You are nothing, he’d once whispered in her ear. I could take you here and now, and you couldn’t do a thing to stop me.

But he hadn’t, because it was far more enjoyable to watch her live in fear. Once he broke her, the game would no longer be as entertaining.

What could she do? Should she run? But where? And how could she take Charlie now when he was so ill? Where would she ever find another respectable job?

“Blade?” A man called, startling her back to the present.

She’d forgotten about him in the horror. And Blade was just as dangerous—if not more so—than Vickers. When she turned, she found him watching her, leaning back against the railing with that nonchalant way he had. With his leather coat over her shoulders, he wore only a white shirt and black velvet waistcoat. Despite herself, despite everything, she couldn’t help remembering how stroke-able that waistcoat had felt when he had held her in his arms.

A laugh took her. She was going mad. She had to be to think such a thing at a time like this.

Blade held up a hand, instantly silencing O’Shay. His gaze met hers, and she felt as though she were falling into a bottomless well, her body straining toward him, her eyes unable to drop from his.

“All’s well?” he asked softly.

She nodded, holding Lena’s hand tucked safely in hers. “All’s well.” It was a whisper. Her palms itched as though they hungered for the touch of him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he told her. “Don’t go out till morn. I’ll make sure Will’s on guard, just in case.”

He looked away. The spell was broken and Honoria blinked, sucking in a deep breath. She felt as though something important had happened, something that her mind couldn’t yet make heads nor tails of. Then he turned and strode back toward the bodies.

“Honor,” Lena whispered. “That man just called him Blade. He’s not the Blade, is he? Where did you go?”

Honoria held her sister’s hand, watching as Blade sauntered down the steps. “He took me for a meal.” It was starting to rain, a light drizzle that did little but dampen the air. In the distance, Blade knelt down over the pair of bodies, examining them with the trio of men at his side. “I don’t know why.”

“I don’t like him,” Lena said. “You shouldn’t see him again.”

Honoria turned and shut the door behind them. Her eyes were burning with exhaustion. There’d be little mending finished tonight. She desperately needed sleep.

“I don’t have much choice. He’s our new protector.”

***

Blade examined the blood patterns as he knelt in the street like a statue. O’Shay shifted impatiently, but Tin Man and Will just watched, letting him do what needed to be done.

He shut his eyes and let the silence of the street filter through him. Small sounds and smells started jumping out at him. Whispers from nearby houses. A dog several streets over, harassed by a pack of street children. A young boy coughing. The stink of fried sole in the nearest house.

He shut them out, went deeper. Will’s heart was hammering along at a clipping rate. O’Shay had excitement running through his veins, ready to fight or hunt. It lingered on his skin like an acrid scent. Tin Man’s breath whistled through his iron lungs. And underneath it all was the faint, rotten smell of a blue blood gone wrong.

God ’ave mercy. Blade went cold. He’d never smelled that scent—except for that moment earlier tonight—but he knew what it was. He should have listened to his instincts. The bloody creature had been watching him.

“Let’s hunt the limey bastard down,” O’Shay muttered. “We wait any longer and the trail’ll go cold.”

Blade held up a hand. And opened his eyes. “No. No one goes anywhere.”

His heart was starting to beat faster. One word of this, and the rookery would erupt like a stirred anthill as people killed each other trying to get out in a hurry. Right now a blue blood had murdered two men in Blade’s turf. Right now it was just a game between him and the Echelon. Everyone would be waiting around to see who was left standing at the end. They’d be laying coin down at Whitey’s and debating about what would change if the Echelon slit his throat and took over.

“We’re workin’ double shifts.” Until the monster was caught. Or if… “Will, you and O’Shay watch the Todd ’ousehold tonight. Watch your backs.”

“We gettin’ any relief when it starts gettin’ dirty?” O’Shay asked.

Blade stood and brushed the dust off his pants. “We’re only watchin’ the house at night. When the sun rises, you can seek your beds.”

