Walking beside Stark through the house, nodding to the guests he knew, was the most difficult thing Flynn had ever done. Bile churned in his stomach. More than once, he found himself reaching for a pistol that wasn’t there.
Stark trusted him to act the chastened son tonight; he didn’t trust him with firearms. He could have handed Flynn a knife and bared his neck. So long as Stark had Molly, there was nothing Flynn could do to hurt him.
He’d play along. He would let a Reaper bite him to prove Stark’s serum worked. He’d stand there and smile while that bastard embraced him as a son and announced that Flynn was taking his father’s place as his partner. And then he’d somehow find a way to get Molly free while Stark waited for the courts to release Flynn’s trust fund.
And then he’d die.
Stark’s greed was the only thing that had kept him safe all these years. As soon as the money was in his stepfather’s hands, there would be nothing to prevent Stark from killing him.
Stark was going to win after all. He’d already won, and Flynn was only waiting to die.
Flynn could stomach that, so long as Molly didn’t die with him.
He’d hurt her by telling her to run. He knew that. He knew Molly inside and out.
He knew she was afraid to marry him because she’d never seen a happy marriage. That she’d have gotten over that years ago if she didn’t also think he’d be better off without her. He knew she drank a whore’s potion to prevent pregnancy whenever they had sex, but she still cried every month when her courses came on. He knew that deep down inside she loved him as deeply as he loved her. If he hadn’t known that, he’d have given up on them a long time ago.
He’d always believed that eventually he’d be able to work his way past all the scar tissue around her heart to convince her that he truly loved her—her, the Molly he’d fallen in love with years ago. Now he hoped all that scar tissue would protect her from what he had to do now.
He stepped onto the stage and looked out at the crowd. Already, Flynn could see they were entertained. The news that Stark had finally brought his wayward stepson to heel would spread like wildfire the moment Stark’s friends touched down in their home cities.
The Reaper bite was icing on the cake. Stark had ensured that the news of his working vaccination would spread quickly too. Nothing like a juicy scandal to propel an advertising campaign.
Flynn’s gaze automatically sought Molly’s slender form. She was pushing her way through the crowd to the front of the room. He smiled when she elbowed a Scraper in the gut, but then forced himself to look away. It hurt having her here. He didn’t want her to watch him bend a knee to Stark. He didn’t want to see her when he knew he couldn’t touch her again.
She was going to think he’d chosen the money over her, and he would have to let her believe it.
While Stark began to speak, welcoming his guests, Flynn removed his jacket. He handed it to a waiting footman and turned back the cuff on his right sleeve. There was a patch of pink skin where Nick had bitten him. He remembered the sensation. He’d been bitten by a stray dog once, but a Reaper bite felt nothing like that. The dog’s bite had been a warning nip. The animal’s sharp canine teeth had slid in and out of his skin in an instant. A Reaper had blunt human teeth. When Nick had bit into him, it’d been more of a ripping, shredding sensation.
Nick had been careful. Flynn would give him that. He’d bit Flynn once and then let him go. That was the last thing Flynn remembered before the parasite hit his bloodstream—Nick standing over him, eyes white, his hands flexing in time to Flynn’s beating heart.
Then Flynn had felt the cold touch of the Reaper parasite slide against his consciousness, and everything afterward was darkness and pain until he’d woken up a full day later with this patch of new pink skin where the bite had been.
He’d worried he’d turned Reaper, but the cold touch of that alien presence in his mind was gone. Only the memory of it remained. He truly had no idea why Nick would prefer to remain with that thing living inside him when there was another option.
Nick moved onto the stage. Their eyes locked, and Flynn nodded once. He didn’t blame Nick for biting him. The Reaper was as much a puppet in this play as Flynn was.
Nick crossed the stage to stand beside him. Stark said something that made the crowd laugh. Molly was the only one not smiling.
Nick lifted his chin. “That’s your woman in the front? In the sheer gown?”
