Badlands

By Seleste deLaney

After a brutal Civil War, America is a land divided. As commander of her nation’s border guards, Ever is a warrior sworn to protect her country and her queen. When an airship attacks and kills the monarch, Ever must infiltrate enemy territory to bring home the heir to the throne, and the dirigible Dark Hawk is her fastest way to the Union.

Captain Spencer Pierce just wants to pay off the debt he owes on the Dark Hawk and make a life for himself trading across the border. When the queen’s assassination puts the shipping routes at risk, he finds himself Ever’s reluctant ally.

As they fly into danger, Ever and Spencer must battle not only the enemy but also their growing attraction. She refuses to place her heart before duty, and he has always put the needs of his ship and crew above his own desires. Once the princess is rescued, perhaps they can find love in the Badlands—if death doesn’t find them first…

Dear Reader,

A new year always brings with it a sense of expectation and promise (and maybe a vague sense of guilt). Expectation because we don’t know what the year will bring exactly, but promise because we always hope it will be good things. The guilt is due to all of the New Year’s resolutions we make with such good intentions.

This year, Carina Press is making a New Year’s resolution we know we won’t have any reason to feel guilty about: we’re going to bring our readers a year of fantastic editorial and diverse genre content. So far, our plans for 2011 include staff and author appearances at reader-focused conferences such as the RT Booklovers Convention in April, where we’ll be offering up goodies, appearing on panels, giving workshops and hosting a few fun activities for readers. We’re also cooking up several genre-specific release weeks, during which we’ll highlight individual genres. So far we have plans for steampunk week and unusual fantasy week. Readers will have access to free reads, discounts, contests and more as part of our week-long promotions!

But even when we’re not doing special promotions, we’re still offering something special to our readers in the form of the stories authors are delivering to Carina Press that we’re passing on to you. From sweet romance to sexy, and military science fiction to fairy-tale fantasy, from mysteries to romantic suspense, we’re proud to be offering a wide variety of genres and tales of escapism to our customers in this new year. Every week is a new adventure, and we want to bring our readers along on the journey. Be daring, be brave and try something new with Carina Press in 2011!

We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

Happy reading!

~Angela James

Executive Editor, Carina Press

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Dedication

This book is dedicated to Kelley Armstrong for kicking my butt in the nicest way possible (more than once) and for telling me time and again not to give up. Without your support, I wouldn’t have dedications to write. Thanks for everything.

Acknowledgements

So many people helped get this story ready for primetime, and I’m sure I’ll end up missing someone. If it’s you, please forgive me.

To my fabulous beta readers: Chris, Danielle, Janelle, Ken, Steve and Terri. You guys made me laugh and made me cry. Thankfully, it was more of the former.

To my writing group who helped tear up the first chapter or two for me—much Rebel love to you all.

Thank you to Angela James and the entire Carina Press acquisitions team for taking a chance on me. However, the biggest thank you goes to my editor, Gina Bernal, who loved this story and characters as much as I did and pushed me to make them the best they could be.

And always, I owe my husband and my kids for their undying patience and love, without which I would never get a story finished.

Contents

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

About the Author

Chapter One

The tent flap swished open and Ever shielded her eyes from the glare. Her second-in-command eased inside. “We’re behind schedule, Catherine. Where have you been?”

Stripping out of the simple tunic and pants the border guards wore in the desert, the curvy brunette shrugged. “Jaye announced her engagement. It was all I could do to get the other women back to their tents to change.” She raised a brow as she looked at Ever. “I’m surprised she gave the news without you there.”

“Jaye knows I do not approve.”

“Of men or marriage?”

Ever’s fingers deftly slid buttons through the decorative loops on her jacket. “I have never discouraged the pursuit of sex. Without some release, we’d all go mad.” She twisted her long hair up and pinned it. “Marriage is another matter entirely. A distraction.”

Catherine’s hand fell on her shoulder. “Queen Lavinia has brought us the closest thing to peace the Badlands has seen since the Union first began sending prisoners into exile. If any of us are to find happiness, now is the time.”

“That you equate men with happiness proves you don’t understand anything.” She shrugged off Catherine’s grip.

“Not all men who live here are criminals.”

With one hand on the flap, Ever paused. “That is only because we do not provide them the opportunity.” She stepped outside, hoping the brutal desert air would scour away some of her irritation.

For seven years, she’d patrolled the borders, capturing the men sent across the Mississippi—or killing them if necessary. She’d seen the true heart of evil. It made what Queen Lavinia and her predecessors created out of the harsh mountains and deserts all the more precious. Even the natives respected the Badlands and all it stood for: honor, loyalty, obedience, and above all the power of women. Ever would proudly give her life to protect the fragile peace of her homeland.

Divided loyalties had no place along the borders.

Ever paced outside the tents, waiting for her troops to gather. With a grimace, she tugged at her snug formal jacket. The uniform was ridiculous. She could barely move; this wasn’t the attire of a Badlands warrior. Even with nothing beneath, it was too tight. At least these state dinners only came around once or twice a year.

Minutes ticked away as sweat began to dampen the fabric. She refused to give the women under her command any longer. It was time to go.

Ever opened her mouth to bellow the order when a shrill noise pierced the still air of the Painted Desert.

The siren.

Eyes wide, Ever yelled, “Weapons! Now!”

She ducked back into the tent. Catherine had already slid her knives into their sheaths and slung a rifle over her shoulder. “Drill?”

Ever shook her head. Queen Lavinia might have a strange sense of humor, but she would never sound a drill without announcing it to the senior officers.

“The prisoners then?”

“Perhaps.”

Ever hated to consider the implications. The queen’s southern fortress housed the worst of the criminals the United States sent over the border. If they’d truly escaped…

She could only hope some overzealous steward sounded the alarm due to an uprising inside the cells.

But she had to assume otherwise.

She tore off the jacket and strapped on her weapons belt. Instinct told her not to waste time with anything else—with her tight, high breasts, she could fight naked if she had to. Crossbow flung over her shoulder, she dashed from the tent.

The rest of the women waited in various stages of undress but all were loaded with weapons. Ever nodded at them and they raced toward the fortress, their feet pounding out a rhythm on the packed sand. Spooked by the siren, horses would take longer than traveling on foot.

They reached the outskirts of the protected field in minutes, but it was too late. Men with weapons swarmed the area. For every one her women cut down, Ever counted two more taking their place. Some wore uniforms—clearly soldiers—but others were in the rough cotton supplied to prisoners.

A woman—a cook by her dress—dashed through the field. A man in faded indigo prison garb raised a rifle and shot her in the back. The woman’s fingers brushed Ever’s outstretched arm as she fell, her eyes wide. Ever lifted her crossbow and sent a bolt flying into the man’s skull. She reloaded with one hand and picked off a soldier with her pistol.

“There are too many,” Catherine yelled.

Through the gun smoke, the bulk of a dirigible revealed itself. Even if Ever knew how many prisoners the fortress housed, she couldn’t guess the number of soldiers carried by a ship that size.

“Just continue fighting. We need to know who survived.” Ever pushed forward and downed another prisoner, even as her sheer skirts caught on a fallen weapon and tore.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder and she spun, her pistol raised. Catherine blocked the weapon’s progress, her eyes downcast. “A stable hand made it out. He says the queen is dead.”

Ever froze, refusing to accept the words. “That is not possible.”

“You have to go. It’s your duty.”

Order in the Badlands depended on a ruler. Once word of the queen’s demise spread, those outside the military would scatter and hide. It was only a matter of time before the escaped prisoners began taking over. Snapping out of her reverie, Ever met Catherine’s eyes. “You are in charge here. Kill them all.”

As much as she hated to turn her back on the fight, Catherine was right. Ever raced from the smoke and death, hoping her women would make it out alive.

Wind-blown sand scoured her bare arms and torso, making her curse the decision to discard the too-tight jacket. Though her skirts were torn and streaked with the blood of both friends and enemies, at least they offered her legs some protection. After tucking what she could of the fabric out of the way, she yanked the goggles from her belt and strapped them over her eyes.

The mountains towered before her. She needed to lose herself in their crags and shadows. After a furtive glance behind, she tucked her pistol back in its holster, secured her crossbow, and began the ascent. Ever had climbed these rocks since she was six years old—far too young to understand how dangerous the ascent was, but already far too stubborn to care. Even knowing the mountain, though, the jagged rocks threatened to slice her hands with every hold.

Sweat leaked through a weak spot in the seal against her skin and slipped into her eye. She blinked fiercely, fighting for sight against the burning. The toes of one foot on a narrow hold, she practically dangled from her right hand as she jerked the goggles down and wiped her face.

There, three inches higher, was a hold for her left foot. The soft leather covering her toes caught the new ledge as the one beneath her right shattered with the echoing refrain of a gunshot.

“Stop right there, ma’am. No need for more killing.” The voice was young—some soldier just following orders.

Ever’s arm strained to hold on as she glanced back to judge his location. “If I do not move, I will fall. Whether you pull the trigger or not, it will still mean my death.” Her biceps quivered and sweat poured down her back, dripping under her belt. He must’ve seen her weapons, known she was a warrior.

“All right, ma’am, find your footing and climb back down.”

A slow smile curved onto her face. “Thank you.” As she pretended to look for a handhold, Ever let her foot slip from the rock. She screamed and threw her body to the left, twisting as she fell. Her left hand snagged on the hold as her right pulled the pistol from its holster and fired.

Through the smoke and dust, the soldier—barely out of his teens from the look of his unlined face—raised a hand to his throat. Blood poured from the hole there, collecting in his cupped palm. Shock was writ large across his features, mouth gaping, eyes wide as he fell to the ground.

Ever’s shoulder burned, and a sharp protrusion sliced against her arm. Sticky redness oozed from the cut, dripping down her biceps. Feeling around with her feet, she eventually managed to take the pressure off her strained joint. She tilted her gaze skyward. The flat that had been only five feet away now taunted her from more than twice that. She bit her lip and shoved the pain deep. Someone would come looking for the soldier soon. Only distance and height offered her protection. She re-holstered the gun and renewed her search for a handhold.

Two hours later, with storm clouds rolling in and painting the sky in yellow-tinged shades of gray, Ever reached an outcropping and settled onto a boulder, a stone arch at her back. As a child, she’d called this her throne and dyed patches of the rock in the pattern of warrior tattoos. Now, fifteen years later, her body sported many of the same designs. Her eyes welled up remembering how her mother had beamed with pride when she received her first mark.

Ever dashed the tears away with the back of her hand, pulled out her oculars and pushed a spring. The machine came to life, ratcheting from a flat brass oval to a pair of dual lenses. Ever shuddered. She’d heard tales about what the clockwork technology of the United States was capable of and it terrified her. Even this outdated contraption made her skin crawl. With care, she focused them on the fortress. Soon, the storm would destroy all visibility, and she had to be sure.

The airship was there, tethered outside the walls. They had executed the attack flawlessly, landing outside, just as the supply ship would have. The gates would have opened wide, expecting traders. Instead, the gatekeepers had been met with death.

She searched the dirigible for identifying marks. Her eyes watered, but Ever was certain she’d seen blue. Not Texas then. She blinked and looked again, squinting to make out the symbols. Not the Confederates either. The ship bore the stars and stripes of the United States.

Her teeth ground together, sealing her mouth against the curse she wanted to voice. Ever wished she could kill them all.

She shifted her oculars to the left. There. In front of the gates, for all who remained to see, stood a pike topped by Queen Lavinia’s head. Dried blood coated the rough edges around her neck and gore stained the ground. Yet, even in death, the queen’s face was a mask of serenity. As though she knew Ever survived and had already begun the quest to bring Princess Laurette back to take the throne. The curse that she’d bitten back died as her throat constricted painfully.

No. There would be time to mourn later. Duty came first.

Because one thing was certain—whoever attacked the fortress wouldn’t stop with Queen Lavinia’s death. The release of the prisoners attested to that. If someone wanted to destroy the tenuous peace in the Badlands, the first step would be destruction of the royal line. All of it. If Ever didn’t find the princess first, she’d be as dead as Lavinia, and the Badlands would never be the same.

Activity near the airship caught her attention. Men ran to and fro, slicing through tethers, making her wonder what had them spooked. None of the desert beasts could withstand firepower of the sort they’d brought. Something else then. Something…

Soft thunder had covered the sound, but there, the higher pitched rumble of steam engines. Ever stood and twisted around. A second dirigible crested the craggy peaks. Its markings were familiar; it was one of their usual cargo ships. Dark Hawk. Yes, this ship had brought supplies many times.

Her mind shuffled pieces around. Clearly, the ship on the ground knew the Dark Hawk was approaching. She’d intended on waiting until night to rappel down and take a horse. But that way would take her days to reach Texas, much less find transport to the north. Her new plan had risks to both the Dark Hawk and herself, yet there was no question regarding the fate of the dirigible’s crew if they landed. A handful more deaths wouldn’t stop the men who had slaughtered their way through the fortress.

Ever grabbed her knife, cut a swath of fabric from her skirt and secured it to a bolt. Dehydration and exhaustion made her fingers clumsy. It took three tries before she managed to tie it properly. As soon as she had the bolt loaded into her crossbow, she took aim and let fly. The first signal flew low and she swallowed a cry of frustration. Her hands shook as she tore off another strip. By the time her traitorous fingers attached it to a new bolt, the cargo ship hung in the air above her. There was time for one final shot. After that, any warning would come too late.

She took aim, inhaled deeply then let the breath whoosh from her lungs. The crossbow fired; the bolt arched up and sailed right across the bridge windows, trailing its ribbon of white.

If they didn’t see that, it was back to the original plan.

Ever’s arm fell heavily to her side. She’d never felt so tired. The rocky throne looked more comfortable than she’d thought possible, the sun setting behind the clouds bathing the base in strange red-hued shadows. Ever tilted her head to the side, staring, then gave it a fierce shake. The world swam around her and she staggered backward, her heels teetering on the edge of the outcropping, a three-hundred-foot drop the only thing waiting to greet her. She glanced at her bow, wondering why it was so much harder to lift now. Her left arm ran slick with blood from where she’d cut it on the climb up.

Ever blinked. How could she forget something so basic as binding the wound? She shook her head again, bringing on a fresh wave of dizziness. Intent on staunching the flow of blood, she lifted a foot to step toward her throne, but the bow threw her off balance. She tried to catch herself…and stepped backward. The world tipped beneath her then disappeared as she fell into the abyss.

Just this one last trip and she’s finally mine. Captain Spencer Pierce stared out the window of the bridge, lost in his thoughts. Ten years ago, he’d signed himself over to a life of indentured servitude in order to earn ownership of the Dark Hawk. Almost a third of his lifetime spent locked into a contract with a bastard who barely paid a living wage and argued over even the most basic repairs needed to keep his crews safe.

Deliveries to the Badlands included hazard pay, and Spencer signed up for every one he could, knowing true safety would only come when he finally owned the ship. Besides, since they’d never had to make a forced landing, they’d never run into any of the prisoners on the plains. The biggest hazards his crew had faced were the ones they created for themselves.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the image of Elsbeth’s dying moments. One more run and she’s ours, El. Just like we planned. When he opened his eyes, he caught an unexpected glimpse of something far ahead.

“What in the blazes?” He directed the Dark Hawk’s telescopic viewer toward their destination, the southernmost Badlands fortification. There, in front of the gates rested another ship, men already preparing her for departure. He snapped the viewer shut.

“Something amiss, Cap?” Mahala asked, striding onto the bridge.

He raked a hand through his hair then waved toward the fortress. “Some danged mess up. There’s another ship here already.”

Mahala slithered her spare frame into the pilot’s seat. “That don’ seem right. This been your run for a couple-a years now, ain’ it?”

Spencer hated it when Mahala got nervous. Afraid of some sort of reprimand, she would slip back into her slave speech patterns, reminding him of her past. He’d found her just north of the Confederate border at the same time the bounty hunter had. A little cash—and staring down the barrel of Spencer’s pistol—had convinced the other man to give up the search for the escaped slave. Mahala had been with his crew in one form or another since then, but he wanted both of them to be able to forget how she came to be there. “It has been. This is probably that dag-blamed senator messing with me so I can’t pay off the damn contract.” Spencer clenched his jaw. “I don’t care. I’m making the run. They can figure it out on the other end—after I own my ship.”

He fussed around the bridge, pulling levers to tilt the Dark Hawk’s massive sails.

“Cap? I think I saw something.”

After setting the new sail angles, Spencer pulled on the brass locking mechanism, grunting as it refused to budge. Again. “What kind of something?” He hissed and pulled harder.

Mahala caught his eye. “The kind you might want to see if it happens again.”

Spencer whacked the lever with the flat of his hand and marched over to the window. “What am I looking for?”

“I only caught a quick look. Might’ve been a bird.”

“I don’t have time for birds.” He turned back to the lock.

“Ain’ never seen a big white flying critter in the Badlands, though.”

The words made him return to the window. When he’d started making runs this way, he’d taken time to study the region. Mahala was right, there shouldn’t have been anything like that in these skies. After several seconds of staring into the dusk, he was ready to chalk it up to her imagination. Then he saw it. An arrow with some sort of tail attached.

He flipped open the viewer and twisted it in the direction the projectile came from. An injured and bloodied woman stood atop one of the jagged peaks, a cache of weapons strapped to her naked torso. Spencer turned to Mahala. “Get Zeke. Now! Tell Henri we’ve got wounded coming aboard.”

As Mahala dashed off, Spencer returned to the levers, readjusting them to a slow vertical decline. He hung from the lock, battered it with his fist and prepared to kick it when Zeke walked in.

The taller, broader man elbowed him out of the way, hit the lever on one side, then the other, and pulled it down. “Is that what you needed?”

Spencer shook his head. “There’s a woman down there. She’s hurt. You’re going to need to haul her up.”

“Will do, Cap’n. Just hold her as steady as you can.” Zeke handed his hat to Mahala as she reentered the bridge. “Take care of that for me, little lady.” He winked at her and strode off the bridge.