Because there was no need to guard the rookery during the day. The creature—the blue blood gone wrong—couldn’t tolerate direct sunlight. It would go to ground, and that was when he would hunt it.

“Tin Man, you’re with me. Time to rouse the troops, get us ready for a dawn ’unt.”

“What are we ’untin’, Blade?” Will asked. His nose was wrinkling up in distaste. He could smell it too; he just didn’t know what it was.

Blade paused. Panic never did a man good. But sending his lads out to face something they were unprepared for was sending them to suicide.

“A vampire,” he replied. “But keep it f**kin’ quiet, or we’ll ’ave a riot on our ’ands.”

Chapter 5

The last dying rays of sunlight glimmered on the horizon like a molten puddle of gold. Blade walked along the edge of the gutter, hands thrust deep into his pockets. It had been a long, frustrating day. He, Tin Man, and O’Shay had worked the northern end of Whitechapel while Will, Rip, and Lark had worked the south, hunting for a scent trail.

There was plenty of rot in the ’Chapel. Plenty of fetid stinks. The stench from the nearby draining factories filled the air, overwhelmed only by the splash of urine against an alley wall or the hint of garish perfume on a whore’s throat. Blade closed his eyes and kept walking, letting his nose sort through all the distinct scents, through the layers, dropping lower and lower, hunting for that sickly sweet rot.

“Bloody ’ell,” O’Shay muttered from behind. “I ’ates when you do that.” There was a brief flurry of scrabbling feet on the slick tiles. O’Shay swore. “It’s gettin’ dark, Blade. If the vampire’s out there, he’ll be thinkin’ ’bout breakfast.”

Blade stopped. Then opened his eyes. The end of the rooftop was an inch from the toe of his boots.

“I’d rather not be breakfast,” O’Shay called. “You know what I’m sayin’?”

Blade spun on his heel. O’Shay clung to a chimney. Tin Man rolled his eyes and hopped over him, sliding down the steep incline of the roof until he hit the gutters. He sunk the hook of his left hand into the tiles and caught himself in time. More metal than man, he’d shown up on Blade’s doorstep ten years ago, mute, his body scarred, and willing to do anything for his master, as long as Blade took in the small bundle in his arms too. Rumor said he’d once worked the coal mines, where the black lung took him. How a poor coal miner ever got the coin to pay for an iron lung was never explained, though. Nor where Tin Man had gained his scars.

Blade didn’t know where Tin Man had found Lark. She could have been his child or even a sister; he didn’t know.

Tin Man stared at him. The man couldn’t talk, but his eyes were eloquent enough.

Blade nodded. Lark was out there, determined not to be left behind. The rest of the men could handle themselves, but she was only fourteen. Or near enough.

“Time to regroup.” Blade dug a whistle out of his pocket. The high-pitched noise shot straight through his ears, but neither Tin Man nor O’Shay blinked.

In the distance an answering whistle screamed through the onslaught of night. “There ’e is, lads. Back to the warren.”

***

Night was edging closer as they made their way back to the warren. Blade felt it coming, felt it seeping its way through his body. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He scrubbed at them sharply. Of late he’d been more aware of the moment the sun set.

“You all right?” O’Shay was watching him as they walked.

“Happy as a whore with a bottle o’ blue ruin,” Blade answered, forcing a smile onto his lips.

Will, Rip, and Lark were waiting at the warren. Rip stoked the fire with his usual patience, the flames reflecting off his green eyes. Will paced the parlor while Lark sat in his chair with her feet up on the footstool, scratching Puss’s chin.

“Off,” Will commanded, nudging Lark’s feet.

The girl flashed him a cheeky grin, then darted out of the room.

“Got nothin’,” Will said. “Nothin’ but piss and stink. It’s like he vanished into thin air.”

“He went to ground,” Blade said. “They always do.” He poured himself a glass of blood, swirling it under his nose. He refused to buy it from the Drainers, but there were those who offered it in exchange for coin or protection. A man could get too used to taking direct from the vein. Sometimes it was good to drink it cold. “First thing a vampire does is find a lair to ’ole up in. They ’ates the sun—it burns ’em. So it’ll be somewhere dark. Tucked up safe. A basement. An ole factory. Tomorrow we’ll spread out farther. Check the abandoned warehouses down by the docks.”

