very top of the nearest tree flew into the air.

Slowly, she lowered her spyglass. She’d forgotten to take into account how long it might take a bullet to travel that distance. But it had. And hit its target.

Turning, she found Fletcher watching her. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked wary.

“That was . . .” She searched but couldn’t find any words to match what she’d just witnessed.

He turned away, his expression weary. “Serves me right for showing off. People say they want to see what a Man O’ War can do. Then they learn. We’re not normal.”

“Of course you aren’t,” she said.

He threw her a glance, both accusatory and accepting, as if such comments were familiar, but unwelcome.

“You’re
extraordinary
,” she added. “There’s nothing to be ashamed in that.”

“I’m not ashamed,” he said flatly. “I knew what becoming a Man O’ War would mean. Everyone else had trouble with it. Even you. Looking at me like I’m a monstrosity.”

She stepped closer to him. “Am I shocked that you could make that shot? Bloody hell, I am. You’ve got an amazing ability. And I won’t pretend that the implants don’t make you different from everyone else. But look at me. Look me right in the eye and tell me what you see.” She put her face close to his—as close as she could, given the height difference. “Do you see disgust? Fear?”

His gaze searched hers for a long moment, the air between them hot and electric.

“No,” he finally said.

“It’s
wonder
and
admiration
,” she said hotly. She snapped the spyglass shut and stowed it away. “Both for the technological achievement, and for who you are as a person. As a man. And you’d better damn well not forget that.”

“I won’t,” he said softly.

“Good.” She wondered—when he looked at her, what did
he
see? The color of her skin? A damaged woman? Or was she, as he’d said earlier, only herself? Kali. She wanted that—to be seen not as crippled or a cultural anomaly but as a person.

Even more shocking: she wanted to be
seen
. All she’d wanted before was to hide herself away, turn invisible from the world. But not with him.

“Who was she?”

Her question seemed to catch him off guard. His head snapped back as if dodging a punch. “Who?”

“The woman who said you were a monstrosity.” It was a guess, born from pure speculation, and she half expected him to sneer at her theory.

For a moment, he was silent. Affirming her belief that she’d been foolish in her deduction.

Then, “A shopkeeper’s daughter in Portsmouth.” He didn’t look at Kali as he spoke. “Met her when I was still a lieutenant on a seafaring ship. We’d walk out together whenever I was in port.”

“Oh,” was all Kali could say. It was one thing to speculate on the existence of a woman in his life. Another thing entirely to have proof.

“I became a captain,” he went on. “We talked of the future. Then I was presented with the chance to become a Man O’ War. There wasn’t a greater honor to be had in the navy. So I took the offer.”

“Against her wishes.”

“Emily didn’t know. I wanted to surprise her. It was such a privilege, having that opportunity. I thought she’d be happy for me. For us.”

The naked pain in his voice and the stiff set of his shoulders made it clear that this Emily was anything but happy about Fletcher’s transformation. “I don’t have a particularly high opinion of this woman,” Kali said tightly.

“She fell in love with a man.” He stared down at his clenched fists. “But got a monster instead. That’s what she said.”

“I maintain that Emily’s an idiot.” She moved to stand in front of him. “You did change. Dramatically. But the core of who you are, that didn’t alter.”

He scowled. “You don’t know that.”

“I know that you’ve got honor and courage.” Perhaps more than she’d ever known in any man. “That doesn’t suddenly start or stop. It’s something here.” She placed her hand on her heart. “And no amount of telumium alters it. If Emily couldn’t see that, if she made you feel like an abomination . . . My father showed me how to inflict very painful injuries with nothing more than my elbow. I’d be happy to test them out on that foolish woman.”

Fletcher’s gaze burned into hers. “You’d snap her in two. Emily’s fragile.”

“That’ll make my job easier.”

He gave a soft, sharp exhalation and planted his hands on his hips. The raw pain in his eyes had retreated. It wasn’t gone entirely, but it had faded. “You’re the damnedest woman.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

They stared at each other for a long while, and she felt it—another shift between them. He’d bared himself to her. An act of trust. And she was willing to take the burden of his past, rather than run from it, and what it implied about their connection.

“Hungry?” she asked.

His brow furrowed at the abrupt change of topic. “Always.”

“The implants,” she surmised. “They make you require more fuel than an ordinary man.”