Part 12 (2/2)
”Over ten years have we been friends. And not once have I ever seen him behave the way he does around you. It is more than desire.”
”What else can it be, if not just desire?” London asked.
Athena shook her head. ”You will have to discover that on your own.”
London understood. ”And what about you? Even an independent woman has her needs.”
Athena's smile was just a little melancholy, almost wistful. ”I do. But it is almost impossible for me to find a man who can abide by my terms. I require absolute freedom. I leave before he makes demands, before the heat of our animal desires cools into mere toleration. So I go, and he goes, and everyone is satisfied.”
”Typical,” snorted a man's voice.
Athena and London watched Nikos Kallas descend the companion ladder leading from the quarterdeck house to below decks. He stalked up to Athena and glowered at her, filling the narrow s.p.a.ce of the pa.s.sageway with his presence.
”How like a high-born woman.” He scoffed. ”Cold, like the northern seas.”
”I am not not cold,” Athena challenged, drawing herself up. ”I am sensible.” cold,” Athena challenged, drawing herself up. ”I am sensible.”
”s.e.x isn't sensible. It isn't a polite business arrangement. For you, s.e.x is shaking hands and agreeing on the price of fish.” Mocking, he stuck out his hand as if offering it to seal a bargain.
London looked on, fascinated, as Greek man and woman stood toe-to-toe, glaring at each other. They seemed to have forgotten that London was even there, observing everything.
”Would you prefer if I shrieked and pulled at my hair when it is time to part?” Athena shot back. ”Demanded vows of love when there are none to give? I would rather keep my pride.”
Kallas pointed at her with the stem of his pipe. ”This isn't about pride. It's about the beast of desire. I tell you this, Lady Witch, once I get a woman in my bunk, she won't want to leave.”
With that parting salvo, the captain stormed past Athena, down the pa.s.sageway to the cargo hold. London watched him go, then she turned back to Athena. The witch stared at the spot where Kallas had stood, her lips pressed tightly together, breath coming fast. She was furious.
Or fiercely attracted. London was beginning to realize that it was almost impossible, sometimes, to tell the difference.
With London and Bennett Day, however, things were much more complicated than navigating the twin poles of anger and desire. It was up to London to find her way.
Four men hunched over a map in the steamer s.h.i.+p's wheelhouse. Overhead, a lantern swayed with the rocking of the s.h.i.+p, casting its sulfurous light in arcs, back and forth. Shadows swung like weighted pendulums, almost as dark as the night outside. The men did not speak, but watched the map, one on each side of the table on which it spread.
Across the surface of the printed sea, moving east by northeast, rolled a single drop of blood. A dark garnet, moving not with the roll of the s.h.i.+p, but under its own power, deliberate and steady. The blood sought something, some place.
”Where are they headed?” Edgeworth demanded of the steamer's captain. ”They're moving away from the Cyclades.”
The Greek captain shrugged. ”There are many islands in the Aegean. Thousands. Some never make it on to a map.”
”Lost, do you think?” asked Fraser.
Edgeworth gnawed on the end of his cigar. ”No, they are too direct. They know where they're going. I just wish we did, too.”
”Rest easy.” Chernock smiled down at the map. ”The Bloodseeker Spell will lead us to your daughter. And if she knows where to find Greek Fire, then we shall know, too.”
”My s.h.i.+p is faster than any caique,” the captain said. ”We lost some time at the beginning, but I a.s.sure you, we'll overtake them. Tomorrow morning, no later.”
”I'm holding you to that,” Edgeworth snapped. He stalked from the wheelhouse, with Fraser close at his heels. Both men stood on deck, staring out at the darkness. The glowing end of Edgeworth's cigar made red, angry trails as it journeyed to and from his mouth. Fraser clasped his hands behind his back and pretended to study the stars, while his mind chugged along like the steams.h.i.+p.
Fraser considered himself a brave man. He'd faced storms, riots, murderous natives, disease. G.o.d knew how many d.a.m.ned Blades he'd had to tangle with over the years, with the scars to prove it. He prided himself on never backing down from a mission, stepping over or on anyone who got in his way. He feared almost nothing. Except Joseph Edgeworth.
