BREAKFAST WAS AN ordeal.

"Pass the butter?" the baroness asked politely, and Ava shoved it down the table toward Isabella Rouchard, trying not to look anyone in the eye. Jack was absorbed in the newspaper, the baroness lifted the lid off the tureen to examine the coddled eggs, and there was no sign of Gemma, Charlie or Malloryn.

Probably a good thing. Not much bypassed the duke, and she was almost certain last night's escapades were written across her forehead in a big scarlet letter.

Ava cleared her throat. "Can someone pass the jam?"

Kincaid plucked up the small pot of strawberry jam. "What do you say?"

"Please," she added, then met his eyes, and knew he wasn't talking about jam. Everything inside her flushed with heat. Damn him.

"I like hearing that word on your lips," he said, and the inside joke made her squirm. He slid the little pot across the table toward her, as if he knew it was her favorite. "Sleep well?" he asked, sitting back in his chair and watching her with an entirely amused expression.

You know the answer to that, you devil. After all, he'd been there when she woke up, his body still curled around hers and his fingers toying with her nipple, until he slowly worked them down her abdomen, sinking them inside her and bringing her to another obliteration of the senses. He probably still had her teeth marks on his shoulder, where she'd bitten him to stifle her cries.

"Yes." Ava blushed, and swallowed far too much of her tea in a move that left her sputtering.

Skirts swished and then Gemma was there, elegant in green ruffles as she circled the table. "Feeling better?" Gemma murmured, leaning over her to press a kiss to her cheek.

It was almost exactly the same thing he'd asked her last night, after he'd... he'd....

"Much better," she croaked, her throat still convulsing with the need to cough.

And the bloody bastard simply watched her with amused blue eyes as Gemma patted her on the back and made cooing sounds of concern.

"Where's Malloryn?" Gemma asked, circling the table.

"Rotting in hell for all I care," came a mutter from Isabella.

Ava blinked, and so did Gemma, but the baroness merely pasted a smile on her face, lifting her teacup in both hands with dainty precision. She was usually cool and commanding, but watching the man she loved marry another woman had to be difficult for her.

Or perhaps Ava had missed some argument between them.

"So," said the baroness, pretending she'd never spoken. "Malloryn tells me we've had our first official sighting of the dhampir."

Everyone was suddenly all attention.

Kincaid scowled. "One of them tried to kill Ava yesterday." He swiftly filled the baroness and Jack in on events. Gemma already knew, as she'd been to see Ava the night before, and she simply stirred blood into her tea, her eyes shuttered.

"I survived," Ava pointed out.

"But it was close," Kincaid said, and when he looked into her eyes he was no longer smiling.

Gemma cleared her throat. "What did Malloryn do with the body?"

"Which.... The dhampir who attacked me?"

Gemma nodded.

"He sent it to the guild," Kincaid replied. "I didn't think Ava would want to be the one who performed that particular autopsy, and Malloryn agreed."

That was thoughtful. "Did you tell Dr. Gibson about Black Vein?"

Kincaid scraped his hand over his newly shaven jaw. "I think Malloryn did. He needed to know what he's looking at."

Silence settled over the room. Ava buttered her toast, though a sudden flash of heat went through her as she added jam. She wanted blood. Not toast. Her fingers curled over the knife.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Gemma murmured, and Ava looked up to find the other woman watching her with narrowed eyes over the rim of a teacup.

"Of course," Ava stammered. "I just think I need a little more rest."

Scraping away from the table, she made her goodbyes, and fled.

* * *

A hand shoved him in the chest as he turned the corner on his way up to Ava's room, and then Gemma was there, slamming him back against the wall.

Kincaid let her, holding his hands up in surrender. Their gazes locked, and he saw the fury in her eyes. "Problem?"

Gemma's lips thinned. "Any reason Ava's unable to so much as look at you without blushing this morning?"

Kincaid said nothing.

Gemma growled, turning away with a filthy curse. She shot him a dark look. "You promised—"

"I didn't promise anything. And I tried to stay away from her," he snapped, shoving away from the wall. "It just happened."

"It just happened?" she mocked. "Christ, don't pretend you don't know exactly what you're doing when it comes to chasing skirt."

"Ava's different." When Gemma shot him another glare, he held his hands up to placate her. "Nothing happened. Nothing... permanent."

"And is it going to stay that way?"

He said nothing.

"Jesus, Kincaid. She's a bloody virgin—"

"She's tired of being one. She wants to know what passion feels like, and we've reached an agreement."

"An affair? You're going to seduce her and then… what? She's not the usual sort of woman you toy with, Kincaid. Ava's vulnerable. She's too kind, too sweet, too—"

"Have you ever thought she's six-and-twenty, and not a maid fresh off her father's farm? And she's more than sweetness, and kindness. She's a strong, determined woman who could outthink the lot of us," he growled.