“Is this smart?” Mahala asked with a raised eyebrow as she tossed Zeke’s hat into the corner.

As they descended, the peaks closed in. “Probably not, but I can’t think of any good reason for her to be there bleeding, except trouble.” He angled the viewer. They were coming down on course. Just a bit lower and they could—

A squeaky rubbing pulled him away from the viewer and back to the controls. He twisted the levers to maintain their altitude. They couldn’t go any lower, rocks were already pressing into the sides of the dirigible. Too big a tear couldn’t be fixed in the air, and they’d hit the ground too fast for repairs to be helpful.

“That’s the best we’ve got, Zeke,” Spencer yelled, racing for the hatch.

Zeke nodded and started to lower himself through the opening. His brow furrowed for a moment and he glanced at Spencer. “Change of plan, Cap’n.” Zeke twisted and pushed off from the opening, the rope around his body pulling at the coil on the deck.

Spencer rushed for the hatch. Below him, the woman teetered on the edge of the cliff. As he watched, she lost her footing and fell backward. Only Zeke’s dive allowed him to fall fast enough to catch her. The rope continued to slide through the hatch. As soon as Zeke had the woman, Spencer grabbed the reel brake, slowing their descent until he had to stop it entirely before the rope ran out.

“Noah!” He couldn’t manage the reel and pull them inside on his own.

In seconds, the lanky repairman was at his side, face covered in soot. He grabbed the reel and took over rolling the rope up. Spencer returned to the edge. The rope scraped against the opening, tiny bits fraying before his eyes. He risked a glance down. Though Noah had been winding the reel as fast as he could, Zeke was still more than twenty yards below the deck.

Spencer grabbed a brass rod and held its smooth surface between the rope and the sharp lip of the hatch. The metal bucked against his hands, but he held fast, the lip slicing into his fingers as he gripped. At last they were close enough. Spencer threw aside the bar and strapped onto the deck, his torso dropping through the hatch.

“Woman after my own heart,” Zeke yelled. “Even dying, she wouldn’t let go of her toys.”

With an angry growl, Spencer snatched the crossbow from the woman, beautiful even through the layer of dirt and the black markings of her tattoos, and threw it behind him. When he reached to take her from Zeke’s grasp, she refused to take his hand.

“Easy,” Zeke said, his voice almost lost on the wind, “I can’t get you up like this. Let him help.”

Her disdainful expression didn’t change, but she grasped Spencer’s wrists at last. He struggled to hold on, her grip weak and one arm slick with blood. More hands reached down, Noah having left the reel, and helped pull the woman up and over Spencer’s head. He eased his chest back onto the deck.

The rope inched its way up. Zeke’s fingers could almost grab the rim of the hatch when the fiber snapped. Spencer plunged through the opening and grabbed the bigger man by the wrist. Zeke’s weight pulled on his arm; tendons fought not to tear. Finally, Zeke caught his other hand. Noah dragged them up by Spencer’s ankles.

With everyone safely on the rough wooden deck, Spencer turned over and faced the woman, wincing as he landed on his aching arm. “Now, what the hell were you running from that you almost got yourself killed up there?”

Her green eyes rolled, eventually focusing on him. In that moment, the rest of Spencer’s world disappeared, the dying woman all that remained. Her tongue seemed to twist around the words, “Our fortress was attacked. The queen is dead. Tell your captain to flee before they pursue.”

Spencer locked gazes with her. “I am the captain.”

She stared at him and sputtered, laughing. “Then we are doomed.”

Chapter Two

Ever struggled, trying to rise to her feet as the deck swayed beneath her.

The wiry little man with the haunted eyes who called himself captain said, “Zeke, take her to the infirmary. Henri should be waiting.”

With a nod, the one who had carried her aloft bent over and swept her off her feet. Ever beat her fists against his broad, well-muscled chest, but with how much blood she’d lost, the blows were weak and ineffective. “Ma’am, the captain said to take you to Henri. You can hit me till your hands fall off, but that’s what I’m gonna do.”

He carried her down a corridor paneled with deep stained wood that glowed in the light of staggered gaslamps. At last he stopped in front of a door and kicked it open. Inside, a throaty voice said, “I see your manners haven’t improved any with a guest aboard, Ezekial. Put her on the cot.”

Zeke’s arms tensed, squeezing Ever, but she didn’t make a sound. “The day I need manners on this ship is the day I quit and rejoin the damn militia.” Though his words were angry, his grip loosened and he settled Ever onto the cot gingerly. “Henri isn’t the most fun person to be around, but she’ll patch you up a sight better than the rest of us could manage.”

A short woman with blond hair piled high on her head eased around Zeke’s bulk. “That’s only because you ruffians—” Her blue eyes widened and her jaw dropped open. She spun on him. “What in the name of all that is good and holy did you do with her clothes?”

“Nothing. She came aboard just like you see her.” Zeke backed out of the room, his hands raised against the woman’s glare.

She turned to Ever, her words softer but her gaze just as hard. “Is that true? I wouldn’t put it past him to take advantage of you.”

Ever processed the exchange, her brain slowly shifting from the mishmashed language of the Badlands to the English she hadn’t used regularly since her school days. “He speaks the truth. The remainder of my clothing is lost below us.” The cot shivered beneath her as the ship gained altitude.

The blonde braced herself against the door, and Ever took in her elaborate costume. Everyone else on the ship was dressed for working, in rough shirts and pants. The woman before her was corseted over a delicate white blouse. Her bustled skirt swished against the floorboards. Even when dressed for the queen’s dinner, Ever hadn’t been this formal. “Who are you?”

“I’m Henrietta Mason, ship’s nurse.” She frowned at Ever’s bare chest as she knelt and set to work cleaning the deep gash in her arm.

Ever held steady, only flinching when Henrietta brought a palm-sized brass contraption over. It had wings and a needle sharp point on one end. “What is that?”

Eyelashes fluttering, Henrietta held the machine over Ever’s wound. “One of my father’s designs. He’s promised me a newer model soon, with gold needles.” Her eyes glittered. “But this one works fine. Just relax, it will stitch up your wound faster than I could manage.”

“I’d prefer the time.” Ever edged away from the clockwork, her movements sluggish.

“Nonsense. Your…tattoos—” she turned up her nose as she said the word, “—prove you aren’t afraid of needles. Please don’t force me to call Ezekial back to hold you down.” With one hand, she pushed Ever onto the cot and released the clockwork.

Ever’s scream ripped through the ship.

Spencer flew down the corridor, Zeke on his heels. “Honest, Cap’n, everything was fine when I left ’em.”

“Well, obviously it isn’t fine now.” What the blazes is that infernal woman up to? He barged through the infirmary door just as the scream cut off. Their guest lay on the cot, unconscious, a mangled clockwork on the floor. Patting her disheveled hair back into place, Henri stood away from the scene, the stench of ether coming from a cloth in her hand. His teeth ground together. “Henri…”

She straightened her skirt before answering. “It had to be done. She grew violent, and I knew she would never cooperate for the transfusion.”

The blood drained from Spencer’s face as he gaped at the woman on the cot, all her strength gone with the drug-induced sleep. No longer arrogant, she looked innocent, soft. “Is that absolutely necessary?”

A clasp snicked as Henri opened her case. “Only if you want her to live. She cut a vein. If she had broken the machine before it stitched that, she would have died anyway. The little harlot was lucky.”

Spencer choked on a scathing, curse-filled retort. He didn’t have much choice when faced with Henri. Her father, the Dark Hawk’s owner, had insisted she join the crew, and the only reason Spencer could see for that was to spy, looking for him to make a mistake. He had too much invested to risk losing the ship over a few stupid words.

As much as Henri held herself above the rest of the ship, pretended at propriety, she knew nothing about any culture besides the high industry of the United States. To her, even the simplicity of the Confederates was foreign. The Badlands may as well have been another planet altogether.

Zeke, however, didn’t have any compunction about putting her in her place. “Harlot? You think just ’cause she ain’t dressed in finery that makes her a whore?” He pointed at the marks tattooed over the woman’s body. “In the Badlands, these ain’t something they give to any hussy who spreads her legs. She’s a warrior. One of the people who keeps all those criminals you northerners send across the border from coming right back. Show a little damn respect.”

Arching an eyebrow high, Henri pulled a tube from her bag. “Since you’re clearly so enamored, will you be the one volunteering to share your blood with her?”

The silence stretched between them, then Zeke grabbed his sleeve and started rolling it up. “Danged right I will—”

“No, you won’t.” Spencer laid a firm hand on the other man’s arm. “Last time you did that—” he swallowed hard, “—our pilot died.”

Zeke’s face flushed crimson, but he didn’t argue.

“I’ll do it. Even if we didn’t need to know what happened at the fortress, I won’t let her die on my watch.” Spencer pulled off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeve. “Zeke, on the bridge with Mahala. Make sure we get out of here without trouble.”

The first officer nodded and strode from the room. Spencer settled into the chair next to the woman’s still form and leaned his head against the wall.

“Are you certain you want to do this, Spencer? I know how you hate needles.” Henri trailed her fingers delicately along his arm, the tubing in hand.

He spared a glance at the warrior woman lying next to him. What he’d said hadn’t been a lie. They needed to know what had happened. Beyond that, something in the woman’s eyes touched a place deep inside him, a piece of himself he’d thought dead and gone. For a moment he wondered how he would explain this to Mason. If he didn’t complete the delivery, he wouldn’t be paid, which meant he was still indebted to the man. His fist clenched as he shut his eyes. “Just get on with it.” Henri jabbed his skin with a little more enthusiasm than necessary. At least it wasn’t that blamed machine.

In Ever’s dream, tiny metal claws pinched her skin as a machine drilled into her arm. She bolted upright, her eyes wide and panicky, and batted at an imaginary clockwork. Her jaws clenched around a scream she refused to utter.

A hand clamped down on her wrist. She tried to pull away, but it held fast, pinning her fingers against her stomach. “Now, if you were intent on killing yourself, I wish you’d been a mite clearer about it when we brought you on board.”

Her eyes focused on the narrow room with its glossy wood panels and tattered cot. Then she met the gaze of the man holding her wrist. From the strength of the grip, she’d expected the one who had brought her to the ship. Zeke. Instead she found herself inches away from the man who called himself captain. Dark brown hair hung across his brow, shadowing intense blue-gray eyes. Ever held his gaze unblinking. “I do not wish to die.”

“Good.” He nodded at the thin tubing joining their arms.

As easy as it was to meet his eyes, she fought to look away. The red liquid in the tube provided a welcome diversion. “Your Henri did this?”

He laughed, and the sound touched her in places far more intimate than her ears. “She isn’t my anything, but yes, this is Henrietta’s handiwork. She’ll be back in a moment.”

Ever could feel him watching her as she stared at the blood, and heat rose in her cheeks. As much as she wanted to make some sarcastic remark to put herself at ease, she couldn’t insult the man who had clearly given her his own life force. “Your sacrifice is most appreciated, Mister—”

“Captain Spencer Pierce, at your service. And might I have the honor of your name as well, seeing as how you’re a guest on my ship?”

His voice held the same tone of command she’d heard upon waking. She could have resisted, could have refused to answer, but if he was the captain, she needed his help. The airship swayed, rolling to the side. A tiny flutter danced in her belly as her eyes traveled past his strong jawline to meet his steely gaze again. “I am Ever of the Badlands, Commander of the Queen’s Border Guard. And I must request your assistance in retrieving the heir to her throne.”

If he was surprised by her request, it didn’t show on his features. He scrubbed at his stubbled jaw and opened his mouth to speak. It snapped shut again when the door swung wide. Something in his face told her to stay quiet, but Ever couldn’t fathom his need for secrecy on his own vessel.

The tiny blonde woman walked in, every hair back in place after their altercation. She nodded at Ever. “Alive. Well done, Spencer. I’d have thought your blood at least as poisonous as Ezekial’s, but you are a Union man born and bred. Perhaps that made the difference.” She gave him something resembling a smile, but Ever couldn’t tell for certain what emotion truly lay behind the expression.

Next to Ever, the captain bristled, the muscles in his arms bunching in a way that made her wish for him to touch her again, but he held his tongue. What sort of weak leader allows a civilian to speak to them in such a manner? Whatever he was, Ever couldn’t abide the way his presence affected her much longer. Besides, she had no tolerance for fools or weaklings, and there was a fair chance Spencer Pierce was both.

Henrietta removed the transfusion tube and patched up their arms, making idle chatter all the while. “It would seem appropriate while you are aboard the ship to attire yourself in a proper manner.” Her gaze traveled over Ever, pointedly avoiding her breasts. “I have some old things you may borrow.”

Ever shot Henri a sneer laced with malice. “If you attempt to force me into a costume such as you’re wearing, I will do to you what I did to your evil insect-machine.”

Spencer stifled a laugh and schooled his face into a mask of neutrality when Henri’s mouth dropped open. “I’m sure we can find some sort of compromise. If you’re finished with us, Henrietta, I need to speak to Ever in private.”

Her eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch, barely cracking her veil of propriety. “Ever? Surely that isn’t your name.” Henri’s skirt swished, dusting the floorboards as she checked first Ever’s arm then his, lingering a bit longer there. Giving a little sniff, she walked away.

One glance at Ever’s tight lips and narrowed eyes forced Spencer from the chair. “I’ll take you ignoring me as a yes, Henri.” He reached out a hand to Ever, his skin tingling where her fingers wrapped around his wrist. Disregarding Henri’s harrumph, he guided Ever into the corridor and eased the door shut.

The warrior woman shook off his hand and stood tall. “I wish to thank you for your part in saving my life, but now we must—”

“Now we must practice a little danged discretion,” he hissed, grabbing her by the elbow and urging her away from the infirmary. Down the corridor, in a shadowy space between two low burning lamps, he stopped and spoke in conspiratorial tones. “My pilot is heading us out of Badlands territory right now. Unless that’s not what you need, we have some time to discuss specifics.” Her muscles, which had gone rock hard beneath his grip, softened. “Seeing as we’ve reached an understanding, I have to agree with Henri—your current mode of dress will disrupt things on board now that your life isn’t in jeopardy.”

“I refuse to parade around attired as some wealthy fool’s plaything.” She threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin. In that moment, even half-naked, her bearing was more proud and regal than anything Henrietta had ever managed. “If that is the only manner in which I may remain aboard your ship, I will seek alternate transportation as soon as it is practical.”

Spencer studied the woman, searched for some crack in the mask she wore. But, hard as he stared, she never withered. She simply stared back, waiting for him to respond. She reminded him so much of Elsbeth it hurt. The same proud bearing and stubborn nature.

Now wasn’t the time to start mourning his sister again. And, he reminded himself, no matter what the similarities, Ever wasn’t Elsbeth. He couldn’t treat her like a younger sibling, nor did he want to. “If you would calm down just a bit, I had no intention of asking you to wear Henri’s castoffs.”

Arms crossed, Ever said, “Then what did you have in mind?”

The way her arms framed her breasts drew his gaze, but he fought the urge to look, fearing he’d linger there too long. “My pilot is—” Spencer coughed, staring at the ceiling, “—about your size. We’ll have to work something out to replace your skirt since Mahala is shorter than you, but she should be able to provide a shirt to your liking.”

“And this…Mahala. Does she attire herself like some sort of elaborate confection as well?”

Spencer laughed, the first sound he allowed to travel down the corridor. “I should say not. While it may not be what you’re accustomed to, you shouldn’t find it as offensive as anything Henrietta owns.” He waved her forward, desperate to protect himself from the sight of her breasts before his body reacted. “Now, if you’re willing to give me a moment, I’ll leave you in my quarters and collect that clothing for you.”

The ship rocked violently to starboard as Ever opened her mouth to speak. The captain braced for the motion, rolling with the deck, but Ever lost her footing and tumbled into him, sending them both sprawling. She landed atop him, arms and legs coiled together, her lips poised above his, only a breath of air separating them.

Her brain told her to move, that this was not the time, nor was he the man, for an interlude. Her body betrayed the thought, her nipples hardening as her flesh pressed against his wiry frame, and her legs refused to respond. The fact the captain didn’t try to move her made something inside Ever flutter and she felt warmth spreading between her legs.

Ever’s jaw tightened. No. This man will not affect me. He is a pathetic excuse for a captain. Her muscles bunched, ready at last to move away from him, when the ship rolled again. The strength in her arms gave out and she fell against him completely, her mouth crushed against his. She froze.

They lay there for a long moment before the captain’s lips moved against hers, saying, “Perhaps it would be wise if I checked on the situation.” His words were the barest whisper against her skin.

The warmth that had threatened a moment before turned to ice, and she rolled off him. “Of course, Captain. I did not intend my clumsiness to interfere with your duties.”

An expression she didn’t recognize appeared on his face, quickly smothered by a mask of stoicism. “I’ll drop you in my quarters on the way.” He turned from her and strode purposefully toward the front of the ship.

After about twenty steps, Zeke intercepted them, heading the other way. “Noah’s working on giving us more speed, Cap’n, but the other airship’s attacking and they’ve got gliders.”

Captain Pierce muttered a curse. “This way, Ever.”

“If you don’t mind, she might be able to help man the guns.” Zeke raked a hand through his already mussed hair.

“Fine.” He faced Ever for a second. “If you can’t or don’t want to, my cabin is the last portside door.” The captain raced toward the bridge.

Ever stared after his retreating form for too long a second before shaking her head and turning to face Zeke. “Lead the way.”

He gave a brisk nod and jogged down the corridor the way she’d just come. Past the shadowy alcove where she’d spoken with the captain, Zeke knelt down, yanked open a hatch and dropped through.

Less sure than the burly man leading her, Ever glanced through the hatchway into a small gunnery boat. She eased her way down and took up position at one of the heavy weapons. Unfamiliar with its operation, she turned to ask but found Zeke already at her side, the stench of sweat and grease assailing her nostrils.