The Edgeworths stood as the backbone of the Heirs of Albion. Some unG.o.dly number of generations ago, an Edgeworth forefather helped establish the group's headquarters in central London. And ever since then, an Edgeworth sat in the inner circle, wielding influence and power the likes of which a monarch could only dream about. Joseph Edgeworth could make an Heir's life h.e.l.l, if that Heir fell out of favor. Either death, or the wish for death. There was no part of the world free from Edgeworth's influence. Should he take a disliking to someone, they'd find themselves with a bullet in the eye or a knife in the belly. Not by Edgeworth's hand, of course, but his intent would be there, just the same.
Yet, if a man wanted to make a name for himself in the Heirs, he could do no better than ingratiating himself with the Edgeworth family. Wealth. Influence. Respect. Bestowed and granted in abundance.
That's exactly what Fraser had intended when he planned on courting London Harcourt. There'd be no sweeter role for an Heir to play than Edgeworth's son-in-law. Lawrence Harcourt's death was a blessing for Fraser and any other able-bodied young Heir. It didn't hurt that London Harcourt was d.a.m.ned pretty, but Fraser would've f.u.c.ked a sow if it meant gaining Edgeworth's approbation.
d.a.m.ned b.i.t.c.h, Fraser fumed. He could have been in the catbird seat, if not for her whorish ways. Best to take a philosophical approach, though. He wouldn't have wanted a cuckolding trollop for a wife.
Still, he could ally himself with Edgeworth now, s.l.u.t daughter or no.
”What will you do, sir, when we catch up with them?” Fraser asked.
Edgeworth took a long draw off his cigar and exhaled the smoke. ”Kill Day,” he said simply. ”And that other Blade, the Galanos b.i.t.c.h. Chernock recognized her on Delos. He might like to toy with her for a bit, though, before we kill her. She's a born witch, and bound to know some new magic.”
Fraser took a breath, and risked, ”And...and London?”
The older man answered at once, ”Once she sees how she'd been beguiled by that seducer,” Edgeworth said, ”she'll come back to me like a good girl. She's my daughter, after all. A female can easily be controlled by any man, but her father will always hold sway.”
”Of course,” Fraser said quickly.
”Then she will lead us to the Source, and gladly. That's what we're here for.” Each puff on his cigar made the ash glow, a small inferno. ”When the Heirs can claim the secret of Greek Fire, we'll finally have the necessary tools to crush the Blades once and for all. The Primal Source will ensure that.”
”Exactly,” Fraser seconded. He couldn't wait for such a moment. What he wouldn't give to see Bennett Day and Catullus Graves and the rest of them lying at his feet, dead as winter. Or, it might be even more pleasant to hear them beg and snivel, then then send them to h.e.l.l. send them to h.e.l.l.
”Don't worry, Fraser,” Edgeworth said, indulgent. ”Once we rescue London and take the Source, I'll see you properly rewarded. How does an upper-level position within the Heirs sound to you?”
”Capital, sir,” Fraser said, his chest constricting with excitement at the prospect.
”And perhaps I may give you London, too,” Edgeworth added. ”As your bride. That is, if if you do your duty.” you do your duty.”
And take Bennett Day's leavings? Fraser felt sick at the thought. Even though Edgeworth refused to believe it, his daughter was a calculating wh.o.r.e who knew exactly what she was doing. But Fraser couldn't refuse Edgeworth's offer. He'd marry the s.l.u.t, if it helped his cause. Then he could enjoy her a little while meting out her punishment for her treachery. Fraser preferred to take his women hard, especially if they were delicately made. There was something quite wonderful about bruising soft, tender skin.
”Rely on me, sir,” Fraser said eagerly. ”I won't fail you.”
Edgeworth scowled then. ”Yes-my own daughter's will wasn't strong enough, and I'll not tolerate anyone else's failure. Now I'm going to bed. No one's to wake me unless the Blades have been spotted.”
”I'll pa.s.s the word on, sir.”
Edgeworth stared at his cigar with disgust, then threw it overboard. Without another word, he stalked from the deck, leaving Fraser alone with his plans for the future. A future with Britain as leader of a global empire, the Heirs heaped with honors and riches in grat.i.tude, especially him. And every last member of the Blades of the Rose nothing but rotting meat.
Cheered with these thoughts, Fraser went back into the wheelhouse, where Chernock kept watch over the blood-dotted map. Not even the dolorous sorcerer's glowering could dampen Fraser's mood. Tomorrow they would catch up with London Harcourt and the Blades. And, oh, the things Fraser planned on doing to Bennett Day. That b.i.t.c.h London would have to watch while Fraser carved up her lover. Yes, tomorrow was going to be a wonderful day.
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