It wasn’t sheer. Not quite. “Keep your eyes off her.”
“Frankly, I’m afraid to turn my back,” Nick said, amused. “She has murder in her eyes. How do you sleep at night?”
Flynn didn’t answer that. He wasn’t going to think about Molly in bed. He certainly wasn’t going to discuss her with a fucking Reaper.
“You all know my son.” Stark gestured in his direction.
Flynn dutifully smiled and waved at the crowd.
“And this,” Stark said, pointing toward Nick, “is a sentient Reaper. Nicholas Givens. He’s agreed to work with my scientists in pursuit of a vaccination to prevent the parasitic infection which has afflicted him for nearly two centuries.”
Nick bowed in an old-fashioned way, which made Flynn wonder what his life had been like before he was bitten. The watching crowd fell abruptly silent. Everyone except for Molly began to slide away from the stage.
Stark took a step forward, holding up his hands. “There is no need to worry. He is a tame Reaper.”
Flynn snorted. Nick glanced his way, his lips twitching into a smile. It was Flynn’s great hope that after he was gone, Nick would rip Stark apart piece by tiny piece. Maybe he could talk Molly into transporting Nick to the border in exchange for revenge.
No.
The danger there was that Molly might try to go after Stark herself. The whole reason he was participating in this farce was to keep her safe. He didn’t want her to try and avenge him.
“Molly is a pilot too,” Flynn said, keeping his voice low while Stark reassured the crowd that they didn’t need to run for their lives. “She’s as fine a pilot as I am, maybe better.”
Nick’s brows rose and his gaze again sought Molly. “Your wife?”
“Stark is using her as leverage, but his real interest is in me. She could still get out.”
“With my help,” Nick said. “You want me to take her and run.”
If Flynn attempted to flee, he’d have everyone on his tail the moment he took off. Stark would never let him go. But maybe Molly and Nick could escape, especially if he stayed behind to cover their break. And if they did get free, Nick could protect Molly better than Flynn had ever been able to.
“Get her to a ship, and she’ll fly you down the mountain.”
Nick’s expression was guarded. “I’ll think about it.” He gestured toward Stark. “He’s ready for us. Here comes the sacrificial lamb.”
The gasp and murmur of the crowd nearly drowned out the rattle of metal wheels on the marble. Flynn wondered if that was an oversight, or if Stark had purposefully left the wheels unwrapped to add to the theatric horror of the death cart being rolled toward the stage. The crowd parted and watched with a mixture of shock and anticipation as the condemned man was brought to the stage.
“In order to prove to you that this sentient Reaper is in fact a Reaper, I’ve arranged for a demonstration. The man before you was condemned for the foulest of crimes. He murdered a family on Stormking—a man and wife, their two young sons, and then raped their daughter before also ending her life.”
It would have been a horrible story if it’d been true, but the bound and gagged man in the cage wasn’t a condemned man…or at least he hadn’t been a few days ago when he’d been wearing a guard’s uniform.
It was the guard Flynn and Nick had overpowered in their escape. His eyes were wild and his hair unkempt. He was howling beneath the gag.
Nick moved quickly, joining Stark at the front of the stage. He said something sharply to Stark, but Flynn couldn’t hear it. The words were drowned out by the commotion his movement caused in the crowd.
While they argued, Flynn watched Molly. She’d started to inch forward. There was no way she could have a weapon hidden about her person, not in that dress. He frowned at the amount of skin she’d exposed. When she looked up at him, he shook his head.
Don’t try it.
He didn’t know what “it” was, but he knew for sure he didn’t want Molly to do anything reckless. Her mouth firmed, and she took a step closer to the guard nearest the stage, the one with his hands up and his head turned, smiling his assurance to an elderly Scraper couple that everything was under control. His revolver was holstered, but it would be the easiest thing in the world for Molly to relieve him of it. She’d been a pickpocket as a child. The guard might not even notice that his weapon was missing until he tried to draw it.