He pressed against her back and reached around to point at the gun. “I’ll get your feed started, but all you have to do is crank this here piece and aim.” On the other side of the weapon, Zeke hefted a box of ammunition and filled the gun’s hopper. “They ain’t actually attacked yet, but I saw them opening up. Gliders are small and can maneuver like birds, and while they’re fast enough to catch us, we can still hit ’em.”

Ever nodded as the first drops of rain pattered against the dirigible hanging above her. “I have but one question.”

“Shoot.” He moved to the other gun and loaded it, intent on his work.

“Are we to leave the other airship alone? Or should we fire on it as well?” She took a knee and sighted down the barrel toward the airship full of the soldiers who had decimated her home.

“Cap’n didn’t rightly specify. Ain’t likely to hit it from this distance, but I doubt he’d be heartbroke if you managed. Just don’t waste the ammo.”

A slow smile crept across Ever’s face at Zeke’s words. This was the type of man who appealed to her. No nonsense, with a love of weaponry that matched her own. And he’d put her hands on a method of exacting some vengeance.

From the bowels of the other dirigible, specks of blue and gray dropped. She took aim and waited for them to draw closer, her heart thudding with anticipation. Yes, this was what made her blood race. The incident with the captain had been nothing more than a strange coincidence.

Chapter Three

Pale blue wings stretched out from a thin frame. It didn’t look strong enough to hold its occupant’s weight much less the mounted weaponry. Ever waited for Zeke to crank off a shot as a sign they were within range, but the glider opened fire first. A bullet tore through the deck of the gunship inches from her right foot.

They were close enough.

Ever tracked the face of the man in the glider with the gun’s scope and turned the handle with as much speed as she could muster. The initial push met with resistance, but as soon as she broke through the barrel ratcheted around and around. Three shots flew before she realized it.

The gun on the glider fired wildly as the corpse in its carriage leaned to the right, dragging the flying contraption into a steep dive. One bullet ricocheted off a strut holding the gunnery boat to the ship above them. Another took out a second glider.

Considering the odds, Ever would take all the help they could get. Ten gliders had dropped from the ship behind them. Seven remained, and already Ever could hear the hiss of air from a leak overhead. Who knew how many hits they’d landed.

She took aim at another glider banking hard to her left. Its mottled gray wingspan spread wide in front of her like some great mountain bird. Her heart wanted to shoot directly at the men who had attacked her home. Firing on the glider itself made her skin crawl. It was the act of a coward. Then a bullet sliced through the air next to her cheek so close she could feel the heat of its passing.

The crank rolled beneath her hand. A bullet pierced the skin of the glider and pieces of shattered wood flew through the air as the wing collapsed. Man and machine plummeted to the ground below.

Rain began pouring down in sheets, obscuring her vision. Each round still met its target, but not every hit brought down a glider. Ever quickly realized puncturing the wing wasn’t enough. She had to make a kill shot on the pilot or cripple the frame. She took down one more with a bullet through a man’s skull, while Zeke finished off the rest.

“Not too shabby for a beginner.” He clapped her on the shoulder.

Ever winced. He had jarred her injured arm, but the backhanded compliment hurt more. She should have been able to outshoot him, regardless of the weather and unfamiliar weaponry. She was a decorated warrior. Her muscles hardened at his touch. “That is not good enough.” Before Zeke could respond, Ever sank to one knee and took aim, cranking slowly. The first shot went too low, blown off course by the wind.

“I thought I told you not to waste ammo. The Cap’n won’t…”

She let his voice trail off to background noise as she kept cranking and raising the angle of the gun. In seconds the other airship dropped back, losing both speed and altitude. Its wings twisted sharply as it fought to stay aloft.

Ever stood and brushed her hands on what remained of her skirt. When she turned to face him, Zeke’s mouth gaped open. “I trust your captain will forgive the lost bullets.”

“What in tarnation did you do? Bullet holes shouldn’t do that much damage.”

“Of course not, but if those holes are all close together and the fabric is strained—”

Zeke turned from her to the enemy airship. “It’ll rip wide open. I’ll be damned. No way they can make those repairs in the air.” A grin split his face as he looked at her. “I knew what you were the moment we picked you up, but there’s a mite more to you than I expected.”

Tucking dripping strands of hair behind her ear, she returned his smile. Yes, this one was a much more reasonable choice of diversion. A fellow warrior who appreciated what she could do. The journey to find Princess Laurette would be several days. Surely the heir would not begrudge Ever fulfilling her needs during the quiet hours on board the Dark Hawk.

On the bridge, Mahala stopped trying to evade the gliders and just flew as Spencer controlled the giant wings and kept an eye on the pressure gauges. If they took many more hits, he’d have to send Noah out to do repairs during the battle. The boy would go if ordered, but it would be a suicide mission and Spencer knew it. So he held his lips in a tight line and prayed their altitude held.

Eye pressed tight to the viewer, Noah let out a whoop of joy. “They did it, Captain. The gliders are gone.”

Spencer exhaled slowly. It didn’t mean the other ship wouldn’t send more, but it gave them a window of opportunity. “Glad to hear it, Noah, but I need you to get set on those repairs. Just be careful, it’s still wet out there.” As the gangly man with the easy smile and messy hair ran from the room, Spencer took the seat he’d abandoned with a sigh.

“How close were we, Cap?” Mahala asked, her eyes never straying from the horizon. The storm must have dissipated as quickly as it had rolled in. The last of the sun’s rays just lit the eastern clouds as the desert reached up, its rock strata like a false sunset.

“If they’re done, we’ll be okay.”

“If they ain’?”

“We’ll worry about it if we have to.”

“That close then.” She nodded slowly, the low gas lighting casting her face in shadows. “You reckon she’s really worth this kind of trouble?”

Spencer looked through the viewer, afraid of what Mahala would see in his eyes if he glanced her way. Would she notice the way his pulse sped just thinking about Ever? Or worse, the way he hardened slightly remembering the almost-kiss in the corridor? He squeezed his eyes shut. They hadn’t almost kissed; she’d fallen and landed on him. He had to stop reading more into it.

And confound it, why was he so enthralled with her anyway? She’d made it clear she didn’t think all that much of him. Better to just consider her a job, another run to be finished and forgotten. Too bad she didn’t look like one that would pay. Which meant helping her wouldn’t only anger the senator but also leave Spencer dangling in his grip.

He didn’t have an answer to give Mahala that made sense, even to him.

His eyes drifted open and he squinted through the viewer. What the hell? The other airship was falling back and losing altitude, even with her wings set to maintain.

Booted footsteps tromped toward the bridge, and Spencer raised his head to find Zeke standing before him, face reddened by adrenaline and wind. “Did you see it? Did you see what she done? That woman is something.”

The woman in question strode up behind Zeke, her pace neither hurried nor slow, merely confident. She met Spencer’s gaze for a brief second then glanced away, her eyes looking anywhere but at him, finally finding something interesting to study on the floor.

He’d never imagined she would be able to put on an air of coquettishness. That was a move more suited to Henrietta. The longer he studied her, though, the more something inside him insisted it wasn’t an act. She really couldn’t look his way.

His heart sped again and he fought to tamp it down. She was a job, damn it. If he kept letting himself think otherwise, he’d do something foolish. “She is quite remarkable, but I’m not entirely sure what she did.” Like that. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. Ever’s cheeks flushed, and Spencer wondered how the rest of her reacted to his words, hidden behind Zeke as she was.

Zeke saved both of them from the uncomfortable moment by describing Ever’s attack on the airship in elaborate, and judging by the way she gaped at him, exaggerated detail. “Truth to tell, Cap’n, they’d be on us by now if not for her. I never figured our guns could do enough damage at a distance to make it worth the ammo cost.”

With how rarely sky-fighting occurred, Spencer was just amazed their guns had worked at all. “Thank you for your assistance, Ever. We owe you a debt of gratitude.”

Finally she raised her head and met his eyes, the flush all but gone from her cheeks. “Just help find my…Help me complete my mission, and your debt will be more than repaid.”

He raised a brow at her slip as he stood. “That we can do. In the meantime, I believe you needed some suitable attire.”

Mahala waved from the pilot’s seat. “Like I said, take what she needs. I never had so many clothes in all my life as I do now. Not sure what to do with ’em all.” She turned from the controls for a brief moment and smiled in Ever’s direction. “It’s a pleasure to meet a woman who can impress that brute.” She winked at Zeke.

“Now, Mahala, you know you impress me every day.” Zeke slipped past Spencer to take the vacated captain’s chair. “Like that time you almost crashed us into a mountain.”

“I did not crash us into a mountain.”

“I know. That’s what impressed me. ’Cause till then, I didn’t think you knew how to fly.”

Spencer shook his head and waved Ever through the door and down the hall. She stopped in front of his quarters.

“Go on in. I’ll just grab a couple things from Mahala’s room.” He swerved around her, but she didn’t budge. Was this some weird display of propriety, expecting him to open the door for her? Maybe she was unsure how to act with what she’d seen of Henri and Mahala. His hand brushed her arm as he reached for the knob and pushed the door open. He had to resist the urge to touch her again as he pulled back. “Make yourself at home.”

Still she didn’t cross the threshold. “This is your personal domain. Are you certain you want me to enter?” Her voice was quiet, barely audible over the noises of the ship.

With her back to him, Spencer couldn’t study her face, couldn’t read what made her hesitate. “It isn’t like you’re barging in without knocking. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The muscles of her shoulders and back tightened, but she nodded and stepped into the room.

Spencer crossed the hall, opened Mahala’s door and sifted through her clothes. Ever hardly seemed the type to care about fashion, but he knew she wouldn’t give up her weapons belt and studied the shirts with an eye for what would work with the well-oiled tan leather. He pulled out two shirts, one a deep red, the other pale green. Then he moved on to Mahala’s pants, hoping to find a pair that would fit over Ever’s long, lean legs.

Waiting inside the captain’s quarters, Ever’s hands balled into fists. He would return momentarily. If she didn’t move, she couldn’t be tempted to search for some explanation of the way he made her feel. For the heat that had started on the bare skin he’d brushed opening the door and had traveled through her body, settling between her legs and drawing moisture from her core.

It was madness. She was here on a mission. If she required release from weeks of frustration in the desert hunting for new prisoners sent across the border, that was one thing. This? This was something else entirely, and she needed to cure herself of the insanity immediately.

Her muscles loosened, and she rolled her shoulders as she stepped toward the desk bolted to the floor in the corner nearest the door. Her fingers trailed on its smooth surface, dipping into the grooves caused by hours of use. She paused there, wondering what Spencer did at his desk. Shipping manifests? Letters to family—or a woman—back in the States?

She clenched the hand into a tight fist and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before moving deeper into his room. The straps holding his closet shut fell beneath her fingers, inviting her to take a closer look. Inside, everything hung in strict order. Pants in one section, shirts next—all arranged in a faded rainbow of color. A weapons belt hung between the shirts and a deep brown duster. She toyed with the belt, examining it with the eye of an expert. The leather was worn, but well made. It was smaller than hers, designed for fewer weapons, and she wondered if he favored guns or blades since there were holsters for both.

“Blades.” She imagined him walking into a fight, at a visible disadvantage while some cocky gunslinger lazily drew a weapon. He’d whip the blade out and let it fly, embedding it in the other man before he even had the gun clear of its holster.

Ever gave her head a fierce shake, shut the closet and reattached the straps. “He’s probably worthless with a weapon. Any weapon.”

The bed beckoned to her weary body, and she perched on the edge of it, afraid what she might do if she allowed herself more comfort than that. Hands knotted in her lap, she breathed deeply, trying to replace thoughts of the captain with something else. Anything else.

Images of Zeke’s face, flushed and smeared with gun oil, came to mind, and she sighed happily. He was a pleasant distraction, one she could cope with.

She opened her eyes, calm at last, and saw the tintype near the head of the bed. Captain Pierce and a beautiful woman with wide, bright eyes and a mischievous smirk. Ever’s chest tightened, happy thoughts of Zeke banished from her mind. There was a woman waiting for Captain Pierce.

“Good for him,” she said, trying to mean it, but the pang of jealousy didn’t abate. Her fingers laced behind her neck, Ever closed her eyes and pulled on her spine, hoping the pain would shake her free from her thoughts.

A gentle cough made her eyes fly open.

“You’re bleeding again.” The captain nodded at her arm.

As she lowered her hands to look, blood dropped from the wound onto his coverlet. The crimson spot stood out in stark relief against the dingy ivory spread. It didn’t belong there any more than she belonged here. In his room. On his bed. Ever shot to her feet. “I am sorry. I did not—”

The captain laid a hand on her shoulder, applying the gentlest of pressure to push her back down. “More worried about you than the bed.” He tossed some clothes next to her then went to his desk, unlocking a drawer and rooting around inside.

Ever’s heart pounded against her ribcage. She should go. Take the clothes and…And what? He hadn’t assigned her quarters. There was nowhere on the Dark Hawk she could hide from him.

And she didn’t hide.

Men hid in fear of her, not the other way around. Her reputation haunted the borders of the Badlands. Prisoners sent into exile knew her on sight. They either feared or hunted her, thinking to make her some sort of trophy. She didn’t allow those men to live long enough to reconsider.

Yet here she was, contemplating running from a man armed with nothing more than a cloth he dug from his desk. Ever squared her shoulders, determined to silence her irrational panic. He was just a man. A captain, yes, but still just a man—and a small one at that.

“Here,” he said, dabbing at her arm with the cloth. “Keep some pressure on it unless you want to pay Henri a return visit. Personally, I don’t much fancy the idea of seeing her again tonight.”

“Nor do I. Thank you for your kindness.” She held the fabric, convinced it was her own fingers that so warmed her skin.

“For now, why don’t we discuss this mission of yours in a bit more detail?” He pulled the chair over from the desk, flipped it around and straddled it, crossing his arms along the back and looking at her.

Ever fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. She wasn’t a criminal and this was not an interrogation. So why did his staring make her so uncomfortable? Instead of dwelling, she forced her thoughts to the matter at hand.

“Queen Lavinia is dead. Her daughter, Laurette, is deep within the borders of the United States at university. We must return her to the Badlands with all haste.” When the captain didn’t say anything, she pressed on, “Every day without a ruler, the Badlands will fall more and more into the hands of the prisoners. It will turn into the wild, untamed land the Union always believed it to be, and it will be that much harder for rule to be reestablished.”

The captain’s mouth quirked to the side. “My employer might take issue with the Dark Hawk doing this job off the books.”

Her lips pressed tight together. If he wasn’t going to help her, she’d already told him too much. “If you are unwilling to assist me then I will, of course, seek out another vessel at the earliest convenience.” She stood and swept up the clothes from the bed. “My heartfelt appreciation for the medical care and transport to your ship’s berth.” Ever tried to squeeze past him.

He caught her arm in a gentle, but firm, grip. “I didn’t say we wouldn’t help you, only that we need to keep it quiet. I need this shipping route to stay open and active and that won’t happen if your government collapses. But Henrietta’s father owns the Dark Hawk until I pay off my contract. He doesn’t want to give up the ship and is waiting for me to give him a reason not to. Which means Henri can’t know what we’re doing until it’s too late for her to cause problems. And it’s best if you don’t discuss it with the crew because not all of them can be trusted to keep their traps shut.”

“None of them?” She forced herself to think of Zeke and ignored the heat burning through her at the captain’s touch.

“It’s probably safer.”

“And what assurance do I have that I can trust you, Captain?”

He tipped his head back and met her gaze, turmoil stirring in the depths of his eyes. “None. I’ve nothing to offer you but my word.”

Chapter Four

The look Ever shot him pierced his heart, pain tinged with fear and sadness. Soon enough she schooled her features back into their normal stern set. “Then forgive me for saying I will only provide you with information when necessary. For now, all you need to know is I require passage to and from the Union.”

Spencer stood, his hand still on her arm, unwilling to lose the contact it offered him. “Ever, I’m not saying you can’t trust me, only that I don’t have something tangible that says I won’t betray you. All I’ve got is my promise that your success means my livelihood.” Standing, their eyes were almost level, he only had to tip his down slightly to meet her gaze. “I don’t need details yet, but I’m not your enemy. If you know some way for me to prove it, I’m more than willing to try.”

Her lips pressed together and pain filled her eyes once more as she shook her head. “I would like to believe the time will come when a test is not needed, but this is too important.” She tore from his grasp and strode into the corridor.

He stared after her retreating form for a long moment then he sank into the chair, head in his hands. Women. Every time he let one onto this ship, things went sour. Though to be fair, Ever had been rescued and he wasn’t given a choice about Henri. Mahala was the only woman he’d invited aboard since Elsbeth.

He raised his head and glanced at the tintype next to his bed. They both looked so serious; they’d been told not to smile. The instant the process was complete they’d burst into gales of laughter, teasing each other about how ship’s officers needed to be able to wear the severe expression far longer than the photographer had expected.

Then they’d left their parents and taken the Dark Hawk up for its maiden voyage. She sailed with him for nearly five years. Until the day they’d gone hunting with Zeke after off-loading cargo. While Spencer and Zeke argued about who had brought the elk down, Elsbeth raced ahead to finish it off.

Her scream had made his blood run cold.

Elsbeth wasn’t the only one who had rushed in to claim the kill. A puma stood atop her body. Four bloody gashes stretched from her shoulder across her abdomen. Both men cocked their rifles but the sound didn’t frighten the animal away. It turned toward them, and the far side of its head reflected the sunlight. Metal rivets were driven into the animal’s skull, holding a monocle in position where its eye should have been. The monocle turned, focusing on them.

“Cap’n, we need to go,” Zeke’s voice quivered with something too close to fear for Spencer’s liking. The wind eddied, dirt swirling around them like a vortex.

The smell of blood and animals assaulted his nose. “After we get Elsbeth.”

“She’s dead. That thing’s been let loose. It don’t have a master out here telling it what to do. It’s a killing machine, Spence. We can’t stop it.” The big man’s hand fell on Spencer’s arm, pulling him away from the scene. “You have to let her go, Cap’n.”

Spencer shrugged off his first officer’s grip. “The ship can’t fly if we’re all dead. Go back to the Dark Hawk. I’ll either be a few minutes behind you, or I’m not coming.”