"Have you ever thought she just watched the man she loved marry? And now she wants to start an affair with you?"

He flinched. "I know she did. I know I'm not the one she wanted. But I can't stop her from making a decision like this, and I'll be damned if she goes searching for a remedy with someone who doesn't have her best interests at heart. I'm not going to hurt her, Gemma. Ava's.... You're right, she is too kind. She is vulnerable. There's a part of me that likes her a lot—" Those dark blue eyes locked on him. "Even knowing I can't give her what she truly wants, I'm still tempted. I can't marry her, or offer her a future, or...."

Or worse, children.

He wouldn't do that to a child. The curse ran in his blood, and he wouldn't. He couldn't.

"Can't?" Gemma asked softly. "Or won't?"

His nostrils flared. Jaysus. "Can't," he croaked.

"Kincaid—"

But he held his hand up to forestall her.

"It's possible I've seen the files Malloryn has on all of us," she continued, despite the gesture. Sympathy flashed through her eyes. "I know what he's asked the Royal College of Physicians to look into. I know your uncle is dying, that you were diagnosed only four years ago—"

"I told her," he rushed to say, scrubbing his hands through his hair. A sudden stab of panic made it hard to breathe. "I'm only just starting to display the symptoms. She doesn't understand. She wants to cure me."

And there was no cure for the muscular dystrophy that would eventually stop his heart.

A gentle hand pressed against his arm. Gemma tugged it down, sliding her hands into his, even the mech one. "Is that why you're doing this? Is that why it had to be you?"

He could barely breathe. Orla and Ian were the only ones who knew what he faced. He'd never spoken of it with anyone else. "I don't know. I just wanted her. Ava makes me feel like there's hope in my days. Have you ever looked at someone and felt like you know happiness for the first time in your life? I can't give her up, Gemma. I won't."

Something shifted in Gemma's eyes. "You stupid fool. You love her. How did I not see this?"

He pushed away from her, an odd note of panic echoing in his brief laugh. "Love? What's love to a man like me? Or a woman like you?"

"It's everything we ever secretly hoped for," Gemma whispered. "The type of thing people like us don't get to experience. Losing your heart is dangerous in this line of work. It deceives you as to whom the enemy actually is, and puts blinders on your vision, so you sometimes don't even see the world around you. Or the knife in the shadows. But the temptation always remains."

Now that was interesting. "You've been in love."

Gemma smiled sadly and looked down, the light filtering through the window and striking her black hair. "I thought I was in love. In truth I was living a lie, and I was the one telling it to myself. Malloryn's right. Emotions are dangerous. Love is dangerous."

There was a lump in his throat. "But it's also the one thing that gives a man hope and purpose. What happened?"

Gemma looked away. "It's an old story. A long story."

"Is he still alive?"

"No," she whispered, though she hesitated. "He was a foreign spy, Kincaid. He worked for one of Malloryn's enemies and I was supposed to seduce him, and pretend to be his lover. I succeeded," Gemma admitted. "Too well. It felt real, for the short time we had together. Dmitri and I...." She shrugged, giving a wry smile, as if to guard herself from the emotions she felt. "The truth was revealed, and he shot me, leaving me to plunge into an icy river.

"I don't remember much from that time. Pain. Cold. Trying to break back through the ice, and not being able to. Everything seemed to slow down. I was so scared I was going to die, and so I kept swimming downriver, trying to find a hole in the ice. That was where Malloryn hauled me out. I'd always thought him a pampered, spoiled bastard. Blue blood elite. But he dragged me out from under the ice, and used his own blood to heal me—and infect me. He sat on that frozen beach in wet clothes, rubbing heat back into my hands and feet, despite the fact my stupid feelings for an enemy agent ruined his entire plan and got all his men killed. It's the one reason I owe him my loyalty. He could have let me drown for my failures, but he smuggled me out of Russia and let me go unpunished while I tried to put the past to rest. And now he's giving me a second chance, when I don't really deserve one.

"Love will do that to you, Kincaid. Leave you broken and bleeding deep inside, where it never truly heals. For once in my life, I agree with Malloryn. It's not worth the risk, no matter how wonderful it feels at the time. It only breaks you, and especially in this line of work, leaves your friends vulnerable to the enemy."

"Ava believes it gives you strength in the darkest of moments."

"And that's why we love her. Because she reminds us of everything we've lost. That hope. Those dreams. But you're darkness, Kincaid. And so am I. And we're the type of people who ruin others. Don't do that to her."

"Truce?" he asked, releasing a shuddering breath. He felt like something had died a little inside him.

Gemma sighed. "Truce."

They stared at each other. He'd never liked her. Not the way he liked the others, despite their craving virus affliction. Gemma was too worldly, too guarded, too callous. She reminded him too much of himself, in some ways, and perhaps that was why they butted heads.

