Honoria shook her head. She’d seen too many people forced by starvation to sell their blood to the Drainers. Every man and woman over the age of eighteen had to donate two pints of blood a year for the blood taxes, but there were those who took advantage of the poor to find a cheap way to find more.

In the last six months she’d seen a man slowly bleed away his life week by week to feed his family, before he finally died. Honoria had spared what she could of their own food supplies, but within two weeks the man’s wife was dead too and the children vanished. The only ones who made any profit out of the venture were the Drainers.

“No,” she replied quietly. She would be his blood whore before she went anywhere near the Drainers. They were the lowest of scum. At least Blade would have some interest in keeping her alive. Tradition stated that a thrall—a blood whore—was to be protected and looked after.

“Then we’re at an impasse.” He sank back down into the armchair and ground out the smoldering cheroot. “I can’t afford to be lenient. And you ain’t prepared to offer me anythin’ o’ worth.”

She winced at his butchered words. And then her eyes went wide. “I could teach you to speak,” she blurted, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

His gaze flickered up, his fingers pausing on the cheroot stub. A scowl drew his eyebrows down. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with ’ow I speak, luv.”

“I never meant…It’s what I do. I correct the sounds of people’s speech and teach them genteel mannerisms. I’m a finishing tutor for young ladies. And the occasional gentleman.”

He ground the stub down to nothing. She eyed it nervously.

“And what would I do with fancy talk?” He deliberately placed harsh accent on the words. A sneer curled his lip. “Join the Ech’lon?”

“Whatever you wished to do with it. It’s the only thing I have that I can give you.”

His gaze made a slow perusal of her figure.

“Will give you,” she corrected, a flare of heat burning in her cheeks.

“Am I to visit your place o’ employment, then?”

Honoria blanched. “No. No. That would be inconvenient for you and uncomfortable for Mr. Macy.” Not to mention what Mr. Macy would say about her continued employment prospects. She barely suppressed a shudder. An image sprang to mind—of this dangerous ruffian stalking among the fluttering young ladies whom she taught. A wolf set among innocent young chicks, practically licking its lips.

Blade sat back, making a steeple of his fingers. “Then you will come ’ere. Three nights a week.”

“Three?”

“Three,” he confirmed.

It would leave her exhausted. She barely had the strength to get through the days as it was. And yet she would have this dangerous man’s protection. She could walk through the roughest alleys of the slums without even a pistol on her. Lena wouldn’t have to walk an extra mile each day merely to arrive at the clockmakers safely, and they could leave Charlie alone at the house without worrying about thieves.

Suddenly what had seemed a hopeless situation became the best stroke of luck she’d had all year.

“Three nights a week,” she heard herself say. “Two hours a night. I can’t sacrifice any more. Night might be your day, but I’ve work to do when the sun is up. I’ll need some sleep.”

A hint of satisfaction glinted in his eyes. Honoria stilled again. Then the look was gone and his face remained admirably blank.

“You do realize what people’ll think,” he said.

Honoria folded her hands in front of her. She knew precisely what he meant. Visiting him three nights a week would have everyone assuming she’d paid for his protection with her body. It stung. She’d thought six months of poverty had desensitized her to the worst, but there was still a tiny, deeply buried part of her that remembered what it had been like to be respectable. Her voice was soft when she said, “That is the least of my concerns.”

“Done then.” Blade’s smile curled over his mouth. “My protection, for your lessons.”

It hit her. She had survived. She had won. Coming here tonight, she didn’t think she’d have left without losing something important to her. Instead she had gained the power of Blade’s name without losing anything. Teaching him to speak and behave properly would cost her nothing but a few hours’ sleep a week.

Dizziness washed over her. Relief or hunger, she wasn’t quite sure. She suddenly felt the urge to sit down hard. But she didn’t dare show any sign of weakness in front of this man.

