Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [105]
“I love you!” he called out, then shot a zombie coming at Yasmeen from behind, and another trampling the clockwork man. He heard more shots now, too—and there were fewer new zombies racing in. The crew on the airship must have been clearing off the wall leading to the tower. He fired until he was out. Only a few zombies left in the chamber. He dropped, triggered the springs at his forearms, and hacked the blade through the zombie that came running at him. Yasmeen finished off the last.
He heard her laugh, muffled by the helmet. The chamber floor was an inch deep in blood, deeper in twitching body parts. He wiped off the blades usually hidden in his forearm guards and pushed them back in. His shoulder harness dripped; he didn’t think about it, just slung it over his arm.
The cargo lift waited outside. They stepped aboard, and Archimedes unbolted her helmet, lifted it off, tossed it aside. Her face was streaked with sweat—and tears? Her chest hit his with a clank, and she was laughing again when he kissed her, so deep, unable to stop until they were almost at the deck. He unbuckled the blood-streaked plates, the soaked canvas. Her breeches and shirt were clean, her calves and feet bare.
When the lift clanked into place, they faced Captain Guillouet’s loaded gun.
Yasmeen stilled, her hand tightening on his. Archimedes waited, then realized—she didn’t have a gun, and his revolvers were empty.
“Mr. Bigor, please escort Mr. Fox to the wardroom, and guard him while I speak with his wife. Keep a gun on him at all times, so that she knows not to step out of place.”
Bigor hesitated for only the briefest moment. Then he drew his weapon, aimed it at Archimedes. “Mr. Fox.”
“If you hear any kind of commotion from Mrs. Fox, shoot him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take him below.”
With her gaze locked on Guillouet’s gun, Yasmeen let go of his hand. As Archimedes stepped from the cargo lift to the deck, he said softly, “I’ll be coming for you.”
Then he saw her eyes, and now he knew cold. Now he knew hard.
“You’d better hurry,” she said.
No commotion. Yasmeen could have disarmed Guillouet and taken him down with barely a sound, but she couldn’t halt a commotion if everyone saw her do it. So she would be patient.
Obviously feeling bold with his pistol aimed at her face, Guillouet stepped close. “Come to my cabin, Mrs. Fox.”
Wrapping his fist in the hair at her nape, he shoved her in front of him, tucked the gun barrel behind her ear. She walked obediently, noting the expressions of the crew around them. Vashon with jaw set and a disapproving glower, and the twin with an angrier match. Some shock. Some who wouldn’t look her way. Guilt? Uncomfortable?
As they should be. When a man forced a woman into his cabin, it usually only meant one thing.
“Who shot the gun?” she wondered aloud. Their quick glances and the pain lancing through her scalp told her without a word. “You, Captain?”
“Twenty years on a ship and I have never had to shout over my own men,” he said. “And I will not talk over you. Do not speak again until I tell you to, Mrs. Fox.”
So he’d had to shoot his gun to get the attention of his crew. What had they been arguing over? Wages? Women? Did it even matter?
Not really. Captain Guillouet wouldn’t be a captain much longer.
He held the gun on her as they went down the ladder. He pushed her past a staring, wide-eyed Henri.
“Even the boy paid for his,” Yasmeen said.
Pain exploded in the back of her head. She stumbled, and black spots danced in her vision. Her claws dug into her palms. He’d whipped her with the gun butt.
Now, she might not even make it quick.
He shoved her through the cabin door, locked it behind him. “Stand next to the table, Mrs. Fox, and turn around.”
With her back to him, her hands flat on the surface. She complied, then watched