As expected, Zeke followed orders. Spencer trained his gun on the puma’s clockwork eye, and it let out a snarl. Without hesitating, he pulled the trigger. The animal twisted, its claws digging into Elsbeth’s exposed skin. As the bullet impacted its side, its body flew backward, claws ripping through flesh and muscle.

Spencer shouldered the weapon and raced forward to scoop his sister up. The mechanical eye of the puma twisted and refocused on his face. He turned from it and carried Elsbeth back to the ship, her blood tracing their path in the dirt. In his guilt over leaving, Zeke volunteered for the transfusion she needed. Elsbeth had died with a scream on her lips that sounded eerily like the puma. The clockwork eye had haunted Spencer’s dreams ever since.

“Something on your mind, Spencer?”

Henri’s voice jerked him from the memory. Eyes still on the tintype, he swallowed hard once, cursing himself for both dwelling on the past and for leaving his door open. He stood and carried the chair back to his desk. “Nothing of a medical nature.” It was the most polite way he could tell her it was none of her business.

She moved closer until her corseted breasts brushed against his arm. “Your mental health is as important to me as your physical well-being.”

He stepped away and waved her into the corridor. After shouldering past her, Spencer eased the door shut. “My head is fine too, Henrietta. What do you need?”

She sniffed. “Our new passenger has claimed a corner of the loading bay as her home. While I appreciate that she has covered herself, this presents yet a new set of problems.” Strands of hair had fallen from her coiffure, a sure sign Henri had already had her own run-in with Ever.

“I’ll take care of it.” He had a ship to manage. He didn’t have time to keep running interference between the two of them.

Packed as it was with goods intended for the fortress, Spencer had to wend his way through the loading bay. He found Ever seated in a far corner, her back against the wall as she combed fingers through the snarls in her damp hair. How Henri discovered her stowed all the way back here, he’d never know. She’d donned the green shirt under her belt, the other hung draped across a nearby crate.

Not wanting to startle her, Spencer cleared his throat.

She didn’t even glance up, just kept tugging fingers through her hair. “Captain.” Her voice was flat, giving nothing away.

He sighed, wishing just once she would meet him halfway. Why did she have to make everything so difficult? “I may have to earn your trust, but as a gesture of good faith, I’d like to offer you a proper bunk.”

The snort that came from the corner was the last thing he expected. “Lying does not exactly inspire my faith in you.” She raised her head and met his eyes at last. “Your little doll already informed me I could not stay here. Like the clothing, I will accept the sleeping arrangements in order to keep your crew happy.” Ever pushed up from the ground and gathered the shirt and her weapons. “But do not pretend it is some noble gesture.”

There was nothing Spencer could say to that. He kicked himself mentally. She was right and he’d managed to shove her further away with the deception. He’d planned on assigning her quarters, but it happened now because Henri pushed and he caved. Just like with the clothes. At what point had he lost control of his ship?

Ever followed the captain back up from the bowels of the ship to the corridor she’d run from earlier. He opened the door directly next to his quarters. She paused a moment. She’d staked out the spot below to be as far from him as possible. The suggested cabin was much too close.

“When Henri came aboard, she claimed our stateroom, said it was her right as the owner’s daughter. I hope crew quarters are acceptable.” His face colored a tiny bit.

Did the woman always get her way? Ever glanced inside. The cabin was similar to his, but without the personal touches: the desk less worn, blanket instead of coverlet, bare walls, and not a tintype to be seen. “I do not require finery. This is more than adequate. Thank you.”

“If you need anything, I’m next door. Mahala’s across the way, and Zeke next to her.”

Ever nodded and moved to the closet, swaying with the gentle motion of the airship. The brass hangers inside were fixed on the rod, and she buttoned the top of the blouse as she hung it up. When she stepped back, Spencer was still standing in the doorway. “Is there something else?”

“Yes. Our conversation earlier interrupted my attempts to rectify your clothing situation—”

“I am passable now, correct?” Ever waved a hand at the shirt.

“Of course, I just thought you might want—”

Zeke popped his head into the room. “There you are, Cap’n. Mahala says we crossed the border several miles back. We should be in Austin by morning.”

“Austin?” Ever knew the people of Texas were wild, like the Badlands, but with men in charge they had little order or stability. South of the Badlands, their territory stretched east to the cursed Mississippi River, west to the ocean and south to Mexico. Her soldiers often traded with Texans during patrols and she’d learned enough about the geography to know the Dark Hawk’s destination lay well within its borders. “Why so far south? We need to—”

Spencer held up a hand to silence her and she crossed her arms, glowering at him while she waited. “Thank you, Zeke. Tell Mahala if she sets us a course, I can take over the helm so she can rest.”

Zeke nodded, favored Ever with a smile and disappeared back into the corridor.

Stepping to the door, Captain Pierce eased it shut. “We’re going to Austin because a straight shot to the north puts us over too much Badlands territory. Another air battle isn’t on my list of things to do. Besides, Zeke’s family lives there. We can unload and make better speed. I’m trying to keep your secret, Ever, but if you make a habit of questioning my decisions in front of the crew, it’s going to be hard.” He rubbed a hand across his brow with a weary sigh. “You need to get some rest. We’ll outfit you better in Austin. I have some favors I can call in.”

His words were like a slap in the face. She was doing as much to risk the princess as anyone with the way she hounded him. As the captain laid his hand on the door, Ever stopped him with a word. “Apologies, Captain. I am accustomed to making decisions, not being unaware of them. Please forgive me.”

The nod he gave was the barest of movements. “Get some sleep.” He pushed the door open and left her alone.

She stood, staring at the door for several minutes before she accepted that he wouldn’t return. Her fingers tore at the buckles of her weapons belt and she tossed it onto the bed. The gaslamps burned low, their radiance reflecting off the furniture’s brass fixings. She removed the borrowed shirt and sank onto the bed, intending to simply rest her eyes for a few minutes.

As soon as the mattress enveloped her body though, fatigue overtook her.

Visions haunted her sleep. The queen’s head on a pike, screaming at her to fulfill her role then telling her she had earned a reprieve from duty. Clockwork animals stabbing at her skin, bringing both life and death. Princess Laurette’s murder in a dozen vivid incarnations. The gliders falling from the sky, bodies mangled as they crashed into the rocks below. The faces of the Dark Hawk’s crew painted in blood. Zeke. No. Spencer.

Ever flailed on the bed, her limbs tangled in the blankets, a silent scream on her lips. Sweat drenched her body when she finally awoke, breath coming in panicked gasps. Sitting up on the bed, her fingers searched out her weapons but touching them brought little comfort. She knew sleep wouldn’t come easy the rest of the night. After dressing, she made her way to the bridge, intending to sit up with the young pilot. Mahala hadn’t seemed the sort to insist on small talk.

When she stepped onto the bridge, she almost turned around. Captain Pierce still sat at the helm. His shoulders hunched and his head drooped. If he’d fallen asleep, she couldn’t leave him without endangering the ship. She sucked in a deep breath and stepped forward, her hand poised over his shoulder.

“Hello, Ever. Have a seat.” He hadn’t even turned around.

Uncertain if she should, Ever eased into the other chair. “I thought perhaps you were asleep.”

“And that brought you to the bridge in the middle of the night to check?”

“No. I meant I came here and—”

Spencer chuckled, a deep, throaty sound. “I knew what you meant. What are you doing awake?”

“I could ask you the same,” she said, unwilling to divulge the contents of her nightmares or the fact that she’d had them at all, especially the one involving him.

A gentle rise and fall of his shoulders seemed the only answer she would get. Minutes passed before he said, “I’d imagine something similar to what brought you up here on this beautiful night. Memories that won’t die and worries about the hornet’s nest we’re stepping into.”

She shivered at how right he was. “I apologize for dragging you into this mess. I’m certain the princess can arrange for advance payment on your delivery, and once you have safely returned her to the Badlands, I will make sure you are duly compensated.” No matter how steady she kept her voice, Ever knew it wouldn’t be as simple as she’d made it sound. Another tremor rocked her body.

Spencer shrugged off his coat and draped it around her shoulders. “I definitely appreciate that, but I’ll tell you, in my experience, people step into messes of their own accord. You didn’t force me to save you. I just hope we’re the best people for the job you’ve got planned, because I sure don’t know who to point you toward.”

Ever pulled the coat tighter around her shoulders as another chill ran over her spine. She tried to ignore the warmth from his body and the scent of him that clung to the fabric, even as another part of her wanted to wrap herself in it further. She forced her gaze and mind to the window, watching as light seeped into the night sky, bleeding it of color. She tried not to think about who was the best person for the job she had in mind at the moment. The one that had little to do with saving the Badlands. Instead they passed the rest of the night in awkward silence.

Once the Dark Hawk was secured to the ground later that morning, Spencer and Zeke went off in search of Zeke’s father. It left Ever on the ship with Noah and the women.

Noah cornered her at the mess table, his clothes and hair still disheveled from sleep. “So how in the blazes did you make it up that mountain in the first place?” He plucked a roll from the bowl in front of them. “And how’d you manage to bring down the other ship? Had to be some crazy shooting out there.” His head inclined toward Ever’s as if she would whisper the answer.

“Nonsense,” Henrietta announced, sweeping into the room. “Ezekial shot down the dirigible. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Noah’s proximity might have made her uncomfortable, but Henri’s words were the first thing to pierce Ever’s barriers. She glared at the other woman, once more in an elaborate costume.

Henrietta fluffed her hair and kept talking, pointedly avoiding Ever’s gaze. “After all, fighting is men’s work, and warrior or not, there is simply no possibility a woman could out-fight a man.” She batted her eyelashes at Noah.

Ever’s muscles bunched, strained at the fabric confining them. She dropped the apple in her hand, the bite she chewed going sour in her mouth. It burned as it went down her throat. Her eyes squinted against the sensation. Gripping the edge of the table, her fingernails dug grooves into the wood as she fought to control her rage. “Would you care to see if the man here can stop me before I tear your heart from your chest?”

Beneath her carefully applied powder, Henri’s face paled. Her eyes darted from Ever to Noah.

Mahala just leaned back in her chair and laughed. “This should be entertaining.”

“Miss Ever,” Noah said, his voice soft, soothing. “While I expect Henri deserves anything you care to dish out, I don’t think the captain would look very kindly on you killing the one person who can patch us all up.”

Spencer’s face popped into her mind and she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing it away. But she didn’t want to put the ship at risk; they needed a healer on board. Her eyes shot open and Ever yanked up the sleeve of her shirt, exposing a row of narrow chevron-shaped tattoos. “Do you see these?”

Henri nodded, her eyes fearful.

“Each one signifies a prisoner I killed. One of the men your country thought too dangerous to house and so sent to the Badlands. Sent with bedtime stories about the women who patrol the borders to take them into custody. These—” she waved at the marks, “—are the men your people were too afraid to do away with. They sent them into the Badlands for me, and others like me, to do the dirty work. I have another arm like this one if you need to see it.”

“That is hardly necessary. You’ve made your point. You’re a killer.” Henri lifted her head a notch, her eyes proud.

Ever scoffed. “No, Miss High-and-Mighty, I am the executioner your lawmakers pretend does not exist.”

Chapter Five

“Because we need a place to store the blasted cargo, Thomas, that’s why.” Spencer paced outside the corral while the shorter and grayer Zeke look-alike groomed a huge chestnut stallion.

Thomas spit into the dirt. “You still ain’t told me why you didn’t deliver it. I watched your ship come in from the west. You made it to the Badlands, so why’s the cargo still onboard?” He fixed his penetrating blue gaze on Spencer, his hand brushing dirt from the horse’s coat.

Spencer turned away and scrubbed at his face. It was a standoff of the worst sort. He had to unload the cargo for speed’s sake, but he’d have to betray his promise of secrecy to some degree in order to manage it. Thomas was the only person here he knew well enough to trust at all. With a frustrated sigh, he met the older man’s eyes again. “There was trouble there. Political trouble. Some fool’s trying to overthrow the monarchy. We couldn’t set down in the middle of a battlefield.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. He prayed Ever wouldn’t hate him for it.

“That so?” Thomas’s eyebrows reached skyward. “Ezekial said you brought a woman with you. One of their fighters.”

Damn it, Zeke. “Rescued her is more like. She was bleeding to death on a mountain. Your son, the hero, dove down to get her.”

Thomas turned back to the stallion. “Standard ten percent fee.”

Uttering a curse under his breath, Spencer agreed. Just once it would be nice for people to do favors without skinning him in return. “Send Zeke back to the ship when he’s finished with his ride. I want to be airborne again by nightfall.”

“If he comes back by then.”

Spencer sighed. “I’ll be sure to check the saloon.”

He turned from the corral and stalked off, calculating how much the ten percent was going to hurt. By the time he made it back to the Dark Hawk, the sun beat down from high overhead, burning through his thin shirt. At least he’d managed to figure out ways to trim his costs without anyone taking a pay hit. Though, if they got into trouble on the journey, it’d be bad.

“Simple solution, Spence,” he muttered, “just avoid any damned trouble for once.”

He strode onto the ship and to the mess, intent on eating before taking Ever out for some proper clothes.

So much for no trouble.

Ever squared off with Henri across the table. Her face was calm, but a storm brewed in her eyes and the veins stood out on her neck, like it was all she could do not to launch herself over the table at the woman trying desperately not to cower in front of her.

Spencer cleared his throat. “What’d I miss?”

Ever’s furious gaze turned to him; the storm dissipated and color rose in her cheeks. She sat down and picked up a discarded apple. Without a word, she bit into it with a loud crunch. Silent, Henri swept from the room, her face ashen. Another political fiasco he’d have to deal with. He didn’t expect the women to be friends, but couldn’t they at least try to get along?

“Anyone?”

Noah muttered something about checking on their repairs while they were on the ground and ducked out of the mess.

Mahala just laughed. She’d tell him if he ordered her to, but he didn’t want to go down that road. Reminding her of being forced to answer to a master wasn’t something he intended on doing.

“Ever?”

She raised her eyes again. Now they blazed with defiance. “We were discussing the meaning of my markings and what my duties entailed back home.” Her expression dared him to challenge her.

“And I’m certain the conversation was enough to give Henri fits for days, but as a general rule, it’s probably best to stay away from her unless you need medical attention.” He slid a hunk of cheese into his mouth and polished an apple on his sleeve.

Ever clenched her hands, one nearly crushing her own apple, before answering. “That would indeed be ideal. However, your Henri insists on finding me.”

Spencer cringed but didn’t correct her this time. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind getting away from her for a while.”

Later, as they made their way through the streets of Austin, Ever remained tense, her eyes darting from side to side, looking for trouble. He laid a hand on her arm, happy for an excuse to touch her again. “Don’t be so jumpy. We’re as safe here as anywhere.”

“The men here. They look at me like a challenge. It reminds me too much of the borders at home.”

With a fairly good idea what she meant, Spencer glanced around them. Men leered, pointed, some practically salivated. Then he noticed the way the sun shone through the remnants of Ever’s skirt and cursed his stupidity, even as the sight made his blood race. The weapons she carried didn’t make a difference—from the waist down she might as well have been naked. “Will you trust me when I say none of them are looking to kill you?”

The wind blew her hair back, exposing her tight jaw. “Few of them do, at least initially.”

He fought the urge to comfort her. She wouldn’t appreciate it. Instead he steered her toward a building on their right. Inside the door, he yelled, “Brigid, I’m here to collect that favor!”

A redhead in a utilitarian skirt and blouse came from a side room, wiping her hands on an apron. “Spencer Pierce. I wondered how long it would take you to come back to me.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled, but the corners of her mouth drooped slightly when she spied Ever. “Who’s your friend?”

Ever stiffened next to him, and he rested the tips of his fingers on her arm. “This is Ever. She needs to be outfitted to work on my ship, and we could both use a bath if it falls within the bounds of the favor.” The bath wasn’t strictly necessary, and he was sure Brigid had expected to provide a favor of a different sort.

Something in her face softened as she looked at them, and her hands fell from her hips. “Of course. Separately or together?”

He felt Ever’s muscles tighten further. “Separate.”

Brigid raised an eyebrow and said, “I’ll draw them up now.”

Ever luxuriated in the bath, even as the water cooled. Though she’d bathed prior to dressing for the queen’s dinner, between the battle, her injuries and the gunfight, she hadn’t felt so filthy in months. She only wished the water could wash away her conflicting emotions.

She shouldn’t be relaxing here; she should be doing something, anything, to get to Princess Laurette. The fact that her fastest mode of reaching the princess was grounded for the next several hours didn’t lessen the guilt.

Then there was the captain. Damn it to the seven hells if she could understand why she couldn’t drive Spencer Pierce from her mind. Every time he touched her, she wanted more. She yearned for it in a way both primal and terrifying.

A knock sounded on the door. “Ever, Spencer said y’all need to return to the ship soon. I hate to rush you, but if you want to try on the clothes—”

With a longing sigh, Ever pulled herself from the water and dried off. “Yes. Thank you.” She opened the door wide.

Brigid shrieked, averted her eyes and thrust a bundle of clothes at Ever. “Spencer said modesty wasn’t your strong suit, but I had no idea.”

The way women outside the Badlands reacted to feminine nudity confounded Ever. Her body was no different than theirs. She stepped back into the shelter of the room and pulled the clothes on. The shirt was much like the one she’d been wearing, though this was a deep indigo. Ever held up the skirt with disdain and set it aside. It was far too much. While not up to Henrietta’s standards, there was no way she could fight in such an outfit. The pants, however, eased over her legs, the soft suede caressing them. Once she fitted on her weapons belt, she felt whole and stepped into view.

Brigid took the rejected skirt with a sniff, but nodded. “It suits you. I’ll find a second set.” She handed Ever a large brush before heading back down the stairs.

Standing in the light of the small window, Ever pulled the brush through her hair, removing the tangles one by one. When Spencer’s voice came from the open door, she jumped.

“Now you look like a woman meant to be aboard my ship.”

