Heart of Iron

A long black great cloak wrapped around the man’s shoulders, with a spill of lace at his throat. His waistcoat was red velvet, a golden pocket watch gleaming against it. White gloves curled around a golden-handled cane and he glanced at the pair in the corner, his lip curling beneath a battered nose.



“Devil take it, Arsen,” the man snapped, tugging out a scented handkerchief. “Haven’t you buried that old relic yet?”



Both of the men froze. Whilst the younger stammered, the elder lifted his pale, powdered face, a hint of malice in those dark eyes. “I’m not dead yet, Colchester. Maybe I’ll take you with me.”



Colchester.



“I should like to see you try, Monkton,” Colchester sneered. “Perhaps I can do the job Arsen’s evidently been neglecting.”



Colchester was younger than he’d imagined, with the kind of smooth cheeks and rakishly tossed hair that might turn a lady’s head. A big, broad-shouldered fellow, he moved with the smooth-limbed grace of a swordsman.



His blue eyes glanced at Will’s attire and dismissed him. That was his first mistake. Any true predator would have looked past the clothes to the man within. Obviously years of rank and position had inured him to the dangers of the world. In the Echelon, if a blue blood had grievance with another, they dueled. Will, however, was used to streets where men took what they wanted with a quick knife to the back.



“Please, Your Grace,” Arsen stammered. “Grandfather doesn’t mean anything by it. We’ve been watching him closely. We just thought some fresh air would do him good.”



“An ax would be better.”



Monkton’s lip curled up. “Aye. Like the one you forgot to take to the late, unlamented Vickers ’til it was too late?” He laughed, a wheezing sound. “Heard it was a glorious duel with the duke’s wig torn off in front of the court and the truth of his condition betrayed. They say it took a week to get the stink of his rot out of the atrium.”



Colchester’s fist tightened unconsciously. “Don’t make a dangerous enemy, Monkton. You’re nothing but a minor offshoot of the House of Malloryn. And Auvry’s a dear friend of mine. Perhaps I’ll whisper in his ear and see the matter dealt with appropriately?”



Both of the men paled. The younger grabbed his grandfather by his velvet-clad arm and hustled him out of the jewelry shop with a steady stream of apologies. Colchester watched them go with a bored expression on his face. He eased a snuff tin from his pocket and inhaled a pinch of it, wincing through his bruised nose.



Their eyes met in the jeweled mirror on the far wall.



“Aren’t you out of your league here?” Colchester asked, tucking his snuff tin back in his pocket.



“You’d be surprised,” Will replied. His hands twitched. One moment of violence and Lena would never have to look over her shoulder again… He took a step toward the duke.



The shopkeeper reappeared with a pair of glasses balanced on a tray. He blinked to find the room empty. Colchester snatched a glass of blud-wein as he sauntered past.



“Really, Griffith. The people you allow in here,” he muttered, peering at an antique cameo. “I might have to take my business elsewhere.”



“Y-Your Grace—” the shopkeeper stammered.



Anger bubbled in Will’s chest. The chance was lost.



Colchester looked up. “You’re still here?”



“I’ve business ’ere,” he replied, stepping out of the shadows. Heat swam behind his eyes and every muscle in his body tightened. This bastard had done something to Lena. He didn’t know what, but it was enough to terrify her.



Killing him would be only too sweet. And yet, with it would go any chance he had of freeing himself and his fellows from the cages and arenas.



Instinct demanded he kill the duke. But cold intellect argued against it. He could almost hear Blade and Lena’s voices in his ear, trying to explain to him that it would be wrong. Sweat rimed his forehead. This was a world he didn’t understand and never completely would. But he trusted them, knew that they would not be pleased if he did this thing.



Colchester would never know how close to death he came as he straightened. “Do you have any idea who I am?”



“Aye. I know exactly who you are.”



Colchester’s gaze sharpened with interest. Will could feel the heat of his anger burning through him. For once he let it surface just enough to show, the molten gold of it transforming his eyes in the mirror’s reflection.



Colchester sucked in a breath and slapped a hand to his belt, as if reaching for a blade.



“Wouldn’t if I were you.” Will sucked in a breath and looked away. Little gems fractured the sunlight back at him, a thousand different shades and colors. Rings, necklaces, bracelets. An entire corner filled with pearl chokers that were worth more than his life. He focused on them furiously, trying to ignore the duke’s perfume.



Colchester’s image wavered in the glass, his eyes narrowing at Will’s back. “You’re the one they call the Beast, aren’t you? The one with the price on your head if you step inside the city?”



Will glanced over his shoulder. “Didn’t they tell you?”



Colchester’s eyes became slits. “Tell me what?”



“Prince consort himself give me pardon.”



Colchester crossed toward the window, his hands clasped behind his back. His movements were neat and precise; he was on edge, prepared to fight at a second’s notice. Will prowled in the other direction, running his fingertips lightly along the glass counter.



A dangerous dance. The shopkeeper had retreated to the door of the storeroom, uncertain what was going on but aware of the undercurrents in the room.



“I see,” Colchester sneered. “This joke of an alliance they’re spouting. I wasn’t aware of how fully they’d involved you until last night.”



“Guess you ain’t as important as you think you are.”



If looks could kill. “I washed my hands of it weeks ago. It took years to put you savages in your proper places. Why invite you back into our lives with an expression of cordiality?” His gaze ran over Will. “The entire concept is an insult.”



The barb went wide of its mark. He didn’t give a damn what Colchester thought of him.



