Tethered Read online

  But it wasn’t enough.

  He could still picture the stabbing hurt in Yasmeen’s gaze when she’d looked up at him, could still feel the nothing inside as he’d looked back. He hadn’t cared. God, that wasn’t him—but the memory of her expression was his, the vision of her pain that he hadn’t even tried to protect her from, and it ripped him open now, filled him with shame.

  Even that wasn’t enough.

  Every time he turned toward the harbor, the sight of Lady Nergüi was a razor to his gut. He couldn’t go back, not yet. Not until he was himself again. But he couldn’t go to the wall, where armed men fired into the night, where the ravenous moans and growls never ceased. There were other places, though—zombies couldn’t be found in Port Fallow’s worst rum dives, but when the patrons had enough to drink, they were almost the same. Stinking, vacant-eyed, and willing to tear a man apart at the slightest provocation.

  Archimedes couldn’t see much difference—and shortly after provoking the right one, he couldn’t see anything past the blood and the sweat dripping into his eyes.

  This, too, wasn’t enough. But it was something.

  Something absurd. Laughing wildly, he swung at a drunken giant and was pummeled in return. Ah, God, yes. This was pain, rupturing through his chest and gut, eating away the edges of his memory until the agony of remembering her face and his nothing in response began to blur. Until the goddamn mechanical bugs in his blood were forced to begin healing him, until they had a use other than smothering him into oblivion.

  A fist sent him into that void, instead. Archimedes reeled back, hit a wall. His knees folded. The world spun and darkened.

  That wasn’t enough.

  Killing Bilson might be. That duplicitous bastard had used him to get to Yasmeen. She’d found a new ship and new crew and Bilson had ripped it from her…using her love for him. God. Would she resent him for that? Hate him for it?

  That pain of that thought was too much, shredding everything, leaving only despair. It had to be Bilson, instead, the utter betrayal of using that device. Embracing his horror and anger, Archimedes pushed the darkness away and lifted his head.

  Longcock squatted in front of him, a foaming pint in hand, and more foam dissolving in his blond mustache. His rough blue tunic bulged over his arms and chest, covering the guns beneath without concealing them. Behind him, the drunken giant was on the floor, rubbing his jaw.

  “And he’s awake,” the first mate said. “Are you done?”

  Hurting everywhere, but not enough. “Not yet.”

  Longcock nodded, as if unsurprised. “Did you mean to pick out the biggest one?”

  “Yes.” And would have gone another round, except the drunken giant was hauling himself up and sidling toward the door, keeping one eye on Longcock. “Not that it does me any good now that you’ve chased him away.”

  “I thought the device had addled your brains. But any man who salvages rubbish from a continent full of zombies can’t have many brains to begin with.”

  Even smiling pained him, so Archimedes laughed and relished the full-bodied, agonizing effect.

  Longcock shook his head. “I can’t figure New Worlders. Buggers like me lived all our lives under the tower in London, and when that tower went down we went mad with feeling. I did things during the revolution I can’t bear to think of now, that even as a pirate, it couldn’t compare. Before that, I thought I knew who I was—and after, I’d have done anything to just stop feeling again, to stop hurting, to know myself again. That’s what every bugger did. But you go and do the opposite.”

  For the same reasons, though. Even as the buttoned-up inknose, he’d felt deeply. That signal took it all away—and didn’t let him care that it was gone. Longcock hadn’t known who he was when the tower went down; Archimedes didn’t know who he was when it was up.

  He knew who he wanted to be, who he should be—and it wasn’t this. None of this was enough.

  Doing the opposite wasn’t enough, either, though that was part of him, too. “If I did what was expected of me, I’d bore everyone.”

  “True enough. Though that puts another light on Archimedes Fox, Adventurer,” Longcock mused. “You’re a madman with an airship, searching for danger.”

  Almost all correct. “It’s her airship.”

  “No doubt of that.” The first mate nodded, his gaze shrewd. “And you running away from it is the opposite of sense, too. If I was searching for danger, the last thing I’d do would be leaving that ship.”