She wasn’t sure if it was a compliment, an insult, or an invitation, but she nodded. When she turned around, she found him staring at her, the look in his eyes almost hungry. Acting on impulse, she took one step forward, and the heat in his gaze disappeared as if it had never been. Ever bit her lip, angry with herself for imagining things, much less pursuing them. “Your friend said it was time to return to the Dark Hawk. Thank you for allowing me to linger in the bath.”

“You needed the relaxation, but I want to be in the air tonight and daylight’s wasting.” He held out a pair of boots. “Try these on quick. Brigid doesn’t have much in the way of shoes, but she thought these might fit you.”

Ever slipped her feet into them and the leather hugged her calves. “The heel is loose, but they are adequate.”

He waved her toward the door. On their way out, he picked up a wrapped parcel from Brigid and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek. “We’re squared up now. Consider your debt paid in full.”

Giving a nod, Brigid said in a low voice, barely audible to Ever, “I hope it was worth it.”

Spencer smiled and, with his hand resting on the small of her back, led Ever out the door and into the blistering heat. “We need to stop by the saloon to collect Zeke before we head to the ship. I’d offer you lunch there, but—”

“That is quite all right. I do not believe you would have enough time to get me properly intoxicated before we needed to leave.” Ever froze as soon as the words left her mouth. What was she thinking? Fortune smiled down on her though, and Spencer didn’t even pause.

He spoke without breaking his slow, even stride. “And here I thought you were too disciplined to imbibe. Maybe I’ll have to test that someday when we aren’t in a rush to save a nation from ruin.”

Ever shook her head and caught up to him. She’d started the conversation and couldn’t shy away. “When we return with Laurette, I would think it the least I could do.” She cringed inside at the implication she would do more.

The unflappable captain urged her to the side of the road as a stagecoach thundered past. “I look forward to it. For now though—” he held the door to the saloon open, “—we need to drag Zeke back to the ship.”

Noise from an out-of-tune piano and too-loud voices made civilized conversation impossible, and the stench of spilled ale, sweat and urine made Ever thankful she didn’t need to open her mouth, much less eat in such an establishment. Spencer’s gaze swept over the crowd, and she realized she should aid his search if they wanted to depart.

Men in various states of intoxication lounged around, leaning on the bar or sitting at rickety tables playing cards and talking. In the back of the room, near the piano, several women in blouses that hung from their breasts swarmed around one table. The sea of skirts parted to reveal a grinning Zeke in the corner. With a sneer, Ever grabbed Spencer’s arm and pointed.

He rolled his eyes and mouthed, “Stay here.”

He might have said the words, but she couldn’t hear him over the din. Ever nodded and planted herself as near to the entrance as she could, hoping for the wind to pick up and blow fresh air through the swinging doors. Across the room, Spencer gently made his way through the women to Zeke.

The bright expressions on the women’s faces faded as the big man stood to leave. Then, as one, they turned toward Ever, trapping her in their gaze. She stood tall under the scrutiny. While she had no particular issue with prostitution, she would be thrice damned if she let them think they were better than her.

When the men finally reached her again, she turned to walk out, but a beefy arm wrapped itself around her waist and pulled her onto the lap of a man with unruly black hair and a scraggly beard. “Y’all ain’t leaving so soon, are you? The lady and I were just about to go upstairs and get acquainted.”

Ever stiffened. The way the man held her blocked access to the weapons on her belt. Otherwise her instincts would have taken over and she’d have killed him already.

Spencer planted Zeke by the door, and then stepped forward and took Ever’s hand in his while he spoke to the man. “Now, Andrew, she really isn’t your type, and we’ve got to get into the air again. There are plenty of ladies in this saloon who’d be happy for your money and attention.”

What was he doing? Not that she particularly wanted Spencer defending her honor, but if he was going to bother, couldn’t he at least pull a weapon?

“But I like this one.” The man’s fingers curled in Ever’s hair and tugged. She could hear him snuffling at the long strands. “She smells so sweet. And the way she walks around with all these toys on her belt—just makes me want to break her like a yearling filly. I promise it won’t take long.”

“Andrew—”

No. She was not about to put up with Spencer trying to talk their way out of this, not with the cretin’s erection pressing against her. Ever pulled her head forward a bit, as if straining against his hold on her hair. Then she jerked back and felt the satisfying crunch as his nose broke.

He howled and released her.

She sprang to her feet, yanked him from his chair and hissed in his ear, “Something most definitely will be broken today, though I can assure you, it will not be me.” Even as she felt a hand fall on her shoulder, she threw the man backward, his body crashing into the table, shattering it and sending pieces flying.

The other men who had been seated with him stood, wiping spilled ale from their faces, drawing weapons. The ghost of a smile crept onto Ever’s face. How many of these men would the Union have sent to meet her if they had the opportunity? She vowed to feel no guilt.

Zeke stepped up next to her, his pistol already out, and nodded.

As Spencer’s hand gripped her elbow, a knife thunked into the floor at her feet. Then she pulled her own blade, jerked away from his touch and dove into the crowd.

Damn them both. Spencer managed to yank Zeke back to the door quickly, with orders to return to the ship and sober up. But there was still Ever to contend with. All his plans to avoid trouble, and she not only started a bar fight but also assaulted the governor. He didn’t want to consider the possibility she might have killed someone after he lost sight of her.

With all the yelling, cursing and dust, finding her was near impossible. He waded into the fray but whenever he thought he saw her, by the time he made his way to where she’d been, she was gone, leaving only groaning bodies in her wake.

A scream of fury sounded behind him, and he turned, bringing his arm up. The blow blocked Ever’s knife from reaching him.

She grinned. “Captain, how nice of you to join in.”

“I’m not joining,” he growled, twisting his arm around to grab her wrist. “I’m getting you out of here. Now.”

“No.” She tried to pull away but he didn’t loosen his grip, he just dragged her to the door. There, she braced her feet, and he felt the cold barrel of a pistol against his skin. “I said no.”

His muscles taut, Spencer took a deep breath before turning around. He kept his fingers firm around Ever’s wrist but stopped pulling. “That’s fine, but the Dark Hawk is taking off with or without you. So you need to choose what’s more important—your selfish little fight here or saving your country.”

Her eyes narrowed, Ever jerked from his grasp and stalked out the door.

Spencer followed a few steps behind. The muscles of her back were flexed so tight, he wondered how her bones didn’t snap beneath them. He hated telling her what to do, but she needed to understand she’d placed the entire crew at risk. And considering his financial situation, he couldn’t afford to just dump her here, nor did he particularly want to.

As soon as Ever was aboard, Spencer released the front ties on the Dark Hawk then nodded to Noah to release the back. He leaped through the opening of the loading bay and lowered the rope ladder for the repairman as the dirigible lifted into the air. One glance confirmed the hold was empty. Ever had already disappeared into the ship.

An exhausted sigh escaped his lips. He’d talk to her after they were in the air. Surely she’d understand that Andrew Houston was the last man she wanted on her bad side. The crazy fool was rumored to be running in Texas’s next presidential election. Spencer could only hope the governor would forget all about them after he slept off his drink.

As for Ever…

He’d never seen anyone move like she had in the initial moments of the brawl. Bar fights weren’t supposed to be beautiful, but in the heat of the fight, every move she made was filled with deadly grace. It was one of the most frightening and gorgeous displays he’d ever seen, and it made it all the harder not to think about what else she could do with that sort of strength and agility.

Chapter Six

Ever picked up the chair, ready to throw it across the tiny room. She froze with it overhead, then set it back on the floor and scooted it into place. Destroying her quarters would not fix the problem. Not the rage boiling in her veins over Spencer’s ultimatum. And not the turmoil she felt whenever she thought about him.

But there was one thing that would.

She needed a diversion, and she knew the perfect person to provide one. The door to her room eased open and she slid across the corridor. Spencer’s voice gave her a moment’s pause, but he was on the bridge. Good. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, though she wondered for a brief second why she should care.

Her knuckles rapped on the door. From inside came a muffled, “S’open.”

With a smile on her face, Ever pushed the door ajar, walked in and swung it closed behind her.

“Look, Cap’n, if you’re here to—” Zeke sat up on his bed, his eyebrows rising when he saw Ever. “You ain’t the captain.”

“No, I am not.” Her gaze traveled around his room. The weapons strapped against the walls. Clothes hastily stuffed into corners. Not disciplined at all, but a soldier. A kindred spirit. She leaned against his door, arms crossed over her chest. “I have a proposition for you.”

“And what might that be? If it involves going behind Spencer’s back, count me out.” He shook his head and propped himself against the wall.

Ever took a languid step forward. “Not that sort of proposition.” She flicked a finger along the blade of a particularly large knife to her left. “I have certain…needs.”

The mattress creaked as Zeke leaned forward. “And you think I’m the one to fill them?”

Another step. “For today. Then tomorrow we will go about our business. I am not interested in anything beyond the moment.”

He stood and closed the distance separating them in one stride. “Good. ’Cause I ain’t looking for complications.” His fingers trailed along Ever’s arm and her muscles tensed. “You sure about this?”

He’d said exactly what she needed to hear, but still she hesitated, thinking of how different his touch was from Spencer’s—less fiery, less exciting. She squared her shoulders, certain she’d react to the feel of Zeke’s skin on hers soon enough. “Yes. I need this.” Her hands ran up his arms, savoring the feel of his muscles, before tangling in his blond hair. She pulled his head close and said, her voice husky, “Tonight, I want to feel ravaged. I want to forget everything else.”

A smile split his face. “I can do that.” He pulled her roughly against him and dipped his head. His lips crushed hers, beard scratching her face as his tongue forced its way into her mouth.

Ever fought to ignore the taste of stale beer in his mouth and lose herself in the kiss. When that failed, she pulled away from him, grabbed his shirt and tore it over his head, her nails scraping his back as her teeth sank into the wall of muscle that was his chest.

Zeke’s fingers coiled in her hair and yanked her head back. Before she could protest, his lips and teeth were on her neck, biting their way down to her shoulder. He pulled on the shirt, the ties in front spreading, giving him access to more.

But it wasn’t enough. She could still think, and she didn’t want to think anymore. For just one night Ever needed the rest of the world to disappear. Her hands released Zeke’s back and clawed at her belt until her weapons crashed to the floor. Her shirt whispered over her head and landed in a puddle of blue.

A feral growl escaped Zeke’s lips. He grabbed her by the waist and slammed her against the wall. Her legs instinctively wrapped around him as his mouth found her nipple. He sucked on the tip, making it pucker. She pressed his head against her chest, begging for more, even as he hardened against her.

His hips moved, shoving her more forcefully into the wall. The blade strapped there sliced through the skin on her back and Ever bit her lip to stifle a yelp of pain. But it was what she needed. The fire on her skin pushed all thoughts of anything but the moment from her mind. The pain and the pleasure were all that remained.

The next thing she knew, Zeke dropped her onto the bed, his hands fumbling with her pants. She brushed his fingers away and unfastened them herself, sliding them over her hips. As soon as they were off, Zeke was on top of her, his own pants around his ankles.

Ever could barely breathe with his weight pressing on her, but she didn’t care about that or anything else. Her hands found his neck, pulling him close as her lips pressed against his, tongue delving into his mouth as he thrust into her. Unable to move much, she tilted her hips up to meet his. She wanted him deep inside her. Wanted it rough. Painful even. She wanted this to quiet her thoughts for hours.

He thrust again. And again.

Then stopped. He collapsed on top of her, panting as if he’d just run for miles.

Ever blinked, waiting for him to move again. When he didn’t, she poked at his side. He rolled over and air rushed into her lungs. Just as everything she’d wanted to forget sped back to the front of her mind.

His sour breath brushed against her skin as he whispered, “Thank you. That was amazing.”

She turned from the odor, but she didn’t know what to say. All this time, she’d assumed if anyone could quiet her spirit, it was Zeke. But this…this was the best he could do? It wasn’t enough.

Spencer’s visage filled her mind again, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“And we’re flying.” Spencer twisted in his seat, fighting the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him and trying to ignore the racket coming from Zeke’s room. He couldn’t imagine what the drunken fool was doing to himself this time.

“Cap, you need some rest. You let me sleep all night. It’s your turn.” Mahala checked their speed and adjusted the wings slightly before locking them into place.

“If you’re sure—”

“I can handle the old bird.” Mahala eased into the pilot’s seat. “Though there was something I needed to mention.”

“What’s that?”

“You had me go into town this morning and send the senator a telegram, which I did, no problem.” Her eyes shifted to the side. In a lot of people, the move was a sign they were about to lie, but Spencer knew in Mahala it just meant nerves. “There was another charge on the account. From today. Unsigned.”

His brows pulled together. “And the operator didn’t remember anyone?”

“No. Said he just came on duty.”

Spencer scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to figure out who might have done it and why they’d hide it. Ever? She was with him all day. “Okay, I’ll deal with it later.” He stepped toward the door, but his curiosity got the best of him. “They don’t keep copies of the outgoing messages, do they?”

“No, but I can tell you one thing, it was expensive. Which means it weren’t no miss-you-home-soon. Whatever got sent was long.”

That was all he needed, some unknown expense that cost more than anyone would own up to. He tamped down the irritation. “Thanks, Mahala. Wake me to relieve you.”

The noise from Zeke’s room had quieted a bit, but Henri stormed down the corridor, face contorted with anger. “Would you tell that—that animal to keep it down?”

“I’ll take care of it, Henri,” he said with an exhausted sigh.

“You better. I’m tired of him—”

“I said I’d take care of it.”

She narrowed her big blue eyes and glared at him before turning on her heel and stomping back to her room.

Henri was the last person Spencer wanted to deal with right now. Zeke was next on the list. He needed to straighten things out with Ever and then get to bed but, as captain, knocking on Zeke’s door was his job. When the only response was a muffled noise, he took it as assent and opened the door. “Zeke, you need to keep it quieter—”

In the dim glow of the gaslamps, he could just make out Ever standing, pants sliding over her bottom. As she fastened them, Zeke handed her the new blue shirt.

“Sorry, Cap’n, won’t happen again.”

All Spencer could do was stare.

With the shirt tugged down over her head and weapons belt in hand, Ever finally turned. She didn’t meet his gaze, but the flush of passion on her cheeks was unmistakable. She edged past Spencer into the corridor, and he tracked her movements.

Neither of them even tried to deny it.

She’s just a job.

Spencer swallowed hard. “See that it doesn’t.” He yanked the door shut and leaned his head against it.

Her voice made him jump. “It isn’t what you think.”

He didn’t try to fight the bitter laugh that fell from his mouth. “And what, pray tell, is it?” Though he didn’t want to, he forced himself to look at her—at the heat still coloring her face.

“It isn’t.” She turned to enter her room, and he spied blood seeping through the back of her shirt. She stumbled and caught herself against the wall, her weapons and boots tumbling to the floor.

“Damn it, Ever, you’re right. I certainly didn’t think it was this.” He supported her weight, almost carrying her down the corridor to the infirmary. Her protests were easy to ignore, quiet as they were. The cot sank under their combined weight. “Take the shirt off and lie down.”

She eased it over her head and Spencer winced at the sight. He tried not to think about how she’d gotten sliced straight across her back as he slammed through containers searching for Henri’s antiseptic and bandages.

“You know, if you keep up the reckless behavior, our medical supplies’ll run out and you’ll die because you couldn’t resist your idiotic idea of a good time.” He swiped antiseptic around the cut, and her muscles twitched under his fingers. The urge to touch her in a more tender way was almost unbearable. Instead, he took out a needle and thread and stitched up the cut. “Sit.”

Ever pushed herself up, and Spencer wrapped the bandage around her torso, carefully avoiding her breasts. He knew if he touched her once it would undo him. As soon as he secured the bandages, he moved to stand, but she spun and caught his fingers in hers.

“It was not what you think.” Her eyes pleaded with him, but he wasn’t sure what she expected.

Spencer freed his hand. “Your life is yours, Ever. As long as you’re not endangering my ship or my crew, it doesn’t matter what I think.” He was on his feet before she could touch him again. “Enjoy your evening but, if you can, do it without any more injuries.” He didn’t wait for a response.

Back in his quarters, he slumped onto the bed and kicked off his boots. She was with Zeke. He had to admit he should have seen it coming. They were very similar after all. At least he’d held back. It kept him from making a fool of himself by approaching her after the moment that first day in the corridor.

His shirt followed the boots. What did he expect? She’d fallen on him. It wasn’t as if she had grabbed him and kissed him intentionally.

Too bad his lips had never stopped burning.

Ever paced the infirmary. She would not chase after him. He’d made his position clear—he didn’t care. Didn’t care that he’d caught her with Zeke. Didn’t care about what she had to say. He. Did. Not. Care.

Besides, he had a woman waiting at home for him. The pretty blonde in the tintype.

Her hand balled up in a fist that found its way to the wall. It was her turn not to care. Not about the dent she left in the wood, or the way her knuckles throbbed. And she would not let herself care about Spencer Pierce either.

She pulled the blood-stained shirt back on, ignoring the way the stitches pulled, one more reminder of his touch. The corridor was empty and silent, her bare feet on the wooden floorboards the only noise. Ever breathed a sigh of relief as she passed the engines and their quiet droning accompanied her for a moment. Once past though, she was alone again.

Her weapons belt hung on her door when she reached it. While her fingers stretched toward the leather, her eyes drifted to the side. His quarters were only a few steps away. She could…

No.

Ever grabbed her belt and jerked the door open. After she kicked her boots inside and hung the belt over the chair, she threw herself on the bed. Tonight hadn’t solved anything; it had only made matters worse.

Henrietta had called her a whore that first night on the Dark Hawk and now she’d gone and made it look like the cultivated bitch was right all along.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

And the sex hadn’t even been worth the scar she’d have on her back, much less the pain she’d brought herself.

She shrieked, the mattress swallowing the noise. Searching for something to hold on to, she balled the blankets in her fists. Ever fought the emotions warring within her, but, in the end, they followed her into a fitful sleep.