As if realizing it, Colchester stepped closer. “I must admit, I’m disappointed. After what Cavendish told me, I was expecting a raving lunatic. They’ve leashed you well, it seems.”



“There’s a time. And a place.”



“Mmm.” Colchester leaned over, examining a pretty butterfly brooch. When wound, the wings would flutter. “Tell me,” he said, drawing little circles on the glass with his finger, “has she told you about me yet?”



Silence. “She?”



“Helena,” Colchester said, placing intimate emphasis on the name. He looked up. The smile on his lips was as nothing to the one in his eyes when he realized his words had finally drawn blood. “My dear, sweet Helena Todd.”



Will held onto himself with the thinnest of leashes. “Why would she?”



“Because she’s going to be my next thrall—”



No.



Will had him by the throat before he realized it. His fingers dug into the pallid flesh as Colchester laughed.



“You leave her alone,” Will snarled, his voice cold and harsh. “You catch so much as a sniff of her and you turn and walk the other way.”



“A sniff?” Colchester managed to gurgle. “I’ve had more than that, you filth.”



“What’d you say?”



“She didn’t…tell you?” Delight turned Colchester’s pale blue eyes warm. Then they bulged as Will’s grip tightened.



He could barely see through the red haze choking him. One twist and he could tear the bastard’s head from his shoulders. But movement caught his eye. The shopkeeper, trembling in the doorway as he watched in horror.



Not here. Not now.



But one day, he promised himself.



Forcing his hand open, he shoved Colchester back. The duke staggered into the glass cases, spraying glass across the floor. He was still laughing and the sound of it rode Will’s nerves like a saw. He saw red again and turned away, breathing hard.



“She has the sweetest blood, you know?” Colchester called. “Purrs like a little kitten under the touch—”



The next thing he knew, he was slamming Colchester face-first into another case. The shopkeeper cringed, but the laughter finally died. Will dragged the duke out of the mess of glass and jewelry and smashed a fist into his midsection. Colchester bent over like a sack of spilled suet, blood and glass encrusting his face.



A boot hooked behind his and they both went down. Something hot bit into his back but he paid it no mind, riding the edge of the storm within him. Locking his arm around the duke’s neck he twisted and slammed him down onto the hard floor, scrambling on top of him with his fist raised—



It never descended.



A hand caught his, iron fingers wrapping around his fist like a manacle. “That’s enough,” someone barked.



Will looked up, his teeth bared.



“Control yourself,” snapped a vaguely familiar voice. The stranger was almost as tall as Will himself, but built lean and hard. His eyes were the same chilling blue as a glacier and he wore black leather from head to toe, the hard carapace of a breastplate covering his chest.



Will blinked, finally noticing the pair of guards behind the stranger. He looked down to find his other hand twisted in Colchester’s waistcoat. Blood ran down the duke’s pale face, with chips of glass embedded in his cheek.



“Get him off me,” Colchester snapped, spitting blood. “I demand this creature be arrested.”



And that was when Will realized who the stranger was.



Sir Jasper Lynch, master of the Nighthawks guild of thief-catchers. They’d worked together three years ago to bring down the vampire. Lynch was a hard man, but efficient. Unfortunately he was also a blue blood.



Yanking Will to his feet, Lynch stared down his hawkish nose at the duke. “Your Grace,” he said in a voice completely lacking inflection. “On what charges?”



“Assault.” Colchester rolled to his feet, brushing glass off his coat. He looked around. “Property damage.” A smirk appeared. “Attempted theft.”



Will growled and strained forward, but Lynch yanked his arm up behind his back and shoved him face-first into the wall. Even in the grip of the fury, he recognized a man who knew the right pressure points to press to hold him there, despite his superior strength.



“Don’t be a fool,” Lynch whispered deadly soft. “That’s exactly what he wants.” Then he gave one last wrench on Will’s arm and let him go.



Will shoved free, glaring at Colchester.



“We’ll need to have you make a formal complaint at the guild headquarters,” Lynch said. “Then we’ll have to find a magistrate who’ll charge him. And the witness of course,” he added, with a nod to the shopkeeper.



Colchester paused in the act of brushing himself off. “What the bloody hell do we need him for? You saw him. He attacked me with no provocation.”



“I’m afraid I intervened in an untimely manner,” Lynch replied. “I only saw two men fighting.”



The pair of them eyed each other. Colchester’s eyes narrowed. “You’re making a mistake, Lynch. I’ll have you replaced before sundown.”



“Unlikely, Your Grace,” Lynch replied. “The Council commands law enforcement in the city. Not you.”



A moment of heavy silence descended before Colchester looked away. “So be it.” Colchester’s fists clenched at his sides, and he looked past Lynch at Will. His teeth were bloody as he smiled. “Don’t think you’ll be the first. The little slut’s got a taste for it.”



It took the three Nighthawks to hold him back this time. Will fought to push past, straining for Colchester. The duke straightened his lapel, brushed the glass shards out of his cheek, and then sauntered out the door.



“Let him go,” Lynch snarled. “You’ll only get yourself killed and he’s not worth it.”



Will looked up. They’d pinned him against the wall and he was distantly aware of something warm and wet trickling down his back. Lynch stared at him for a moment then nodded curtly and stepped back.



“Let him go, boys.”



They stepped aside, breathing hard.



“You’re bleeding.” Lynch’s nostrils flared.



Will winced. The rage washed out of him, a half-dozen cuts and bruises suddenly springing to attention. The throb in his back intensified as the heat washed out of his head and his vision returned to normal. He glanced over his shoulder, then swore as it pulled through the muscles in his back. There was something sharp there.