Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [104]
“Yes.” He braced his hands against the door beside her—Thank God—slimmer shoulders, and smashed the heel of his boot onto a hand groping along the floor. “It has to be this way. My manly physique is simply too powerful.”
Her eyes filled. “No.”
“Yes. Now, on three—we switch.”
He began to count, and God, he wished he’d kissed her properly first. He wished he’d made love to her as she’d wanted. Hard, fast, angry, slow . . . it didn’t matter now.
“Three,” he said and took her place, feeling the hammering against the wood, the reverberating growls. “Now shoot me and go.”
Her gaze lifted to his. The tears were gone, he saw. Her eyes were clear, and hard, and cold. Her killing look, he knew—that heart of steel wrapping completely around her.
And then she kissed him.
Warm, firm, his mouth was everything she wanted, needed. But the zombies were growling behind him, and she couldn’t linger. She didn’t have much time, not if she wanted to save him.
She had to save him.
Yasmeen drew away, and saw his astonishment, his agony, his hope. It changed to flat denial as she said, “I’m coming back for you.”
“No—”
“Don’t you dare die,” she said. “I’m coming. And if you’re not here, you’re going to break my heart, Archimedes Fox. So hold that door.”
She sprinted for the rope. Seconds later, she stuck her head out of the shaft, looked up. Ceres hovered above—coming to rescue them, after some fucking idiot had nearly killed them.
Her shout was met with several from the decks. The rope ladder spilled over—out of reach, but she leapt for it, swinging above the harbor cliff.
On the deck, she ignored everything but the man she wanted.
“Bigor! I need your diving suit. Now, now, now!”
With a sharp nod, the marine ran for the ladder. Yasmeen stripped off her jacket, her boots. “Captain! Bring that rope ladder right to the tower door!”
He stiffened like she’d shoved a burning rod up his ass. “Mrs. Fox, you don’t—”
“Some bastard on your ship fired a gun and he’s going to die down there! Give me the fucking ladder!”
Though Guillouet shook with rage, he nodded to the mate. Good. If he hadn’t, Yasmeen would have killed him.
Bigor returned, carrying half the suit. The two other marines carried the rest. With amazing speed, they helped her into the thick canvas, fastened and buckled the brass over her limbs. The zombies might get a bite in between the brass plates, but wouldn’t break through the canvas. The brass helmet reduced her sight to nothing, but it didn’t matter: If it moved, she was going to kill it.
The canvas gloves were too heavy for a gun, but machetes were just fine. She gripped the handles. The suit felt like moving with chains tied to her ankles, her elbows. Bigor yanked the hose out of the top of the helmet, and fresh air came in.
She clanked over to the rope ladder, grabbed on, and dove in. So heavy. She fell to one knee on the stone wall as she landed, and they were on her, but Archimedes was waiting. Her blades hacked and chopped. The zombies growled and moaned, and there were so many but she would not stop, she’d never stop—
A crack sounded, the snap of wood. The tower door. Oh, by the lady—the door. She whipped around, and through the tiny, blood-streaked window of her helmet, she saw the zombies pushing against it, she saw the door shatter.
Her heart shattered with it.
I’m coming back for you.
Archimedes held on to that. He held and held—the door didn’t. Wood shattered. Hands grabbed at him. He raced across the chamber, heading for the grapnel rope. His shoulders were too wide, but by God, he could hold on until she arrived.
Boots digging into the wall, he hauled himself out of reach. He heard a sound like a muffled scream of rage and pain. Yasmeen. She’d seen the door go down.
So he’d let her know he was still inside. His revolvers were in his holsters. Gripping the rope with one hand, Archimedes aimed, fired. God, how many were in here? Thirty or forty? He’d take a good number down, but prayed for a reload to drop out of the sky.
Or for a woman with a brass suit and machetes.