He shouldn’t have made that remark about the theater. He’d wanted her to know that he wasn’t entirely a willing participant in this farce, so that maybe later when she was safe she might find it in her heart to forgive him. She was too quick. The remark had only made her suspicious.
She’d been working in a theater the first time he met her on Stormking. He’d been trying to figure out how to tell Gideon Moore that his shipment of French brandy hadn’t fetched as high of a price on Eyrion as he’d hoped. Gideon had a bad habit of shooting messengers back then, and Flynn had slipped in to the dancehall to stall for time while he decided whether to pocket the money and run, or face Gideon down.
He’d stayed all night just for a chance to speak with her, but she’d managed to slip through his fingers. Upon leaving, he’d heard a scuffle in the alley and had paused to help when he heard a feminine cry of distress. Most of the audience had kept walking, but Flynn had always had a soft spot for women in trouble.
He’d seen her hair first, blazing copper red under the lantern light from the back door of the hall. There’d been a body at her feet and a length of iron in her upraised hands. He’d thought her set to do murder, and so apparently had the weeping man lying in a puddle on the filthy alley floor.
Instead of swinging the iron, she said, “Get out of here and never come back. If I see you sniffing around Lorie again, I will make a change purse out of your ball sac. Go.”
The man had scrambled to his feet and rushed past a bemused Flynn. When he’d turned back, Molly had advanced on him still holding the iron. It was probably at that moment there that he’d truly fallen in love with her.
She was the strongest, fiercest woman he’d ever known.
He wouldn’t put it past Stark to drag her onto the stage to use in his demonstration if she tried anything foolish. He walked over to grab Nick’s arm. When the Reaper turned to glare at him, he glared back. “Do it.”
“He’s innocent.”
A Reaper with scruples. Who’d have thought such a thing was possible?
“Stark recruits from the work gangs on Stormking,” Flynn said. “No one who works for him is innocent.”
“That’s what I was trying to tell him,” Stark said, brushing at the wrinkle Nick had placed in his sleeve. “This guard had one responsibility, and he failed at it miserably. He was your jailor. I thought you would view this as a gift.”
Nick ignored Stark, and regarded Flynn scornfully. “You’re more like your father than I thought.”
Flynn flinched, but didn’t relent. He could be as ruthless as Stark where Molly was concerned. Stark would kill the guard with or without Nick’s help. He would kill Flynn too when all was said and done.
“Bite the guard,” he said. “Bite me. Let’s end this.”
They needed to end it before Molly decided to intervene.
Molly ignored the disapproving expression on Flynn’s face as she crept up behind the distracted guard. More than one Scraper had already fled the hall, and most of the remaining women appeared ready to swoon. The men were tense, not wishing to appear cowardly, but not liking the turn Stark’s show was taking.
Stark had brought a Reaper into their midst.
It was almost too easy.
The Scrapers were only standing their ground now because they weren’t entirely convinced that the man standing on the stage was actually a Reaper. One little push and she could cause a stampede.
Flynn didn’t want her to get involved, but that was too bad. She’d figured out what his game was and she wasn’t playing. She was the gun Stark had pointed at his head. It was the only thing that made sense. Stark must have threatened to hurt her, and Flynn was sacrificing himself for her sake. She couldn’t think of any other reason that Flynn would agree to work with his stepfather.
He was protecting her because he loved her. He loved her just as deeply and hopelessly as she loved him.
No, not hopelessly.
Flynn had always been the optimistic one in their relationship. He’d never given up on her, even when she’d tried to let him go. Breaking things off with him had been like cutting off her arm. Worse, it’d been like taking a knife and cutting her heart out of her chest. She’d thought she’d done it for his sake—just like he thought he was saving her now—but it had been fear driving her all along. She’d been afraid that she wasn’t worthy of that kind of love. That Flynn would one day look at her and see her for a fraud. That she would let him down in the end. But those were just excuses.
