The Mech Who Loved Me (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy #2)(9)

"Stand back!" one of the Nighthawks called to the mob. "There's already been one death today, and we don't want any—"

"You're cravers! Just like them as killed our sons and daughters!" A bottle launched from where the voice was coming from.

"Nobody's killing your families," said a sharp voice through a speaking trumpet. "The revolution was three years ago. We all have the same rights now—"

Another missile was launched at the fellow. "Burn the blue bloods out!"

The cry went up, and Kincaid's gut locked tight as he sensed the tide turning. Torches flared across the mob and Kincaid found himself buffeted from all sides. There was no point in pushing ahead to deal with the crime scene. The world was about to burn.

"Jaysus." Ava. He had to get back to her.

Before anyone realized what she was.

"Burn them!" The crowd chanted. "Burn them out!"

Greasy smoke stained the air. "Get out of my way!" Kincaid growled, fighting his way back the way he'd come.

"Burn them!" a man in front of him yelled, his eyes wild and a makeshift torch in his hands.

Kincaid punched him in the face, dropping him like a stone, and the crowd around him gasped, clearing a small space for him. He snatched up the torch as the fellow sputtered, and plunged it into a puddle of sludgy water in the nearest gutter.

"You'll set someone alight, you barmy bastard," he snarled, and those nearest him—who might have taken exception to his opposition—nodded as if it made sense.

Whistles blew and heads turned all across the square. Nighthawks reinforcements. It was about bloody time.

Behind him glass smashed. All it would take would be one hint of opposition—he almost felt sorry for the poor Nighthawks—and this entire scene would go up as though someone set a spark to a puddle of oil.

"Disperse peacefully!" came a voice through the speaking trumpet. "Or we will be forced to use the water cannon. Lives are at risk, and nobody wishes a fire in these close quarters!"

"Burn them!" someone bellowed. "Burn them all!"

"Kill the cravers!"

And the noise behind him roared to a crescendo.

What had bloody set them off like this? As far as he knew, the last few months had been peaceful.

Kincaid started running. Blue bloods could be hard to spot. Any man or woman with a pale face was suspect, though they could be merely someone who kept out of the sun, which meant virtually half of London. In this crowd, people wouldn't check before they bludgeoned someone to death.

Real fear began to curdle in his gut. He skidded around the corner where he'd left her. There was no sign of her. "Ava!" He kept calling, ducking back into the streets.

People fled from the mob. Kincaid was knocked aside by a man drawing his tweed coat tight around his wife. No sign of a blonde head anywhere. Where the bloody hell was she? He'd told her to stay there, damn her.

"Kincaid!"

There.

He found her in an alley a hundred feet down from where he'd left her. She trembled, her skin even paler than usual. "I-I had to move. A man demanded to know what I was doing there, and I...."

"Smart choice," he muttered, grabbing her by the upper arm, not unkindly. "Can you run?"

"What's going on?" He caught a glimpse of that upturned face. "I can hear them yelling about killing cravers."

"The Nighthawks just arrived. This whole borough's about to go up like dry tinder, and we need to get out of here. Now."

"What about the Black Vein victim?"

"He's not getting any deader." You, however.... He kept that little tidbit to himself.

"Hey!" a man declared, shoving Kincaid in the shoulder and glaring at Ava. "Is she a craver?"

Kincaid stepped between them, his lip curling back off his teeth in a snarl. "Did you just fuckin' push me?"

Doubt appeared on the fellow's face, but he tipped his chin up. "Your lady friend's got awfully pale skin. We don't like that sort here."

"If you're referring to my wife," he stated coldly, "then I'm going to take exception to your tone. And it's bloody England, man. Everyone's got pale skin."

A vial appeared in the man's hand and he threw it at Ava, even as Kincaid shoved him back a step. What the hell? He snatched a handful of the man's collar, shooting a look at her. "Ava?"

There was blood spattered all over the front of her coat. Her mouth fell open in shock but her eyes flashed black with the craving as the predator within her roused, and Kincaid knew they were in trouble.

It all happened in an instant. The man's eyes lit up. "Got one—!"

Kincaid drove his mech fist into the man's throat, crushing the sound of the words before they could draw any attention. "You son of a bitch."

The bastard dropped, clutching at his throat and making some sort of gurgling sound.

"Did you just...." Ava trembled, one hand to her lips.

"No time for manners, kitten." Kincaid grabbed her by the hand. A cry went up behind them. They'd been spotted. "Let's see how fast you can run!"

They ran for several blocks, his hand wrapped around hers. Blue bloods were faster than humans, but Ava was gasping for breath within two hundred feet, one hand clasped to her chest. For some mysterious reason, she was struggling, and with his health conditions, the fact he was outrunning her was a surprise.