Horns blared in a blackened sky as blood seeped from battle wounds all over her body, staining the ground around her. She fought her way through walls of people, searching for a way to end the pain. She had to get Laurette to safety. It was her duty, her promise to the queen. The wall of enemies collapsed before her and a chasm opened in the ground at her feet. As the earth crumbled away, the dust cleared from her vision.

Not one but two people—one to her right, the other far to her left—were held prisoner across the gaping hole. She knew with everything in her she could not make it across the chasm to save them both. Their faces flashed in her mind. The princess. The captain. Neither called nor begged for help, both standing stoic, certain she would make the right decision.

In the end, she made the only choice she could and leaped across the divide.

Ever woke with a start, her heart racing, a scream of dread in her throat. The gaslamps cast eerie shadows on the walls, painting the ship afire. The dream haunted her. She’d leaped without thinking, it was the only explanation. Her mother had taught her as a child that dreams bore messages, warnings sometimes.

That had to be it. Ever didn’t live her life randomly, she chose a course of action and saw it through. Since she’d been on this ship though, she’d fought against such decisiveness. If she kept it up, it would be her undoing. She would fail in her quest, and the Badlands would fall—all because she was too proud to feed this illogical hunger.

Setting her jaw, she pushed off the bed. Ever knew what she had to do, knew it had been the right decision all along, just one she’d refused to accept. With her head held high, she smoothed the wrinkled front of her shirt and strode into the corridor. There she faltered, unsure, palms sweating. No. She’d made the choice, it was time to see it through to whatever end awaited her.

She took four steps toward the bridge then turned and rapped softly on the door. No answer. Her hands trembled and she squeezed them into fists to quiet them once more. The lack of response didn’t matter. She wouldn’t turn back. There was only one thing for her to do.

Her fingers relaxed, steady once again, reached for the handle and opened the door. Ever stepped into the darkness, making certain to close the door tightly behind her.

Chapter Seven

Spencer cursed in his sleep. Every dream was about her. Memories of the day she’d come aboard and laughed in his face. Her body pressing against his in the corridor, clothes slipping like satin against her skin. Along with conjured images of her lying with Zeke.

Exhausted as he’d been, as much as he needed the rest, he wanted nothing more than to wake up and banish the visions. Instead, he saw her walk into his room. She glided across the floor like a specter. Her hair fell around her shoulders, the gaslamps drawing out the sun-bleached strands and making them glow. The mattress sank as she sat next to him.

If he had to dream of Ever, this was what he wanted. He might not be able to touch her any other way, but here…here she could be his. Still, his hand shook as he reached for her.

“I tried to stay away from you.” She spoke to the wall, her voice soft. “I should not even be here now, but I cannot allow this inexplicable connection to distract me from my duty.”

Not what he expected, but he hadn’t managed to control any of his dreams yet. Why should this one be different? “What do you want from me, Ever?”

She turned to look at him, her eyes bright in the dim light. “I want to know why, even when I throw myself at someone else, I cannot stop thinking of you. Why I am so drawn to a man who looks like he could not survive a single day in my world. Why I ache inside when you stop touching me. Why you look at me with passion in your eyes one moment then smother that heat the next.” She swallowed hard, searching his face as if the dream version of her actually sought answers.

He sat up, his fingers cupping her cheek and sliding back into her glorious curtain of hair. “I can’t answer most of that. As for the last, b-because I couldn’t stand the idea of you laughing at me again.”

“I am not laughing now.” She leaned forward, her lips pressing against his, hesitant at first, then harder, more passionate.

Hands tangled in her hair, Spencer pulled her closer. He’d be damned if he finally had a dream go his way and he let it get away from him. Her lips parted, opening to him. His tongue traced her lips, savoring the taste of her. The soft moan of pleasure only drove his hunger and he plundered her mouth, his tongue twining with hers in an erotic dance.

He could’ve kissed her forever, the rest of his life all but forgotten. His hand slipped from her hair, pressed into her back, trying to draw her closer to him. She hissed and pulled back, ending the kiss all too soon.

Ever trembled, the look in her eyes no longer bright with heat but with something akin to panic as they darted from his face to his bedside table. “No. This was not how this was meant to work.” Her chest heaved as her hands pushed against Spencer.

Keeping his hold on her back, he tried once more to pull her to him. “Ever, what—”

When she winced, he gave in and released her. “I am sorry. I do not know what I am doing.” She dashed from the room.

Only then did he see the dark patch on the back of her shirt. There was no reason for the cut to exist in his dream. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and fell against the mattress. It had been real. She’d come to him. And something he’d done had driven her away.

The debate of whether or not to follow lasted only seconds. Then he glanced at the tintype and his sister gave him the answer. Spencer didn’t know what had happened, but he couldn’t just run after Ever. She’d come to him on her own terms. Surely she’d felt the same fire he had in their kiss.

She’d come back—she had to.

What had she been thinking? That kissing him would make the yearning go away? Her lips burned and the heat traveled through her body to pool between her legs. She had no choice. If she planned to take Princess Laurette back to the Badlands, she would have to find another ship to give them passage. She had to separate herself from Spencer Pierce or she would go mad.

On her own bed once more, she curled into a ball, hugging her knees tight. The thought of leaving tore at her soul—duty or…

She refused to think the word. She’d known the infernal man for only a few days. The four-letter word that tried to invade her thoughts was not one a sane woman used for a man she barely knew.

For Ever, it wasn’t a thought she had at all.

Duty came before all else. She’d vowed it long ago. Old queen, new queen, it didn’t matter. The Badlands needed her kind as surely as they needed a strong leader on the throne.

Even as she repeated her vow in whispers, tears ran down her cheeks. Ever squeezed her eyes shut. She would not be a woman who wept over a man. It was self-indulgent—weak. But just like her screams of frustration before, this time her tears followed her into sleep.

Before the sun’s rays even lit the port side of the Dark Hawk, Ever woke. The sky out her room’s tiny porthole shone blue and clear. Her mood suited the darkness inside her room far better. She sat on the bed, head in her hands. She had to survive on this ship until they landed. If she stayed in her room, she could avoid them all. Henrietta’s accusatory stares. Whatever reaction Zeke would have from last night. And Spencer—everything to do with Spencer.

But she wouldn’t. She’d brought all of this upon herself; she would stand proud and deal with the consequences. With that thought firmly in mind, she stood, prepared to dress for the day, when a knock sounded on her door. Her brows knit together as she crossed the room and opened it.

Spencer. Of course he had to test her resolve when she was barely out of bed.

“Captain,” she said, her voice even, but tighter than she’d intended.

He fidgeted in the doorway, the package from their trip to the clothier in his hands. “I wanted to bring these to you since they were forgotten during our departure.” She took the bundle without a word, silence stretching between them. “You’ll need the bandages changed.”

Her breath came in shorter gasps, certain where the conversation was headed, unsure how to prevent the obvious outcome. “That would be prudent.”

He cleared his throat, eyes shifting from the floor to her face. “I can tell Henri to expect you, or if you’d rather avoid her, I could…” His voice trailed off.

The thought of his hands on her again heated her to her core. She yearned for his touch even if it was just to change the dressings. But he’d offered her a way out. “Thank you. Please tell Henrietta I will be there momentarily.”

Spencer’s face fell, and Ever’s fingers bit into the door. She didn’t want to cause him pain, but she had to stop this. She never should have gone to him in the night, but she couldn’t take it back. Besides, he had the woman in the tintype to consider. This was the kindest gift she could give him.

His jaw flexed for a second then his mask of command slipped back into place. “I’ll let her know to expect you.”

Ever closed her eyes as he stepped away from the door, trying to still the pounding in her chest.

“Are you coming to breakfast?”

Her eyes shot open to find Zeke standing in front of her open doorway. Would she have to face all her nightmares before she’d fully awakened? “I need to visit the infirmary.”

He nodded. “I can see that. I’ll do my best to make sure there’s something left for you.” With the barest flash of a smile, he proceeded down the corridor.

Ever blinked at the empty space. At least he was as good as his word. One night with no tomorrows promised or implied. She heaved a sigh of relief. One less worry. On the other hand, she’d just agreed to visit Henrietta of her own accord.

Laying the package on the desk, she debated opening it. Better to save the new clothing for their arrival. She opened the closet, pulled out the second shirt from Mahala, and carried it with her to the infirmary.

Henri bustled around the room, straightening things that didn’t appear out of place. When Ever stepped in, she turned, hands on her hips, lips pursed. “Spencer informed me you require care…again. I will need to have words with him about using my infirmary, but first I suppose I must deal with you. So let’s see it. How did the good warrior injure herself this time?”

Ever bristled and reminded herself she’d asked for this. She turned from Henrietta and pulled the bloody shirt over her head.

With a sigh of exasperation, Henri shut the door before perfunctorily unwrapping the bandages. She let out a little gasp. “Good heavens, what did you do?”

It was all Ever could do not to laugh. Henrietta would never believe the story. Not that she had any intention of telling her. “Does it matter?”

“Was the blade at least clean?” Her fingers prodded the wound.

Ever ground her teeth. “From what I could see.”

Henri tsked and told her to lie down. “Spencer did a fair job of stitching you, but you will have a scar. There’s simply nothing to be done about it.” She dabbed at the cut with a cool, wet cloth. “It’s cleaner, but there isn’t much I can do for it other than apply new dressings. Do you require something for the pain?” She rose from the cot.

Ever sat up, watching the other woman move around the room. She realized soon enough Henri was avoiding meeting her eyes. The question was some sort of test. Ever shook her head. The woman simply would not quit. “No, I do not need anything. I have battled with far worse.” It wasn’t completely true. She rarely wounded herself like this, but she would have fought someone to the death with it open and bleeding if she’d needed to.

“Stubbornness will be your undoing.” Henri started wrapping clean cloth around Ever’s torso.

The words echoed in her brain, taunting her. It wasn’t stubbornness—she was simply following the most logical course of action. She did not need medication. And whatever she felt for Spencer could not reach fulfillment. Ever was not that sort of woman. Life with her would offer him nothing but heartache. As for herself, she was better off without the distraction of a man who expected her to be there. To be his.

And Spencer Pierce was the type who would want a wife. He deserved a woman like the one he had waiting for him.

As Henri tied off the bandage, Ever said, “I appreciate your advice, but thus far, it is the thing that has kept me alive.”

She managed to avoid Spencer through breakfast. Shortly after though, he approached and pulled her aside. Ever squared her shoulders and trailed him onto the bridge. When he turned toward her, his face flitted to the pained look for an instant then returned to normal. “It’s reached the point I need to know where to set down to locate this princess of yours. Our engines don’t have enough fuel to take a leisurely course anywhere.”

A business meeting she could handle.

“Princess Laurette is in Philadelphia at the university.” She paused. Her brain screamed at her to say that after she accessed funds to pay him, she would seek other passage back. But the words wouldn’t come. “Is there anything else?”

He stared at her for a long moment, and she thought—hoped even—he would mention what had passed between them. She wouldn’t do it herself, but if he…

“No. That’s all. We make berth in Philadelphia anyway. I’ll deal with my contract while you fetch your princess.” He turned back to the helm, scratching out calculations on paper.

Ever bit her lip and strode from the bridge. This was what she wanted. He was following her lead and pretending nothing happened. It should have made everything easier, instead she felt like someone had reached into her chest and was squeezing her heart to determine how much pressure it could withstand before it stopped beating.

In the empty cargo hold, Noah grumbled about the equipment lying around. “Zeke and his stupid projects. Working on them in the middle of the God-blamed night. I need to clean this up before the captain gets down here and sees the mess.”

The contents of the crate were scattered across the floor as though someone had grabbed one piece after another and hurled them with all their might. “What happened?”

Noah glanced up. “Who knows? Everything was where it was supposed to be last night. I came down after breakfast to do some work and found this.”

Ever had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that somehow she was the one responsible for the mess. “Can I help you?”

Giving a nod, Noah said, “If you can just bring some pieces over here, I’ll make sure they get back where they belong.”

She dove into the work, grateful for something to do. For a few blissful hours her body was so busy it didn’t leave time for much thought. During lunch though, Mahala delivered food to Spencer on the bridge, and his absence was like a gaping hole to Ever, painfully reminding her of the chasm in her dream. She choked down some food and made her way back to the cargo hold.

It was empty. Noah had left some of the portholes open for air when they’d been cleaning. She stood in the middle of the space and inhaled deeply, cleansing her lungs and clearing her mind. Her arms and legs traced patterns through the air. She normally exercised with blades in hand but today she would do without. It would take more focus to keep her motions slow and steady. Soon, sweat dripped down her neck. The stitches on her arm and back itched and burned, but she savored the pain and the distraction it provided.

She stabbed at unseen enemies. Sliced through their bellies. Swept their feet from under them. Every move calculated to injure or disable. Her surroundings blurred, replaced in her mind by the glorious desert. Her personal demons took the shape of the man who had earned her the mark of the phoenix on her cheek. He’d crossed into the Badlands and stumbled upon Ever’s patrol. Rather than turning himself in, he’d attacked.

She swung her imaginary blade, hearing it hiss through the air as she sliced him from shoulder to hip.

She’d left him for dead. A year later he’d found her again. This time he was stronger, faster, with metal welding his body together. Someone had turned him into a machine, and he’d learned to survive alone in the Badlands. That was how he’d found her—alone. She’d gone on a vision quest, far from the border. A place that should’ve been safe. He’d attacked during her deprivation haze. She’d thought he was truly a ghost, come back from the grave.

Her right foot stepped back and she ducked an unseen blow. Her hands prepared to drive the imaginary blade through the chest of the man who had risen from the dead to hunt her when the present day intruded on the memory.

Birdsong erupted, and Ever’s vision righted on the inside of the cargo hold. She had the briefest moment to realize how odd it was to hear tweeting over the engines before a dozen winged creatures soared through the open portholes.

They swarmed around her head like gnats. Claws scratching, needle-sharp beaks pecking at her skin. She spun, swatting at them, but still they attacked. One landed on her forearm and held tight, its talons digging in. Ever raised her arm to yank it off. As it drove its beak into her flesh, she saw the glinting metal on its head and screamed.

Chapter Eight

Ever grabbed the bird and dashed it to the floor, crushing it under her boot.

But the others, bigger than the first, overtook her. One, a small raptor, bit into her wrist, the metal of its mechanized beak piercing deep into the skin. Blood spurted from the wound as another clockwork latched onto her hair and began pecking at her face. Ever dropped to her knees and curled in on herself, banging the raptor against the floor, attempting to dislodge it.

Over the flurry of wings and her screams, Ever heard one sickening crunch after another. A voice broke through and tried to calm her, but she couldn’t make out the words, only the soothing tone. Something grabbed her arm, pinned it to the floor. She struggled against the hold. Then the thunk of an axe sounded near her and she risked peeking out. The raptor lay on its side, its head severed in half, brain matter and blood mixing with oil inside its skull.

She shook as she tried to sit. All around her, the crew demolished what remained of the clockworks. Ever grabbed the part of the raptor’s head still attached to her wrist to yank it out. A hand fell on hers.

“No,” Spencer whispered in her ear, the same quiet tone he’d used to break through her screams. “We need Henri to take it out. You’re bleeding a lot. I’m not sure what it hit.”

All she wanted was the last of the evil machines off her, but she nodded. With a strength she hadn’t guessed he possessed, Spencer lifted her off the ground and held her tight to him. As much as she’d endeavored to stay away from him, in that moment she clung to his body and the safety he represented. When he laid her on the cot in the infirmary, she clutched at his fingers.

Henri swept in, an apron over her fancy clothes. She paused when she saw them, staring at their twined fingers. But only for a moment. “You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?” She turned the wrist over, and Ever saw it for the first time.

Thank God Spencer had stopped her. Beyond the risk that it had hit a major blood vessel, the beak hooked around one or more of the tendons in her wrist. Had she jerked it free, she would have torn them. She’d have lost use of the hand—death to someone in her profession.

Henri leaned over the wrist, examining it through the aid of a magnifying monocle. “We’ll need to pry the beak open, but I have to rinse the wound clean first to ensure where the blood loss is coming from.” She glanced at Spencer. “Ezekial smuggled some absinthe aboard. This would be an ideal time for you to confiscate it.”

Spencer nodded gravely, but a voice came from the doorway. “You don’t need to take it. I’ll get it for you. A good drunk ain’t worth Ever dead.”

Ever raised her head to thank him, but Zeke was gone before she could say a word. When he returned, he met her eyes and nodded. Nothing needed to be said.

“This will hurt.” Henrietta uncapped the bottle and poured it over Ever’s wrist.

The alcohol burned like liquid fire. Ever clamped her lips tight against the pain. Her entire body went rigid and she crushed Spencer’s hand in her own. Her vision blurred as something scraped back and forth along her skin.

She didn’t want to look. More that she didn’t want to see what was left of the clockwork than fear of what Henri was doing. Finally the motion stopped and she felt the beak ease from her skin. Then it caught and she inhaled sharply as something inside her gave way.

Henri uttered a very unladylike curse under her breath. “I’m sorry, I was trying to avoid the artery.”

Ever risked a glance. Henri was bent over the wrist once more, and now Spencer held her fingers in a death grip. The doorway stood empty, Zeke gone. “How bad is it?”

Henri sat back and rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “The beast nicked a vein, but not badly. I’m afraid I did more damage when I pulled it out. It tore the second tendon.”

Ever twitched her fingers one at a time. Agony flared when she moved her index finger. Her trigger finger. She lay back against the cot, staring at the ceiling.

“I can stitch it together and it should heal, but you need to rest it. It would be best if it’s immobilized.” Henri’s face was grave. “If you never listen again, this is one time you can’t ignore me. If you want full use of your hand, you must rest it for several weeks.”

Weeks. Ever didn’t care about weeks. She had to get Laurette back to her throne, and after this, she could no longer pretend it was going to be easier once she arrived in Philadelphia. But she had little choice. “Do what you must.”

Spencer stayed with her while Henri repaired what damage she could. Then they strapped her wrist to a board padded with cloth.