  Leaving her. Yasmeen. Archimedes’ gut clenched. He’d left her. Terrified, he’d left her. Terrified of what he might do, what he might say. His emotions often got the best of his sense—and the last time he’d surfaced out of a tower-induced fugue, he’d sunk Temür Agha’s barge and destroyed his war machines. Christ knew what he might have done to her ship or in front of her crew.

  But Bilson had jeopardized her ship and her crew, anyway. She might resent Archimedes for making her vulnerable. But, by God, he would convince her to let him stay.

  He’d seduce her. She admired his clever tongue. He’d use it in every way a man could to win her over again.

  Longcock rocked back a bit. “If you’re looking at me like that, friend, then I know your brain’s addled.”

  “Not at you.” With effort, Archimedes stood. “If I was, you’d already be in my arms.”

  “And here I thought you were coming to your senses.”

  He wasn’t. His emotions weren’t balancing any better than his feet were. But he was finally getting there, heading in the right direction. This felt more like him.

  “I’d charm you,” he told the first mate. “You’d fall desperately in love with me.”

  “No man could be more mistaken—”

  “I won her heart. Yours would be no challenge in comparison.”

  The other man paused. “You have a point.”

  So he did, but Archimedes was already losing it. The oily, smoking funk of the harbor led him to the docks, and revulsion disturbed his brief humor. Pain shot through his knuckles when he gripped the rope ladder. With each step, he reminded himself—he wouldn’t kill Bilson. Dead was better than nothing, but he couldn’t bear seeing her reaction to that statement again.

  He wouldn’t kill Bilson for that, either.

  The crew must have thought he was there to kill someone. Wary, they watched him cross the deck. Blood spotted his shirt. His waistcoat was gone. Yasmeen had taken it off of him before she’d taken him in her mouth, before Bilson’s device had taken the rest. He shouldn’t go to her like this.

  But he did, because she was the right direction to take—and because Longcock had been right, too. He’d been an idiot to leave.

  She sat at their desk, and looked up as he entered the cabin. Raw emotions raced across her face—fear, pain, uncertainty—and all of them chased by relief.

  God. How was it that poets hadn’t dedicated thousands of verses to the expressive tilt of her eyes? Where were the songs to her lips, her sharp teeth? He would write them, and sing them, and lay at her feet.

  “You’re all right.” Her gaze lingered on his battered face, the blood on his shirt, but it wasn’t quite a question. She knew he was more resilient than that.

  But not resilient enough.

  “Not yet.” He closed the door. “But I realized that there was no need to keep running, to keep fighting. The most dangerous person in Port Fallow is on this airship.”

  She watched him for a long moment. Then her eyes cooled, and her smile held a knife’s edge. A shiver worked up his spine, delicious and terrifying.

  “Yes.” Slowly, she lay down her pen. “I am.”

  His heart pounded. Christ, the thrill she gave him with that simple movement outstripped the onslaught of a dozen zombies. Wary, he stalked closer. “Do I interrupt your writing, Captain?”

  “No.” She watched him come, elbows on the desk and her fingers steepled, clicking her claws together. Her casual posture was deceptive, he knew. She could sp
ring at any moment. “It is only a reply to Lord Scarsdale.”

  Scarsdale. Though never Yasmeen’s lover, the man had touched her, kissed her when Archimedes couldn’t…when he hadn’t wanted anything more than the woman Scarsdale had beneath his hands and lips.

  Old jealousy sparked; over the course of a step, Archimedes blew that spark into a conflagration. “I don’t want you to write him again. Or see him.”

  Her brow arched. “No?”

  “I’ll kill him if you do.” And by God, he meant it.

  A cruel little smile curved her mouth. “After your performance tonight, maybe I’ll go back to him. He doesn’t even desire women and managed to get hard with me.”

  Go back to him? Rage flared, burning hot. Blind with it, fists shaking, he barely stopped himself from charging, rooted his feet to the deck.