"I didn't mean to say what I said about Byrnes," she apologized.

It still ached within him. "It's the truth," he stated flatly. "For whatever reason, Ava cared for him. She entertained hope there was something between them. But maybe... maybe we could be there for each other. Just for a month or two. Before we end it."

* * *

"Why did you insist I partner with Ava?" The thought had been frustrating Kincaid lately.

Malloryn glanced up from the desk. "Do you really want to know?"

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

Malloryn put his pen down and leaned back in the chair. "When you first joined the company, you hated every single one of us for what we are. It surprised me to realize you'd mellowed enough to consider a friendship with Byrnes and Charlie, though your prejudices still show at times—"

"So you thought you'd partner me with the least predatory blue blood you know." He tasted disgust. "I hate being manipulated."

"I know."

But it was working. Kincaid crossed his arms, squeezing his fists. "She's a kitten compared to you. I get it. I do. Not all blue bloods are the same. Not all blue bloods are blood-thirsty monsters. Not even you." He paused. "Why do you do this? I understand you're interested in progress, but it seems as though you expend a great deal of energy for a cause not your own. One could almost say you're driven by it."

Those icy gray eyes met his. "It's not the sort of thing I speak of to anyone."

"Yet you demand everyone else spill their fuckin' secrets. No, you insist. How can you ask for the trust of your agents if you won't give it in return?"

A long silence. "There was a girl. Back when I was young and foolish, and I got her killed. And that is the extent of what I'm willing to share. Anything else?" Malloryn's voice encouraged him to move on.

A girl? Malloryn? The man with no heart?

But then, the same could have been said of him.

"Why did you invite me to join COR?" Another question that had been plaguing him. "I can't physically match you or the others. I'm cannon fodder when it comes to the dhampir. You've got Jack in the basement, building your devices, so you don't need a mech. I just don't understand what I…" bring to the group. "What you want from me."

"You came highly recommended. The Duchess of Casavian told me you'd fight me every step of the way, but you were cunning, ruthless, and ingenious. You think in ways I don't, and you know the mech world, the humanist cause." Malloryn leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "You represent a part of the population I need to be able to read and reach out to."

"So it was all political?"

"Partly. I think you sell yourself short. You're a fighter, and you don't flinch in the face of danger—"

"I'm still the most likely to get my throat torn out."

Malloryn's gaze shuttered. "Your physical limitations bother you."

It cut right to the core of him. Was that why he'd been questioning his value so often this past month? Malloryn couldn't know of the iceberg he touched upon—or he'd better bloody not—but maybe there was something to that train of thought?

"And?" he asked icily.

"Why don't you do something about it?" Malloryn suggested, leaning back again as if to dismiss the conversation. "Stop thinking about your weaknesses, Kincaid, and start thinking about your strengths and what you can bring to this team. Specifically that thing in the basement you've been playing with over the last month."

His mech-suit. Kincaid frowned, wondering how Malloryn found out about it. "It's something to do in my spare time."

"Is it?" Malloryn picked up his spring-pen again. "A curious choice of hobby for a man who derides his physical limits. Are you sure your mind's not trying to tell you something?"

* * *

Play to his strengths. He could do that.

After pacing the house for the next half hour, Kincaid found himself in the basement, or what they affectionately referred to as Dungeon II, after Malloryn moved them from the first compromised safe house. It was no enclave, but not too shabby in itself, with every tool he could possibly want. He couldn't stop thinking about what Malloryn had said. Jack blinked up at him through a set of goggles, as if wondering why he was there.

The other man wore a mask covering the lower half of his face, with a filtration device to purify the air he breathed. Scars disfigured his face, and Kincaid had heard Jack's lungs were affected too, but the man had the kind of hands that could build anything, and a voice like a circus ringmaster. "Here to finish your project?"

"I haven't had a chance to look at it in over a week," Kincaid said, crossing to the corner he'd taken for himself and ripping the sheet off his project. A full mech-suit gleamed in the bright lights Jack had installed.

It wasn't finished. He'd been hesitating to solder the final joints together, tinkering with the small steam-engine component that drove it, even though it was ready. A mechanical suit to reinforce a man's body, with pistons in the leg guards that could force a man's legs to work if they were feeble, and overlapping steel plates to protect his inner organs. He wasn't sure why he'd started making it. Or no... that wasn't strictly true.

His legs would fail, his muscles turning traitor on him at some stage. His leg braces kept him moving so far, but soon enough they wouldn't be strong enough to hold him up. Even now, he could feel the faint tremor in his calves, and stairs would one day be the bane of his existence. Kincaid ran the pads of his fingers over the chest piece. A suit like this meant an independent life for as long as he could strap himself into it.

But if one looked at it in another way, it was also a means to give a man mechanical strength his own body couldn't provide, as well as protection from injury. With this, Kincaid could leap off roofs, punch his way through a brick wall, and deflect any blow from a blue blood.