Flynn knew her better than she knew herself, and he still loved her. A lot. Almost as much as she loved him. So, no, she wasn’t going to run off with her tail tucked between her legs on his say-so. She was staying right here, and she was going to save his ungrateful ass.
She drew the guard’s gun from his holster, raised it above her head and shot out one of the chandeliers. Glass shattered. Lights flickered. People began to scream and scurry for the exits. Flynn…Flynn stood stock-still, glaring at her.
He was angry she wasn’t following orders. She could understand that. He was being all noble and protective. It was one of the things she loved about him. She did. But they were going down together or not at all. If they survived this, she’d find a way to make it up to him later.
She grinned, and Flynn’s fearsome scowl deepened.
Then a guard rushed her, and she had her hands too full to worry about what Flynn thought of her plan.
Molly was glorious.
The guard tried to grab her to recover his gun, but she slipped free. The guard’s fingers tangled in the net covering her hair. The netting tugged free and Molly’s silky red hair tumbled loose about her shoulders. The gauzy shawl fell to the ground. She stood there half-naked, draped in shimmering silk. Her feet planted, she fired again into the air like a hunter trying to herd a pack of buffalo toward a jump.
If Stark had had a gun on him, he likely would have pointed it at Flynn’s head. Instead, he allowed the remaining guard to usher him from the stage away from the crazy woman with a gun and the enraged Reaper.
Flynn grabbed Nick’s arm and pulled him in the opposite direction. “Come on. This way.”
Nick glanced over his shoulder. “We should take care of Stark before he causes us trouble.”
“Not now,” Flynn said, walking determinedly into the crowd.
First, he had to get to Molly.
He cut through people who were running straight at them. It was difficult going until Nick pushed ahead of him to clear a path.
When Molly saw Nick coming at her, she shot him. It was a shoulder hit. Flynn saw Nick’s torso jerk sharply to the right as the bullet threw him off balance. Nick shouted and lunged toward Molly, but Flynn tackled him to the ground before he could reach her.
“Your wife shot me,” Nick growled.
“It was a warning shot,” Flynn said. “If she’d wanted to hit you in the head, she would have. You’ll heal.”
Nick glared at him with his unnervingly pale eyes. “It still hurts.”
Flynn looked up to see Molly standing over them. She studied Nick’s shoulder, the skin writhing around the bullet hole, already starting to knit itself back together. “So he really is a Reaper?”
“He is.” Flynn pushed himself to his feet and grabbed Molly’s shoulders. “He’s a friend. Don’t shoot him again.”
Time was an issue. The crowd was panicked, but the guards were trying to restore order. They’d likely pull back to the landing pad to make sure no one could get out. He and Molly weren’t nearly out of trouble yet, but he needed to hold her, just for a second, to feel her heart beating against his chest. He kissed her, fiercely, and then set her back on her heels.
Her gray eyes glittered, a storm brewing. Her mouth was damp from his kiss. They could die at any minute and all he wanted to do was kiss her again. This was the reason he’d decided to go respectable. Molly threw him off balance, always. It was only a bad thing when there were people shooting at them.
“I told you I didn’t need to be saved.”
She looked at him like he was the stupidest creature in the world. “Consider this a kidnapping, then. Either way, I’m not leaving you in your stepfather’s care. He will kill you. You know that. He’ll use you, steal your money and then put a bullet in your head. No one will even question it now that there are witnesses to your reconciliation.”
Of course Molly would see through Stark’s machinations. There was no one sharper.
“What’s your plan?” he asked, hopeful that she had one. “Stark will have the ships locked down by now.”
Her gaze swept the room. She was making things up as she went along, just as she always did. Jump first and then look for a place to land—that was Molly with everything except him. Marriage was the only thing she’d ever balked at.
Her gaze fixed on a group of dancing girls in the corner of the room, and her smile widened. “Come on,” she said. “I have an idea.”