  Her body smashed into his without warning and sent him staggering. He caught his balance; she caught his hair, yanked his head back. Her strong legs wrapped his hips. Sharp teeth snapped near his ear, then closed over his exposed throat, her tongue hot against his skin. Archimedes froze as she bit, exquisite needles of pain.

  She could kill him like this, so easily.

  The heat of rage consumed itself, smoldered into lust. His blood raced, the tension in his muscles subtly shifting from wariness to anticipation. His cock stiffened, ached. He held her against him, her taut bottom filling his palms.

  Yasmeen.

  He breathed her name. She released his throat, dragged her tongue beneath his jaw. Shuddering, he lifted her against his erection, grinding between her thighs, and a groan ripped from his chest. God, this feeling. So rough, so sweet. No other woman had ever excited him as she did. No other woman ever would.

  Her breath rasped in his ear, each inhalation ragged, as if her control was as tattered as his, the need to touch overwhelming.

  With her legs anchored around him, she loosened her grip in his hair. He caught her hands, drew them down. No need to hold him, to bite him. He was all right now, exactly where he wanted to be, and this was him, hungry for her. Her claws thrilled him, but he didn’t need them. He didn’t need her to threaten him. He just needed her. He just needed to show her that the disinterest had been a lie, that he could never not want her, and to soothe the hurt he’d caused. It wasn’t the danger that excited him; it was her. Only her.

  Her pulse thrummed beneath his thumbs as he captured her hands behind her back, gently shackling her wrists with his fingers. He’d use only his tongue now, and show her—

  Yasmeen’s body exploded into motion against his. She ripped out of his arms, her foot shoving into his chest—not hard, just enough to get away. Still, shock sent him tripping backward.

  The same shock was reflected on her face. Crouching on the deck boards, Yasmeen stared at him, openmouthed. “I didn’t…” She swallowed hard. “Don’t restrain my hands.”

  Oh, now that was pain. Anger came with it. “You don’t trust me?”

  Her jaw tightened. “That’s not what I said.”

  “I know. You said today, ‘I know you’d never hurt me,’” he mocked her accent. “I see how well you mean it.”

  “You don’t see anything.” Her eyes narrowed, and she shifted her weight, as if preparing to pounce. Christ, his cock had never been this hard before. “You’re a goddamn fool right now.”

  “Your fool.” He spat the words, and she laughed. Laughed.

  “And God help us,” she said—but didn’t pounce. Her attack was far more liquid than that, a sublime dance of muscle and stealth. He had but a moment to watch, her deadly beauty striking him speechless, motionless.

  Then she was behind him, around him, dragging him down to the boards. Her knees pinned his arms; her weight across his stomach stole his breath. She leaned down, her incredible face directly over his.

  “Archimedes.” She whispered his name and pressed her lips to his jaw. “Archimedes.”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but she took it from him with a soft, searching kiss. His eyes burned. The ache that filled his chest was unbearable, but he wanted more of it, more of this. A kiss meant she loved him.

  Loved him.

  God, and this was what he’d come back for. What he’d feared might have been destroyed. And he had been a fool—not to run, but to think that he would find what he needed anywhere but here.

  He trembled, and she released his arms. He held her to him, returning the kiss, deepening it. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat, her chest hitched, and then he was lost to the heat of her mouth, the taste of her skin, her shuddering cry as she took him in. Here was rage and sorrow, joy and fear. Despair…and love. She gave him everything.

  And he would never get enough.

  Chapter 5

  She couldn’t breathe.

  She should have been able to. The hole at the top of her brass helmet let in air. But air wasn’t the problem—it was her chest. Her heart was giving out.

  Ravenous growls filled her head. She chopped away at the zombies. The door was only a few feet away. Archimedes was trapped behind that rotten wood, bracing the entrance against the zombies’ attack. He just had to hold on. Only a few more were left, but she had to hack and hack and endlessly hack, and more were coming, and the wood…was cracking.

  The sound splintered through her chest. The door shattered inward.