Ever stopped outside the door to her quarters and turned to thank Spencer, but he shook his head. “You aren’t staying alone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Those things didn’t attack anyone else, Ever, they were after you.” His eyes shifted to the floor, hiding them from her view. “If you want to be with Zeke instead, I won’t argue, but I’m not risking something else happening to you.”

Stubbornness will be your undoing.

Henri’s earlier words echoed in her head and, as hard as she tried, Ever couldn’t banish them this time. She’d thought going to Spencer’s room the night before had been a mistake—a bigger mistake than Zeke even—but perhaps the true error had been leaving. Other woman or no other woman. She’d made the decision to follow through on her desires and had pulled away when she found she wanted more. If she went on patrol with such an attitude, she’d have been dead twenty times over by now.

She sucked in a breath and raised her head high. “No, Spencer, I want you. I’ve wanted you all along.”

He didn’t know what to think, what to feel, but he wasn’t going to let this chance slip through his fingers. Hand on the small of her back, he guided her into his quarters. The gaslamps already burned low, setting her hair alight once more. None of it had been a dream, she truly was that beautiful.

He eased her onto the bed, careful with her back and wrist. All these injuries for one mission, a quest someone seemed determined to keep her from completing. Half the men he’d known would have lain down and given up before this, but not Ever. Not this crazed woman who haunted his mind asleep or awake.

“Is there anything I can get for you?”

Her lips twitched at the corners, the ghost of a smile but nothing more. “There is nothing outside this room that I need.”

Spencer’s fingers caught in a gaping tear on her shirt. “You need new clothes. It will only take me a few seconds to get them from—”

Ever caught his hand and held it. “Until we disembark in Philadelphia tomorrow, I do not require other attire.”

He met her gaze and swallowed hard, vowing to not press his advantage. “You won’t rest comfortably in that.”

“Then I will do without.”

God, his self-control would never survive. He disentangled his fingers from hers, strode to his closet and pulled out one of his own shirts. “Will this work?”

Her smile grew by the smallest increment. “If you’d like.”

There were many things he would’ve liked, but this was one he needed. He laid it on the bed next to Ever and knelt in front of her, his hands finding the hem of her ruined shirt and lifting it. She raised her arms and, fingers brushing her skin, he slipped it over her head and eased it past her brace.

His pulse sped as he looked at her. That first day, he’d tried to ignore her pert breasts and small rosy nipples. Though she was still injured, this time she invited his gaze. Spencer wanted more. He wanted to touch, to taste, those ripe buds. Even as he swelled with desire, he tore his eyes away. This wasn’t the time.

Ever’s fingers pulled on his cheek, her palm rubbed against the stubble lining his jaw. “Am I so hideous you cannot bear to look at me?”

Mouth gaping open, he twisted his head back toward her. It wasn’t possible she was as insecure as other women.

Her eyes danced with merriment. She’d been teasing, nothing more.

But she took full advantage of the expression on his face, leaning forward and covering his mouth with hers, her tongue seeking his.

There might be some things he wouldn’t do yet, but he refused to stop this. He cupped her face in his hands, fingers tracing her jaw, memorizing the feel of her skin. His tongue caressed her lips, twined with hers, setting every one of his nerve endings on fire. His erection pressed painfully against the constraints of his pants, but he didn’t care. If this was all he could have tonight, he would revel in it. His hands trailed down her back, careful to avoid the bandages, and he pulled her tighter to him.

His erection rubbed against her, and she moaned against his lips. He drew back. “Ever, we can’t. I can’t. Not like this. Not—”

She brushed her lips against his, soft this time—there, then gone again. “I know. Too many things stand between us and that pleasure. I need to earn your trust after what I did.”

He froze. What was she talking about? When it hit him, he almost laughed. “I understand what happened with Zeke. Can’t say I’m happy about it, but I understand.” He did too. If she had been feeling half the turmoil he had, taking advantage of a willing alternative made perfect sense.

She shook her head, her long hair tickling his arms and sending a shiver through him. “Most men would condemn me.”

“I’m not most men.”

“Perhaps that is what draws me to you.”

“Perhaps.” His fingers still ached to touch her, but she was right. Their time would come. He picked up the shirt and held it out for her to slip into. With her incapable, he was forced to fumble his way through the buttons when all his hands wanted was to slide under the cotton.

She shifted herself onto the bed, and he climbed in next to her. He held his breath, letting her take the lead. Only when she leaned against him did he start breathing again, his hands tracing random patterns on her skin.

“Those…machines. They do not just randomly attack like that, do they?” Her voice was small, like a child lost in the dark afraid to attract the monsters under the bed.

“Clockworks? No. They have masters, someone who tells them what to do.” Spencer’s mind went to Elsbeth and the puma, and he had to push the memory away. “They really terrify you, don’t they?”

She nodded against his chest. “As a child, they fascinated me, like elaborate toys. Then something went wrong with one, and it tore up a room in the fortress, like it was looking for a way out. I never cared for them after.” She shivered, and he pulled her closer.

His brow furrowed. What he’d seen in Ever hadn’t been dislike of the technology, it had been fear. He opened his mouth to say something, but she continued.

“I can tolerate the early machines. But since then I never trusted those that still had a brain. Then—” her voice sank to a whisper, “—a violent man who I thought I’d killed came after me again a year or so later. He’d found someone to implant him with machines. He’d been a crazed murderer before, and someone had given him more power. He almost killed me.” Her fingers gripped her side like it hurt.

Spencer remembered seeing a scar there, but she had so many he hadn’t given it much thought. “That would make any sane person distrust the technology.” And he was sure today’s attack wouldn’t change her mind at all.

She gave a mirthless laugh. “About five years ago, my sister and I were camping and came across one of those abominations—severely injured, on the verge of death. I wanted to kill it. She insisted on nursing it back to health. I slept with one eye open the rest of our trip in case it attacked, but it followed her around like a pet. It loved her.” She heaved a sigh.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Yes, she is younger and more refined than I. As with the clockwork, she answers challenges with diplomacy, whereas I reach for a weapon. I was born a warrior just as she was born a—” She shifted uncomfortably. “Do you have siblings?”

“One.” He inclined his head toward the tintype. “She died several years ago. We were hunting and she was attacked by a clockwork someone had set free. Henri tried to save her, but even if the transfusion hadn’t gone wrong, I don’t think she would have made it.”

“Oh.” Ever blinked at the image. “I am very sorry for your loss. I don’t know how I would cope if my sister died.”

He wanted to ask questions. After she’d opened this little window into her soul and shown they had something in common, even if it was hatred of the machines, he wanted more, but her breathing was slow and steady. He wasn’t about to drag her from her rest.

“Spencer?”

“Hmm?” Her voice had startled him. To cover, he inhaled the scent of her hair, the scent of her.

“How did those machines find me?” She shivered against him again. “How…how did anyone know I was even here?”

He started to shake his head. Then he stopped. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know. “The telegraph.”

“What telegraph?” Her body went rigid in his grasp.

So he told her about the extra charge to the ship’s account. “I didn’t think much of it beyond being angry someone would spend the money and not own up to it.”

“And now?”

He squeezed his hands into fists, afraid of hurting her further with his anger as the faces of his crew flashed through his mind. “And now, it means someone on my ship not only betrayed my trust but wants you dead.”

They discussed it in low voices. Every name came up, and each one was summarily dismissed.

“None of them have any reason to hate you.” Spencer wanted to get up and pace. His blood was boiling and he couldn’t quiet his mind. Yet he couldn’t bear the thought of not having Ever in his arms.

“Henrietta does not think very fondly of me.”

“Not enough to kill you.” He couldn’t believe that of Henri. She was too focused on propriety and her status. Ever didn’t threaten her in any way. Of course, Ever wasn’t a threat to anyone on the crew.

They batted around ideas deep into the night when sleep finally overcame them both. Ever’s head rested on Spencer’s chest, her brace lying across his stomach. His arms wrapped around her as if she would disappear if he didn’t hold on to her for all he was worth.

Chapter Nine

The jostling of the ship woke Ever. She lay tangled in Spencer’s embrace. As much as she wanted to stay there, holding him and reveling in the knowledge that there was no other woman—only her—she knew the time had come for duty once more. Assuming, of course, they were actually in Philadelphia. She tried to slither out of his arms, but he pulled her tighter.

“It’s going to be a while before we’re cleared to disembark.”

Ignoring him, she pushed up until she hovered over him. “How can you be so calm? We might not even be in Pennsylvania, much less Philadelphia.”

He jerked his chin toward his porthole. “Every place I’ve docked has a different view. Trust me, if nothing else, we’re exactly where we intended.” When she didn’t lie back down, Spencer rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose we need to figure out our next move.”

Ever eased from the bed, stretching muscles sore from too much tension and time in close quarters over the last few days topped by the clockwork fight. “That is simple. You obtain the paper that gives you ownership of the Dark Hawk and I find Princess Laurette at the university. We return here and take her home.”

“And you’re willing to fly with someone who tried to have you killed?”

Now that she’d finally given in to her crazy feelings for Spencer, she didn’t want to let him go. More than that, though, she knew there was no point in looking for another ship. “Yes. If only because there is no way I can be certain of finding alternate passage that is any safer. I trust you to get us back. I would not trust anyone else. At least here, I know to be on my guard.” She knew her reasoning wasn’t completely sound, but if anything happened to her, she was sure Spencer would guard Laurette with his life.

“Is everything black and white to you?” He tugged off his shirt, muscles flexing as he pulled on a clean one.

She allowed herself a brief moment to appreciate the way his muscles rippled and moved, like the grace of a mountain cat. “No. Some things reveal themselves in so many colors they blind me to how wonderful they are.” She stepped behind him and rested her chin on his shoulder. “I will never understand what this is between us.”

He turned and brushed her lips with his. “Do you really want to?”

She caught his eyes and sank into their subtle shades of gray. “No, but I would enjoy surviving long enough to try.”

They stepped from the ramp onto the dock, the wood slats and brass rail gleaming in the early morning sunlight. Spencer pulled up short as he spied the man striding toward them—average height, but bearing himself in such a way that he looked tall, powerful. The gray at his temples bespoke wisdom, but nothing in his dress or demeanor gave away the fact that the senator was a greedy bastard who bled his employees dry.

“Captain Pierce, I see you brought my ship back in one piece. The message mentioned some delay in your delivery?” He smiled, but it brought no light to his blue eyes.

Spencer nodded. He and Ever had agreed to a modified version of the truth. “That’s correct. There was an altercation at the fortress. The Dark Hawk isn’t outfitted for battle, so we felt the wisest course was to store the cargo until things calmed down.”

“Such a shame. Without the remainder of the payment, I’m afraid you haven’t fulfilled your contract. You’ll need at least another run before your debt is paid and the ship is yours.”

Ever cleared her throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Senator Mason, this is Ever, one of Queen Lavinia’s border guards. She’s here on a mission from Her Majesty.” If Spencer allowed this to play out on the senator’s timeframe, they could be here for hours. By the way Ever shifted from foot to foot, he knew her patience wouldn’t last that long.

Mason eyed Ever, his gaze narrow, lips curling into a sneer. “You couldn’t unload your cargo, but you managed to pick up a passenger? Please tell me how such a feat works.”

No longer even making an attempt to hide her impatience, Ever spoke up. “I have the queen’s authority to render payment on the shipment. As I understand the situation, that will complete Captain Pierce’s term of service with you.”

The skin beneath the senator’s eye twitched. “Once his debt is paid, you are correct, I will sign over the Dark Hawk’s registry.”

Spencer knew Ever wanted to avoid delays, but with his words her muscles went tight as if something about Senator Mason unnerved her. She stood taller, her chin up and eyes narrowed. “Fine. We will go to the bank and—”

“Father! What a pleasant surprise.” Henrietta swept past them in a swirl of skirts and wrapped her arms around the senator.

“My dear, you look unwell.” He stood back and shot an accusing glance at Spencer.

Henri shook her head. “It has been a long few days, but we’re here now. I wanted to spend as much time with you as I could. Please tell me you aren’t in session.”

“No, no, Congress is not meeting today. I had planned to be at the lab.” He wrapped an arm protectively around Henri’s tiny waist and turned to Ever. “I will meet the two of you at the bank before you depart.”

“We’ll be leaving tonight,” Spencer said.

“So soon? Then before sunset.” He inclined his head toward Ever. “Enjoy your stay in Philadelphia.”

Once he’d drifted off with Henrietta in tow, Ever tipped her head toward Spencer and hissed, “He is a congressman?” When he nodded, her fists clenched as if she wanted to strike out at something. “Then I will make certain to keep the princess under close guard.”

Ivy trailed along the buildings. The intent, Ever decided, was to provide a dignified yet homey feel. To her, the plants looked as if they wanted to crush the brick and mortar and drag it back into the bowels of the earth. It was one of the least comforting displays she’d seen in her life.

Students strolled along the cobbled pathways, swinging wide in their suits and bustle skirts to avoid her. Ever tugged at her rough shirt, fully aware of how she stood out. When she’d planned this, she’d never considered her attire. At least Spencer had convinced her to leave her more obvious weapons on the ship. Those would have sent these elegant people running for cover. The image made a tiny smile curve onto her lips.

Then she thought of the blades concealed in her boots and the mirth melted away. If there was trouble, they were all the protection she had to offer Laurette. Assuming she managed to find her at all. She’d always thought the fortress crowded, but it paled in comparison to this small circle of life in Philadelphia.

Giving up on her fruitless wandering, Ever grabbed the arm of a passing man who saw no need to avoid her. He cast a disdainful glance at her calloused hands before lifting his amber eyes to her face.

“I need to find a student.” She searched her brain for the false name. “Laura Marr.”

He snorted. “I doubt very much Laura will be interested in whatever you have to say, but you’re in luck—I know her. Follow me.” He marched off at such a brisk pace Ever almost lost him in the sea of dark jackets. Buildings all looked the same here, and she wondered if he was leading her in circles. With every step, her wariness increased and her eyes began to dart about like prey that can smell the hunter but not see it. After countless twists and turns, during which she was certain he knew her identity and was an assassin sent to kill her, he stopped in front of a door and knocked.

An older woman with a pinched face and tight bun opened it. “Yes?”

“This…young lady…is here for Miss Marr.” He spun on his heel and left Ever staring at the matron.

“I’m sorry, but Miss Marr is in the middle of a lesson. Might I ask what this is in regard to?” Her eyes narrowed to tight slits.

Ever rubbed at her brace, wanting nothing more than to shove past the woman, grab Laurette and run. “It is a family matter. Her mother—” Ever’s voice cracked on the word.

The old woman’s face softened. “One moment.”

By the time the door opened again, she had composed herself. When Laurette appeared, her long chestnut hair piled on her head in a display that would have made Henrietta jealous, Ever almost wept.

Laurette must have seen the pain in her face. “Something happened.”

Ever nodded, choking down words she couldn’t say here. “It’s time for you to return home.”

“Mother?”

“The queen is dead,” Ever breathed, her eyes downcast.

Laurette’s voice whispered against Ever’s skin like a ghost, “Long live the queen.”

Minutes later, they were in Laurette’s room. “You do not have time to pack. Someone has already tried to kill me. I cannot be certain they didn’t follow me here. We have to get you to safety.”

Stuffing a few more things into a bag, Laurette sniffed. “There is nowhere safer than wherever you are. I know you’ll die before you allow someone to hurt me.” She secured the bag and handed it to Ever.

“And when they kill me? Then what?” Ever looped the bag over the shoulder of her already incapacitated left arm.

Laurette reached deep into a trunk and stood, unraveling a small parcel. “Then we see just how well you taught me before I left.” The gun in her hand gleamed as if it had been polished every day since she’d departed the Badlands.

Ever gave a tight nod and they left the building. With the gun carefully hidden in the folds of her skirt, Laurette led the way, dodging between steam-driven horseless carriages. Ever trailed behind like a servant, intent on every face and shadow they passed.

Ever had rushed into the bank with a woman Spencer could only assume was the princess. One or the other of them withdrew the funds he needed, and Ever handed it over. The sum was more than the cost of the delivery.

He grabbed her arm as she turned to leave. “Thank you for this.”

She met his gaze and something cold and hard in her eyes melted, but the nervous fear he’d seen remained. “This is the least we could do. You may thank us when we all survive the return voyage.” Then she was gone, urging the princess on in a way not very befitting of a personal guard.

Spencer shrugged it off. The people of the Badlands didn’t conform to what the States considered proper. Never had, likely never would. His lips twitched into a smile. It was probably one of the very things that attracted him to Ever.

“You look quite pleased with yourself, Captain Pierce.” William Mason stepped into the bank carrying a stack of papers. “I’m afraid you won’t be as happy when we’re finished here. Might I borrow your desk, Jebediah?” he asked the banker.

“Certainly, Senator. Everything’s locked up. You take all the time you need.” The slight man with the thinning black hair stepped outside, closing the door tight behind him.

Spencer clenched and unclenched his fists. “I have your money. The only thing you needed to bring with you was the contract and the Dark Hawk’s registry. What is all this?”

“This, my dear boy, is a list of all the repairs you insisted the ship needed while in your care and receipts itemizing your share of the cost.” Mason spread documents across the desk. When Spencer didn’t step over to look, he continued, “I suppose this is the only one you need to see. This is what you owe me before I can sign the ship over to you.”

Spencer grabbed the statement. Even the extra money Ever had given him didn’t cover it all. As hard as he fought to remain calm, the paper crumpled in his hand. “So I have to keep working for you in order to pay the charges.” He knew this had been too easy, knew Mason had something to hold over his head again. If he’d thought killing the senator would solve his problems, he would have done it without hesitation.

“Nonsense.” He put ink to paper and signed his name in a great looping scrawl. “Your contract with me is complete. In fact, I don’t even legally own the Dark Hawk any longer.”

“What?” If Mason didn’t own the ship, who the hell was Spencer supposed to pay? His pulse throbbed angrily in his temples, rage blinding him.