Nick wordlessly fell into step beside her, and Flynn followed. Of course he did. He’d follow Molly anywhere. To hell and back if need be. Which was good, because that might be exactly where they were headed.
One of the Scrapers shot at Nick. He missed. The bullet hit a large silver urn holding several gallons of punch. Red liquid spilled like a fountain onto the white marble. An elderly woman slipped and fell. Nick ripped the gun from the man’s hand before he could fire again and calmly handed it to Flynn before turning to Molly. “Where to?”
Most women—most people—would run screaming from a Reaper, sentient or not. Molly trusted Flynn’s judgment. He said the Reaper was a friend, and she didn’t even question it.
“The landing pad is still our best bet,” she said as they pushed through the crowd. “Stark’s guests will provide enough cover for us to get there. Everyone’s going to want to get down the mountain.”
Flynn didn’t like the idea of using innocent people for cover. “The guards—”
“They won’t shoot into the crowd.”
Flynn wasn’t as certain, but he let her go. Molly made a beeline for the dancing girls, who scattered as they approached, revealing a door that opened onto a plain corridor. Molly jogged halfway down the hall and opened a door to a large room. It looked like the back room at a theater, with mirrors and makeup scattered about on a long table and bags of clothing thrown against the wall.
Molly went to the windows, threw up the sash and was out before Nick had even closed the door behind them. The good thing about being bitten by a Reaper was that the parasite had healed the bullet wound in his leg as well as the gash in his arm from the bite before Stark’s serum had overpowered it. It made landing on the rocky ground a lot easier than it had been the last time around.
The night sky was black and cloudless, the air sharp and clean. Molly caught his expression and grinned. “A fine night for flying.”
He tipped his head in agreement. “If we can find a ship.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’ll be easy.”
“I thought you didn’t like that word.”
“It hasn’t failed us yet.”
She started off at a jog on light, sure feet. Nick outpaced her within a dozen feet, reaching the front of the house first. Flynn brought up the rear. They weren’t the first ones outside. Dozens of Stark’s guests milled about on the front lawn, shivering miserably in their dress clothes, calling out to locate their companions and generally looking terrified and uncertain.
Stark stood before the door, attempting to calm everyone down. Gaslight torches lit up the porch and lawn, shimmering off jewels and satin. The path to the landing pad was blocked by a pair of beefy guards, who turned back anyone who tried to pass.
The landing pad blazed with light, but the tower was silent. None of the ships were grounded. All of them were aloft, but completely inaccessible without the tower. Flynn supposed a person might try to shimmy up one of the anchor lines, but that was as desperate a plan as trying to scale the cliff face.
“We’re fucked,” he said.
Molly didn’t reply, her face set in grim lines. He’d likely have to keep her from rushing the guards. Strategic retreat wasn’t in her vocabulary.
“We’re not fucked yet,” Nick said. “Get the ship.”
He walked directly into the crowd, roaring in fury. It was a chilling sound that shouldn’t have come from a human throat. When Reapers fought among themselves, that was probably how they issued the challenge. Everyone turned in his direction, and then began to run.
Molly swore under her breath. “What the hell is he doing?”
“Creating a distraction,” Flynn said, pushing her toward the tower. “See if you can get to a ship. I’m going to try and help him.”
“You’re going to risk your neck for a Reaper?”
Flynn nodded. “He’s a friend.”
“Try to keep your friend from biting any of the guests.”
She might hate Scrapers in general, but she’d never liked seeing people get hurt.
“Go on,” he said. “I’ll catch up.”
Molly fisted her hand in his shirt. “You better. Or I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”
He touched her flushed cheek and grinned. “You chasing after me? That’d be a change.”
Molly pushed off his chest and stepped back. “Get your friend. I’ll meet you on the west side of the lawn. Ten minutes.”
He nodded, not doubting for a second that she’d be there. Ten minutes would be enough time to take care of Stark and grab Nick. “Ten minutes.”