  Her scream ripped like a knife from her gut to her throat. Staggering, she was hit from behind and then carried along as the zombies crowded, rushed through the door. She swung the machete, hacking, killing—but it didn’t matter, because she was dead now, too.

  But…no. When she made it through the door, all would be right. She would look up and see Archimedes clinging to the rope, above the zombies’ reach—holding on, just as she’d told him to. Then sharp relief would wake her.

  Except he wasn’t on the rope. And there was her heart, gone, gone, as the zombies surrounded him, tore at him, and he looked at her. There was nothing in his eyes. No love, no pain, nothing.

  Her screams tore at her throat again, and she hacked, hacked. She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t bear it even in a dream, she had to wake up, had to wake—

  Yasmeen opened her eyes, her heart racing. With shaking hands, she reached for Archimedes, as she always did on waking from this nightmare.

  He was gone.

  She jolted up. Pain shot though her knees, still healing from the explosion that had destroyed her lady. Her relief at seeing Archimedes at the end of the bed only lasted a moment; sympathy took its place. Nude, he sat with his shoulders hunched and elbows braced on his thighs, his head in his hands. Despair and rejection traced every line of his body.

  Ignoring the ache in her knees, Yasmeen slid toward him. His head came up, fingers wiping at his eyes. Throat suddenly raw, she slid her arms around his waist, lay her cheek against the back of his shoulder.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Not completely. But I will be,” he said, and she heard his smile in his voice, felt his determination in the long, shuddering breath that he drew. His palm cupped her left knee, fingers softly massaging the stiffness away. “And I’m sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “A few times last night…I was rough with you.”

  That was all? It was true, the instability of his emotions meant that they’d gone a few rounds before exhaustion had finally worn them down, but nothing had been said or done that needed an apology now. Yasmeen gently nipped his shoulder. “And we’ve never been rough before?”

  “Never with anger. Not out of jealousy.”

  “And I deliberately pushed you to both, knowing that you would squeeze every bit of emotion out of them. Wasn’t that what you wanted after the device stole that from you?”

  His answer was a kiss pressed to her fingers, and a grin. “I’m squeezing out every bit of shame now.”

  “So you are.” And without needing her to push him to it. Some emotions had been easier to find in him than others. “Are you truly je
alous of Scarsdale?”

  “No. But I was, once.” He moved his attentions to her right knee, fingers gently working. “I am envious of how much time he has spent with you, the years he’s been your friend—but I don’t begrudge him that time.”

  “You have me now.”

  “And I often feel like crowing that fact to everyone I see.”

  So did she. Yasmeen smiled, held him closer. His fingers paused on her knee.

  “And your reaction when I restrained your hands? That wasn’t deliberate. I scared you. I’m sorry for that, too. I didn’t know.”

  “I didn’t know, either,” she said. She’d been utterly shocked by her reaction.

  Tension stiffened his shoulders. “I wasn’t myself.”

  Oh. He still thought she hadn’t trusted him because of the device’s effect on his emotions. Even if he were enraged beyond reason, she would put her life in his hands.

  She had more difficulty risking his life.

  “I trust you,” she said. “But I don’t trust anyone else. When you held my hands, I was terrified by the idea that someone could come into the cabin, and I wouldn’t be able to protect you.”

  Though he was quiet for a long moment, his tension didn’t ease. “I would protect us both.”

  “I know. But it wasn’t about knowing. It was more…instinctive.”

  Archimedes smiled faintly, reached up to flick her tufted ear—the one ticklish spot she had. Damn him. She squirmed, refusing to voice a single giggle, and retaliated with the scrape of her claws across his chest.

  He groaned. “Stop arousing me like that, woman. You’ve already squeezed me dry.”

  So she had. She’d enjoyed every second of it.

  But she hadn’t enjoyed everything that had happened the previous night. Her laugh ended on a sigh, and was echoed by Archimedes’. He was better, but trouble hadn’t left their home.

  Archimedes hadn’t forgotten, either. “Where’s Bilson?”