“And what about tonight?” Will asked.

“It’s glutted for the moment,” Blade said. “Won’t be out till the ’unger builds up again. We’ve got a day or two, at most. Tomorrow I want the word spread. I’m puttin’ martial law down on the rookery. Let ’em think it’s ’cos we’re about to go to war with the Ech’lon. Nobody’s allowed out at night past dusk.”

“People won’t like it,” Rip said.

“They don’t ’ave to like it,” Blade replied. He slid into his armchair, hooking his left ankle up on his knee. “If they’re caught out on the streets, they’ll answer to me. And they’d better have a bloody good answer.”

“So what’ll we do?” Rip asked, kneeling down and offering Puss a piece of hardtack from his pocket.

“Get some rest,” Blade said. “I’ve got the rookery lads keepin’ watch for the night with whistles. So keep your boots on, boys, just in case we get a sightin’. Tomorrow I want maps. We’ll mark out the areas we’ve searched and try to pinpoint where it mighta ’oled up—”

Will turned and sniffed at the air. “Someone’s comin’.”

Blade tugged his pocket watch out and examined it. Nine o’clock. If it was Honoria, she was early.

“Miss Todd,” Will said, a flash of disapproval crossing his face.

Blade tucked his watch back in his waistcoat. “Go on, off with you. No drink. No women. And keep your knives close.”

“That go for you too, ey, boss?” O’Shay shot him a leer.

“Miz Todd ain’t the sort of woman you’d be likely consortin’ with,” Blade replied. “And this serves a purpose. I ain’t forgotten ’bout Vickers.”

Even the men could hear the sound of her footsteps now, and then the brief rap on the door. Lark stuck her head in. “Miz Pryor’s ’ere. You want I should let ’er in?”

A brief swirl of Honoria’s scent swept through him, reminding him of the previous night. His blood heated. “Aye. Send for a light supper.” No doubt she’d barely eaten. “Some o’ that kidney pie and fresh bread Esme baked for dinner. And a pot o’ tea.” Ladies liked tea, didn’t they?

O’Shay snickered under his breath as he and the other men filed from the room. A cascade of striped skirts glimmered in the hallway, and each of the men took their fill of her. Honoria’s eyes widened at the sight of them and she politely murmured greetings. Then her gaze lifted and met Blade’s.

For a moment he felt as though the air was thick with the mysterious charged lightning the Echelon could produce. Though her cheeks were thin and pale, there was no sign of surrender in her eyes. She had come here with her defenses fully raised.

Blade dragged the stuffed armchair around, placing it close to the fire. The autumn nights were still long, yet a hint of winter’s chill hung in the night air. “Come,” he said, gesturing toward the chair.

Honoria tugged at her kid gloves. He pretended not to notice how thin and worn they were as he took her hat. Thick braids formed a coronet on her head, and her dress was an eye-watering confection of charcoal and white stripes. The cut of the cloth juxtaposed against itself, the stripes forming different slanting angles. A scrap of lace edged her throat, hiding the enticing glimpse of her carotid artery. Covered from top to toe. He almost felt like laughing. Did she really think it would be so easy? She reminded him of a present, just begging to be unwrapped. Starting with the buttons at her wrists. His lips, cool on the soft skin there as he licked the pale veins, feeling the pulse of her blood against his tongue. From there his mind took a detour. A slow exploration of the spill of lace at her throat. Tugging it free, revealing the smooth slope of her neck. Lips to throat, tasting the salt of her skin. His c**k surged at the thought.

Of course, she was just as likely to conk him with the satchel in her hand if he tried.

“’Ere. Let me take that,” he murmured. His fingers brushed hers as he took it. His imagination felt that touch in other, darker places, but Honoria looked far less affected.

“You’re being entirely too charming,” she said, turning on him with guarded eyes. “What are you up to?”