Jack slid his magnifying goggles atop his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Are you going to finish it today?"

"Not much else to do." Malloryn had set his spies into action, and Ava needed rest. By himself, he couldn't work out the science behind Ava's assumptions. He needed her quicksilver mind and defiant focus. The Nighthawks were keeping an eye on the city, and they'd be contacted the moment another Black Vein case came up, but for now... he needed something mindless to do.

"I like it," Jack said, admiring his work. "Not a Cyclops—nowhere near as heavy, for example, but it will give you greater maneuverability, and the smaller size makes it more versatile. Are you thinking of getting a patent for it? I know a great many factories would see a use in making a single man as strong as an ox, and I'm sure those who work in law enforcement would appreciate the added protection and strength."

He hadn't thought so far ahead. Kincaid dragged on his gloves slowly. A patent on something like this and a means to manufacture it would provide enough money for Orla to pay for proper care for Ian—and give her a damned rest every now and then. There'd be risks involved—he hadn't a clue how to get started, but it was a spark of inspiration. "Now there's an idea."

"You'd need a partner." Jack circled the suit. "Someone mechanically minded."

"Anyone you know?" Kincaid slowly smiled. Jack had been one of the masterminds behind the Cyclops.

"Possibly." Jack's eyes creased in a smile the mask hid. "And a backer... preferably a rich one."

A grimace. "If you're suggesting I go talk to Malloryn—"

"He's got the funds, he's a duke, he has influence, and he's very likely uninterested in controlling a business something like this would need." Jack sucked in a slow breath through his mask. "My sister is married to a duke too. But there's certainly no harm in talking to Malloryn. He's quite forward-thinking, for a blue blood."

For a blue blood. It wasn't as though he was growing to like Malloryn, but... the duke wasn't as bad as he sometimes made out. None of the blue blood Rogues were. Kincaid stared at the suit, then glanced at Jack. "You were a humanist once. What do you make of all of this?"

Jack's green eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "The mech-suit? Or the brewing war between blue bloods and humans?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

Jack sighed. "My sister's married to a blue blood, and while he can be a little stiff at times, he's a good man. Then there's Debney."

Jack's friendship with the viscount had not gone unnoticed. Kincaid said nothing, but he'd seen the pair of them slip away at Byrnes's wedding. In the past, men like that would have been executed, but it wasn't his place to say anything. Nor his place to judge.

"I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a storm," Kincaid admitted quietly. "I have friends. Humanist friends. I see their anger over the blood taxes and the draining factories still loom large in the East End. But I also understand it's not an easy solution.

"And we don't know who's working to stir up the general population—whether it's on Ulbricht's side, or the dhampir, or someone working behind the scenes—but a part of me is tired of war," he said. "I don't want to see any more humanists die. I don't want to see any of my blue blood friends die. But we're heading toward a collision. Any fucking fool can see that."

Jack sighed, rolling a coin over the back of his gloved hands—a habit he had sometimes. "All London needs is a spark, and it will go up in a fiery blaze, you mark my words."

Fuck. Kincaid rested his hip on the edge of a stool. Maybe he'd overtaxed his body recently, but he felt dull and weak today. Exhausted. "But what's the spark going to be? We can stamp out all the fires we see—these Black Vein murders, the vaccine clinics being sabotaged—but I just feel like there's something else out there. Something we're not seeing. I mean, one by one these Black Vein murders aren't going to tip this war over the edge. The humanists don't care about blue bloods dying, and the Echelon doesn't give a damn about rogue blue bloods. If it were one of their own, however...."

"I agree," Jack said, shrugging. "But I don't think the spark's going to come from the Echelon. This all feels like it's a stalking horse. Something to set the Echelon on edge, but they don't have the advantage anymore. Some of them still stockpile automaton troops, but if they step out of line? The queen and the Council of Dukes will use the Cyclops they confiscated during the revolution against them. It would require a mass effort from most of the Echelon aristocrats working together to start a war, and they'd have to topple the queen or the Council first."

It all made little sense. These riots were stirring, yes, but some people still liked the queen. She wasn't her husband, mad and dangerous. She was human, and she'd been their figurehead during the revolution. Disappointment reigned at the moment, thanks to the recent lowering of the Blood Tax bill, but it hadn't destroyed the people's confidence in her.

"To whip the humanists into a frenzy, they'd have to strike at something the humans consider important. Hell if I know what that will be." Kincaid pulled on his protective gear, then reached for the carbon arc welder and his carbon rods. "Guess we'll just have to be prepared for anything."

Jack turned away. "Have a think about what I said earlier. It’s just conjecture at this point, but I think you have a marketable product."

Kincaid clipped each claw onto the positive and negative wires, and then dragged his face mask down. "Will do."