He might have consented to an agreement that was advantageous for her, but he certainly wasn’t any less dangerous. She’d seen the hunger burning in his eyes. That was all a blue blood was. Sooner or later it showed in all of them, no matter how carefully they hid it.

She couldn’t let down her guard, not even for a moment.

“When shall we begin?” she asked, forcing her knees to straighten. If she clutched at the armchair a little too firmly, his gaze never turned toward it. It was locked on her face, as though memorizing her features.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “At ten.”

Chapter 2

“Well?”

Blade stared into the crackling flames, his hand resting against the brick chimney. The slight scent of mechanical oil drifted past, and the whir of the hydraulics on Rip’s arm as he shut the door made a quiet hiss. It almost masked the faint scent of musk and man that accompanied him.

“She’s mine.” She just didn’t know it yet.

“I don’t understand why she’s so important?”

Blade turned, his gaze alighting on his two lieutenants. Rip scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. Most people thought him merely muscle, but he had the kind of cunning that could have ruled a rookery gang. Instead he’d thrown his lot in with Blade. Fewer knives in the back that way.

Blade’s second lieutenant, Will Carver, crossed toward the fireplace on silent feet. He held his hands out, the firelight gleaming in his amber eyes. He topped Rip by a hand, and his shoulders were nearly twice again as broad.

Blade leaned against the mantel. “Well? Will?”

“She smells good. Clean.” Will shrugged. “Ain’t your usual sort.”

Blade smiled. “Vickers wants ’er.”

Both lieutenants stiffened.

“What’s ’e got to do with ’er?” Rip scowled.

“Now that’s a question I can’t answer, me ducks,” Blade replied. If he breathed in, he could almost smell Honoria’s scent lingering in the air. The hunger crawled up his throat, and he closed his eyes, forcing his body to release that scent-laden breath. He’d fed only last night. He shouldn’t be this close to the edge yet. Something about the girl stirred him. Perhaps her fear, an intoxicating scent. He didn’t deny it. Or maybe the defiance in her eyes as she’d stared him down despite the racing throb of her heartbeat.

“Six months ago, Vickers put a price on ’er head,” he said, forcing the words out. “He’s given the Nighthawks a contract to find ’er, a younger sister, and a brother.”

Will whistled soundlessly. “And they ain’t found ’em yet? That’s—”

“Almost unheard of,” Blade interrupted. He wasn’t sure how she’d escaped Vickers, but she’d left very little trace if the Guild of Hunters hadn’t tracked her. “Her real name’s Honoria Todd. Goes by Miz Pryor. Works out o’ the city, for a man named Macy. Keeps ’er head down.” He considered her. “Stubborn. Arrogant. Proud. The only thing I don’t know is why Vickers wants ’er.”

It didn’t matter. If Vickers wanted her, then Blade would have her. But he would have liked to know why Vickers had offered such a high reward for a mere slip of a lass, just so he could play the game right. Maybe she’d heard something that could help Blade bring down that pasty-faced maggot who called himself a duke. Or maybe she knew of a weakness.

“She mighta spurned ’im.” Rip squatted down and offered his fingers to Puss to sniff. The cat allowed him to scratch between its flea-bitten ears. “You know how his lordship gets when he sets his sights on somethin’.”

“Maybe.” Blade slid his hands into his pockets. “It’s a big reward for a spurned lover.” With those dark, flashing eyes and that weary, determined way she’d glared back at him, she was just the type to set Vickers’s cold heart aflutter. If he had one.

She wasn’t young enough for Vickers, but he would have liked her courage. He’d have wanted to crush it. Blade had spent half a century staring into the eyes of someone and working out whether the person would fight to the death or collapse at the faintest amount of pressure. Hell would freeze over first before Honoria Todd gave anyone the pleasure of seeing her succumb.

“What’s so amusin’?” Will growled.

Blade looked up, and felt the smile on his lips die. “Nothin’.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, ignoring Will’s piercing gaze.

“So how’d you find her,” Rip asked, “if the Nighthawks couldn’t?”

