The Mech Who Loved Me (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy #2)(10)

"There they are!" someone screamed.

And Kincaid made a decision. "We're going up."

"Up?"

He turned and caught her around the waist, lifting her in the air. "Lean on my shoulder."

"What are you doing?"

"Put your foot in my hand."

"Kincaid!" He ignored her cry and grabbed hold of her foot. The second he had a firm grip, he launched her into the air.

She landed on the roof, scrabbling for purchase on the tiles. Kincaid eyed the narrow alley they'd ducked into, then ran at the opposite wall, leaped onto a rain barrel, and shoved off the wall. He twisted in midair, catching hold of the gutter behind him near Ava's foot, and then used brute strength to haul himself up beside her. His legs might threaten to buckle beneath him occasionally, but he still had an enormous amount of strength in his upper body.

"Keep going, we're not out of danger yet," he said, finding his feet and helping her onto hers. The skirts were going to be a problem. Kincaid grabbed hold of her arm again, aware he was probably bruising her, but unable to slow down. Ava would survive a tight grip or two right now.

If that mob got their hands on her though, then he didn't like her chances.

"Come on," he said, hurrying across the rooftop and helping her scramble over the gable. Chimneys dotted the rooftops, but the only smoke was coming from behind them. The sun had showed its face this morning for the wedding, but dark clouds seemed to have come from nowhere, and it was getting hard to see. "Let's get out of this mess."

"But where?" Ava bit her lip, glancing back toward the screams and the smoke.

Only one place to take her. He cursed under his breath, hating the thought of the intrusion into his private life, but he couldn't risk her safety. Not in these streets.

"My uncle lives nearby. We can take shelter there until this blows over."

Ava gently put her hand in his.





Four





BANG. BANG. Kincaid rapped on the door to a small house in Fitzrovia, then reached up under the thatch and lifted a key down. He opened the door, ushering her inside. "Ian? Orla? It's just me."

Silence echoed through the small house. It smelled musty, and... there was some odor Ava didn't like. Like liniment, and tonics, and sickness. Trying to catch her breath after that mad dash across the rooftops of London, she was helpless to do anything but stumble inside after the big mech. The heart that ticked in her chest was made of biomech pieces—a literal clockwork heart—and she'd been warned against too much exertion, as the atrial pump might not be able to handle the flow pace.

Nobody truly knew the limits of her heart, and she wasn't interested in testing it.

Sweat clung to Kincaid's back. He'd lost his coat somewhere along the way, using it to lower her down into the streets once they'd lost the crowd chasing them. He should have looked unruly, but she couldn't deny there was something vital about him in this moment, something very masculine. He was everything she'd never been drawn to before, towering over her first fiancé, Paul, and even Byrnes. Brute was possibly the term she'd first thought when she caught sight of him, and yet there was also something comforting about his size and height, especially today.

His stride was long and firm, his manner brusque and competent. She'd been so scared, and having him there at her side was the only thing that kept her from being overcome with fright.

"Are you all right?" he demanded, setting her leather satchel on the table.

"This is your... uncle's home?" Ava hovered in the kitchen he'd led them into, not quite daring to take another step.

Kincaid didn't look happy to have her here, and his manner had become curt on the way. Irritation and nervousness about the riot? Or was it something else? She couldn't quite read him.

"Aye." He captured her fingertips, looking down at her from beneath those dark lashes that made his eyes so very blue. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Hurt her? "Pardon?"

"I wasn't very gentle," he admitted, and brushed the backs of his fingers against her upper arm.

She'd probably sport a bruise or two in the morning, but that mattered little. "You saved my life," she blurted. "I thought that man's friends were going to set me on fire."

Coldness burned in his eyes. "Like hell. Not while I'm there."

She'd seen the look in the man's eyes when he threw that vial of blood all over her. The shock of it—the smell, the splatter against her face—had ignited the craving within her and it had taken her precious moments to get herself under control. Suddenly it made her feel sick. Ava tugged at the buttons on her coat, and started stripping it down over her arms. She wanted it off. "He looked at me like he hated me. He looked at me like I was a monster. Get this off me...."

The damned sleeve was caught on her wrist. She tugged and pulled, but to no avail.

Firm hands caught her arms, helping her with the sleeve. "Ava, you're not a monster."

No? She had to get the blood off her. The craving virus roused through her, bringing a rush of blood through her veins. "I've never felt that way before. I've never done a damned thing wrong, and yet—"

"Hey, now." His voice lowered, and he rubbed her arms even as she threw her coat on the floor.