“’Cos I know everythin’ that goes on in the rookeries, bucko. Two young women in my turf with a young lad? All three with the crisp, cultured tones o’ Oxford?” He sneered. “You know I likes me puzzles. And I’m possibly the only one as knows ’bout the price Vickers put out for three fugitives. I can put two and two together.”

“You want I should find out what Vickers wants with ’em?” Rip asked.

Blade reached for his gold cheroot case. “Hmm. No. Already got eyes in that corner. You keep well away from Vickers.” His gaze flickered to Will as he tugged out a slim cheroot. “You too.” Will gave him a nasty little smile.

“Then what do you want with us?” Rip asked.

“I want an eye kept on the ’ouse.” He bent and lit the cheroot in the fire. “Will, I want you on watch in particular. With your nose and ’earing, Vickers won’t get close.” Taking a deep breath, he let the smoke curl through his lungs. “And make sure everyone knows she belongs to me.”

“Why not mark her?” Will held up his wrist, with his tattoo visible.

“Not yet,” he murmured. An insane urge struck him. He wanted his mark on her skin. But he wouldn’t force her to it. She would ask for it herself, when she was ready. When he looked up, both of them were watching him, particularly Will with those bloody amber eyes of his. “Go on,” he growled. “You’ve got your orders.”

Puss attacked Rip’s boot as he stood. The big man grimaced and tried to disentangle the cat without hurting it.

“’Ere now, Puss.” Blade knelt down, clicking his fingers.

The cat gave him a look, considering the entreaty. It rolled to its feet, letting Rip step away, and then slowly strolled over to Blade to investigate.

“Bloody cat,” Will muttered, giving Puss a wide berth.

Puss’s lip curled up as Will slipped past. The cat hissed, fur standing on end and glaring at the youth.

Blade grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “That’s enough now,” he said, settling the cat in his arms. “Will’s our friend.”

Will smiled darkly, flashing his teeth. “One day I’m going to eat that creature.”

Blade stroked the cat. “And one day I might just have me a wolf-hide rug for me floor.” He smiled. “But it ain’t today. Now, go and make sure Miss Todd has a safe night’s rest.”

***

Charlie was coughing again. Honoria had her hands buried in the sink when she heard the familiar hark-hark-hark noise begin in the small room that Charlie and Lena shared. Her head shot up and she cocked it. She’d had plenty of practice in judging the severity of the sound over the last month.

“Not again,” she muttered, wiping her hands on her apron. Weak dawn light crept through the windows. She didn’t have time to linger. Mr. Macy would be expecting her at nine. But Charlie was her brother.

Their small flat had a kitchen and two tiny private rooms. She and Lena had shared a room when they first came to the ’Chapel, but when Charlie started getting the night tremors, Lena had moved her small cot in to be with him. The two of them had always had a special affinity, and her presence—though it frequently vexed Honoria—seemed to calm Charlie.

“Now, come on,” Lena was murmuring when Honoria opened the door. “Take a deep breath. That’s my boy. Deep and slow.”

Honoria’s shadow fell across the bed. Lena looked up, dark circles beneath her eyes. Charlie’s face was so pale that Honoria could have counted each freckle on his cheeks, and his arms stuck out of the sweat-soiled nightshirt like a scarecrow’s.

He gave her a weak smile. “Honor…” And then he broke into another coughing attack.

Lena’s lips thinned. “He was doing fine.”

Honoria ignored her, sitting on the bed and reaching across to rub Charlie’s back. Her fingers ran over the knotted protuberances of his spine. No matter how much he ate, his body kept getting thinner and weaker, as though he simply could no longer find sustenance from food.

“I’ll fetch some water,” Lena muttered, disappearing through the door.

Honoria held Charlie’s face against her shoulder as he coughed. “There, my boy,” she crooned. “Let it out. It’ll be better soon.” A bitter taste filled her mouth. “I’ll make it better.” Another promise she couldn’t keep. She was getting heartily sick of them.