Mason gathered up the pages, folded them and slipped them across the desk. “Since you didn’t manage to pay off what you owed me in the time we agreed upon, I signed the Dark Hawk over to my daughter. Henrietta owns your ship. You’ll have to make arrangements with her if you plan to fly it again.” He stood and smoothed his jacket before stepping to the door. “I’m sure you can work something out. Good day, Captain Pierce.”

Spencer’s mouth went dry. If he’d thought for a moment there couldn’t be anything worse than working for William Mason, he was wrong. Henri would do her best to tie his hands completely.

And somehow he had to convince her to not only honor the amount he had still “owed” her father but to allow him to return Ever and the princess to the Badlands.

“No, Spencer. Why is that so hard for you to understand?” Henrietta tapped her foot against the gleaming dock.

He thanked God Ever had secured the princess on board before Henri returned from seeing her father. For now, their secret was safe.

“There’s cargo that has to be delivered to complete the run we were on. We have to return to the Badlands.”

“From my understanding, the government of the Badlands has paid in full. It is not the fault of this ship or its company that their civil unrest made it impossible to deliver their goods. But don’t worry, I’m certain we can find another run. Something nice and short, so we don’t have to spend quite so much time cooped up on the ship.” Her fingers slid along the brass handrail toward his.

She wanted to trap him. Henri knew full well Badlands runs paid the best. It would take months of short runs to the Confederacy for him to pay the debt he owed. There had to be another way. He closed his eyes and sighed. “What is it you want, Henri?”

Her fingers found his on the rail and twined in them. “The same thing I’ve wanted since the day I joined your crew.”

Spencer’s eyes flew open and he gaped at her. The ever-present coy smile, the corset that squeezed her waist so tight Zeke had once said he could fit his hands around it. She’d been presenting herself to him every day since they’d met. How she’d managed to get her father to agree to this was beyond him. William Mason didn’t exactly seem the sort to approve of his daughter’s attraction. He was surprised Mason hadn’t signed over the ship just to keep Henri away from him entirely.

He gave his head a slow shake. “You don’t want me for a husband, Henri. I couldn’t settle down into the life you expect.” And he didn’t want to. He wanted the woman who was striding across the dock toward them.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to pay off the rest of what you owe.”

“Is there some sort of problem?” Ever stepped up behind Henri, her gaze shifting to the Dark Hawk more than either of them.

Henrietta smiled at Spencer. “No problem at all. It will just be a few months before Spencer has ownership of his precious dirigible. Until then, he answers to me.”

Before Spencer had the chance to respond, Ever said, “Has the ship been cleared to depart?”

“Yes, I took care of it before we left this morning.” Spencer cocked a brow at her, silently asking what she had in mind.

Ever brought her arm up and swung it. The butt of the pistol in her hand hit the base of Henri’s neck and the tiny woman crumpled into Spencer’s arms. He turned wide eyes on Ever. “What did you do?”

“I made it possible for us to both depart now and for you to answer to her later. At the moment though, it would seem imperative we get her on board and leave this place before anything else goes wrong.” She strode away from him, stuffing the gun back into its holster.

He swept Henrietta’s limp form into his arms and followed Ever, wondering if he was making the right decision after all.

Chapter Ten

They’d been in the air with no obvious sign of pursuit for a few hours before Henri’s screams garnered Noah’s attention. “Captain? I hate to be a bother, but Henri’s been howling like a banshee for a while now.”

Spencer’s jaw clenched and the muscles across his back tightened. His crew might not like Henri all that much, but they didn’t need to be party to what he and Ever had done.

Before he could say anything, Ever spoke up. “Yes, I think it is time we spoke to her. Perhaps you could take care of dinner since it does not seem like she has any intention of leaving her quarters?”

Noah shrugged and walked off toward the mess. Ever tipped her head in Spencer’s direction. He swallowed hard, unsure if he really wanted to be part of this discussion. But he’d made his choice and—God forgive him—he had no regrets.

He fell into step with Ever as she strode from the bridge. “Should the princess be present for this?”

Ever’s voice was tight. “She will have her own problems to deal with when we land. If she needs to know anything, I will tell her.” She passed her cabin without so much as a backward glance.

“The two of you have an interesting relationship considering your social status.” He wanted her to open up to him, to stop hiding behind this veil of duty.

“Yes. We do.” She pushed into Henri’s stateroom, and the screams hit them at full volume. While Spencer shut the door and tried to rein in his frustration at her evasive answer, Ever stepped over to where they’d bound Henri and slapped her across the face.

Henri glared at her. “What do you think—”

Ever pulled back and hit her again. Spencer didn’t say a word, and this time Henri was smart enough to follow his lead.

“Better,” Ever said. “We are going to have a little chat.”

“Are you going to let her—”

This time, Ever pulled out a knife and laid it within easy reach. Henri’s mouth snapped shut. “When we landed in Austin, you sent a message.” Eyes wide, Henri nodded. “We need to know what it said.”

Her gaze darted to Spencer. “I contacted my father. I was still angry about her coming aboard and upsetting everything.”

Knowing now that Henri had designs on marrying him, he could only imagine what she’d noticed in his interactions with Ever. “What did you tell him?”

When he spoke it seemed to give her strength, and Henri fixed her gaze on Ever, voice tinged once more with malice. “I won’t talk as long as she’s here.”

Ever snatched up the blade and pressed the tip to Henri’s cheek. “You so admired my marks before, but I never told you the method we use when there are no artists available to paint us. We carve out slices of skin with our blades. They heal as the most glorious scars. Truly beautiful. Perhaps you would like one.”

Henri trembled and a sob escaped her lips. “I told him we couldn’t land and Spencer rescued some barbarian woman with tattoos all over who didn’t even have the decency to cover herself around the men.”

Ever’s eyes darted to Spencer.

Mason was the only one outside his crew who knew Ever had been aboard his ship. He had the information and the technology in his own lab necessary to have attacked her with the clockworks.

Spencer’s throat constricted and a sour taste filled his mouth. It took every ounce of willpower he had to not strike out at Henri himself, if only because she was the closest he could get to her father at the moment.

No. Regardless of her part in this, the essential theft of the ship, the threat on Ever’s life and the attack on the Badlands were all her father’s responsibility. Henri shouldn’t have to pay for that, but Spencer hoped when the time came to put a bullet in the senator’s brain, he was the one pulling the trigger.

While he might not fully appreciate Ever’s methods, he nodded at her to continue—they needed these answers. And Henri still deserved some punishment for what she’d done.

“And when you met your father earlier, what did you discuss?”

When Henri didn’t respond quickly, Ever pressed on the blade hard enough it bit into her skin. A trickle of blood marred her pale cheek as tears filled her eyes. “He said I could have the ship if I agreed to delay this trip. That’s all I was supposed to do—slow you down.”

Did Mason know about the princess then? If all his information came from Henri, he couldn’t.

Her voice hard, Ever leaned close and hissed in Henri’s ear, “So why does he want to destroy the monarchy? Why did he have our queen killed?”

“He didn’t! He wouldn’t!”

Regardless of the damage Henrietta had done, Spencer knew she believed what she said. To a degree, Henri was a pawn in this game, just as he had been. As Ever pulled her hand back to strike, he stepped in and grabbed her wrist, shaking his head. He wouldn’t argue with her here, but he wouldn’t let this go on either. “Henri, I’m sorry, but you’re confined here until things are set right. You can be quiet, or I can leave Ever to keep you quiet.”

He pulled Ever through the door and shut it tightly before heading back toward the bridge.

Down the corridor, she shoved him against the wall. “Why didn’t you let me kill her? She betrayed you. She’s part of the plot that set this all in motion.”

Ignoring the anger flashing in her brilliant green eyes, Spencer ran a hand along her cheek. “Because she did something stupid and selfish, but she didn’t know.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“The same way I was sure that trusting you was the right thing to do.”

Ever introduced the princess simply as Laurette. She charmed the crew with her stories of university life. By the time they retired for the evening, Mahala and the men adored her.

“You handled that well. You’ll make a wonderful queen.” Ever tugged her boots off.

“It isn’t as if I had much choice in the matter. Someone had to succeed Mother and her other children weren’t exactly fit for the role. I just didn’t expect it to happen this soon.” Laurette took a silver-backed brush from her bag and ran it through her hair. “You look awful, by the way. Did you bring nothing with you when you left?”

Ever shrugged. “I brought what I needed.”

Laurette wrinkled her nose and scoffed, “No clothes, no toiletries. How many weapons?”

Lying back on the edge of the mattress, Ever huffed, “Does it matter? I brought the tools necessary for my job. Besides, when the attack happened, that was all I had time to gather. I was fighting when—” her voice caught, “—when it happened.”

Laurette lay next to her and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. It was insensitive of me to make jokes.”

“How can you be so calm? She is dead.” Ever hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand.

“Because she suspected something. Travelers from the States requested permission to journey through our lands several years ago. More followed. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

Ever had known but, like the farmers who settled along the borderlands, Queen Lavinia had never made more than a passing mention of the men, simply issued the order that they were to be left alone. “She never said she considered them a threat. Why would she tell you and not me?”

Laurette gave a wan smile. “Because she didn’t know what the threat was, only that something wasn’t right. There were whispers of untapped wealth in our borders but nothing more.” She sighed. “You need an enemy to fight, Everette. Phantom worries don’t fear blades or guns. She told me so I’d be prepared, in case.”

It wasn’t good enough. If nothing else, as a commander in the queen’s army, Ever should have known. Her hands balled into fists, the braced one resisting the motion. She wanted to strike out at someone, specifically the dead queen, but that wasn’t possible, and she didn’t want to take out her anger on Laurette. She pushed up from the bed. “I do not feel the need for sleep tonight. Rest well. I will be nearby.”

“With the captain?”

Ever froze, her hand on the door. “What did you say?”

A small bell-like laugh sounded from the bed. “I’ve seen how you look at him. It’s the first time you’ve favored a man with that particular expression.”

Her muscles clenched tight and she fought back the few delicate memories of the kisses she’d shared with Spencer. “It does not matter. My duty is to you and the Badlands. I will not be with Captain Pierce. Get some rest, Your Highness.” The laughter followed her into the hall.

Outside, she slid down and leaned her head against the wall, wishing for an enemy to fight. As her eyes drifted shut, the visage of Senator Mason taunted her. She killed him a dozen ways while she slept.

As the ship came to life in the morning, Ever woke to find a blanket draped across her shoulders. Spencer squatted on his heels across the corridor, holding out a mug of chicory coffee. “We crossed into the Badlands a few minutes ago. The Mississippi River is behind us.”

Ever wanted to take it as an encouraging sign, but she wouldn’t feel better until Laurette was safely on the ground and she’d organized a group of diplomats to go after Mason. Then Ever could focus on what she did best, protecting the realm. “How long until we reach the fortress?”

Spencer scrubbed wearily at his face, hands brushing over the too-long stubble and framing his shadowed eyes. “We’re fighting the wind going this direction, but we’re light. We should be there sometime tomorrow, early if we’re lucky.”

Ever nodded.

His fingers lifted her chin. “We’ll get her there, Ever. One way or another.”

She met his eyes, and he started at something he saw there. “Laurette is the priority, Spencer. Promise me no matter what else happens, she is the one you will worry about.”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to either of you.”

Her fingers grabbed his and squeezed. “Swear if you must choose, you will save her.”

He searched her face before sighing. “I promise.”

“Get some rest, I have a feeling the worst is not behind us.”

He stood and stepped past her into his quarters.

She hated herself for not offering him something more, some comfort he could cling to, but more than before, she had to focus on duty and ignore the voice in her head telling her to go to him.

She was still sitting there, waiting for Laurette to rise for the day, when Zeke almost tripped over her legs. Her head shot up, instantly alert. “What is happening?”

Zeke glanced at Spencer’s door. “It might be nothing.”

“Or it might not.” He nodded and Ever pushed to her feet. “I am going with you.” She needed the activity. Anything was better than sitting around waiting.

He didn’t pause, just continued on to the hatch leading to the gunboat. As he knelt in front of it, he said, “Can you make it down with your arm?”

“If not, I will fall to my death.” She grabbed the ladder with her good arm and slid down. “Contrary to popular belief though, I do not have any desire to die just yet.”

Zeke dropped next to her and fixed his gaze toward the ship’s stern, raising a hand to shield his eyes against the early morning sunlight. “Cuss it all, can’t see any better from here.”

Unsure what he was looking for, Ever fumbled with her belt before dislodging her oculars. She pushed the spring and twisted the lenses out. “Perhaps these will help. What did you see?”

“A speck.”

“Speck?”

“Against the sunlight. A dark speck.” He swept the oculars across the sky, coming to rest at a spot directly behind the ship. “Damn.” Without another word, he thrust the oculars back in her hand and made for the ladder.

“What is it?”

“It’s time to wake the cap’n. The speck is flying, and it ain’t no damn bird.” Zeke pulled himself up the ladder and disappeared.

Ever trained the oculars on the area he’d been watching. It was still quite far, but Zeke was right. Another airship pursued them.

Spencer dropped into the gunboat a few hours later. “I brought you something to eat.”

Ever hadn’t come up after the discovery, and she needed her strength. She tore a hunk of bread with her teeth. “They are faster than us.”

It wouldn’t have mattered if they were slower and they both knew it. Simply crowning the princess wouldn’t solve the Badlands’ problems. They were low on soldiers and had escaped prisoners to round up. The other craft could join the Dark Hawk on the ground and kill Princess Laurette as easily as they could from the air. But he knew Ever needed to believe they had a chance. “How long till they’re in firing range?”

“It depends if they have more of those cursed gliders. Those will reach us faster than the guns.”

Unless they learned from her little trick last time. “At worst?”

“With gliders? From what Zeke said, shortly after nightfall. Without, we might make it till sunrise.” Her voice was calm, even, not a hint of nerves at what was to come. “I would advise all the ammunition for these weapons be brought down now.”

He didn’t want to tell her, but there was no way around it. “This is all the ammo.”

She glanced around, and he knew what she saw. Possibly two dozen rounds for each gun, likely less. “It might be enough, but I would ask that you make certain Laurette is safe in case of a forced landing.”

“She’s asking for you.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. She’d asked once, but he hoped it would bring Ever back inside.

“Tell her I know how to do my job.”

By the stern set of her shoulders, he knew there was no changing her mind. He climbed the ladder and set to securing the ship as best he could.

“Cap’n, I got a better look at the other ship. We can’t take ’em. It’s one of the new Class 3s.” Zeke helped him tie down the last of the equipment in the loading bay.

Spencer swallowed hard. With a ship like that, it had to be Mason. No one else would have reason to pursue them. The senator would have his ship outfitted with the best weapons too. They’d destroy the Dark Hawk and likely kill everyone in the process. Ever was worth losing the Hawk, but not if she didn’t survive.

She wasn’t going to like his plan. Not at all. “Meet me on the bridge in five minutes.” He raced to his quarters and unbound his desk, pulling his charts of the area free before slamming the drawer shut again.

On the bridge, he spread the map out and snapped, “Mahala, where are we? Have we got any definite landmarks?”

“Flat behind us, a river below, but I’d say that up there’s our best landmark.” She jerked her head at the window.

Spencer looked out. The Rocky Mountains rose in front of them. He marked their path on the map and looked at the river below through the scope. With a fairly good idea of their location, he turned back to the chart and calculated. Considering how light they were, they should make it.

“Cap, you look like a man plotting something crazy. Or stupid.”

His lips twitched. “Maybe both, Mahala, maybe both.”

“Are you mad? What do you mean ‘landing’?” Ever raced after him.

At least the announcement had brought her up from the gunboat. “The other ship outclasses us, Ever. They’ll shoot us down before we’re close enough to retaliate, even with your skills. If that happens, we all die. This at least gives us a fighting chance.”

“A fighting chance to what? Hide in the mountains until they hunt us down?”

“A fighting chance for you to take the princess and find some of your people while we distract them.”

She grabbed his arm and threw him against the wall so hard the gaslamps flickered. “I cannot ask you to sacrifice your crew. They have the right to know—”

“They know. They also know if we keep flying, they’re dead anyway. They’d rather go down fighting.” He reached up a hand and brushed back her hair. “You said I had to choose Laurette over you. This way, I can choose you both.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Ever leaned against his hand. “We could all run.”

“If we didn’t scatter, they’d find us too easily, and alone, not many of us would survive. Hell, I wish I could send Zeke with you. He’s—”

“Not you.”

Her expression tore at his soul, and he knew it was the closest she could come to admitting she cared for him. “I’m the captain. This is my duty, just as yours is to protect the princess.”

She shoved him against the wall and pressed her lips against his, hot and desperate. He hungered for more but knew he couldn’t have it—it was too late. When she drew back, the warrior had returned.

It was time.

Chapter Eleven

The moon hung like a sliver of light in the sky as the Dark Hawk sank toward the mountaintop. Mahala and the men had the ship tethered in minutes. Spencer led Henrietta outside, her hands still bound.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Offer you a choice. See that ship coming in?” Spencer pointed at the enormous dirigible. “Your father’s on it. You can wait here for him or come with us.”

She shook her head, blond hair tumbling free. “I won’t help you kill my father.”

“Fine, but you should know he plans to murder the rest of us. This is what your betrayal brought to your friends, Henri, death riding in on a white airship.” The glow of the gaslamps inside cast his face into stark relief as he shoved Henri back into the hold.

Ever memorized every contour, every line.

“Zeke, Noah, you’re manning the guns. Cut down as many as you can before they’re on us.” They’d torn the weapons from the ship and set them up on rocks. “Mahala, you and I cover the sides. Once the big guns are finished, we split up, draw them away.”

“Captain?” Noah said. “We all understand Laurette’s important, but since we’re going to die for her, don’t you think it’s time we knew—”

Laurette shrugged off Ever’s hand and stepped forward. “I am Princess Laurette, heir to Queen Lavinia of the Badlands.”

As the men gaped, Mahala shot a glance toward Ever, but she shook her head silently.

All too soon, the other dirigible sank to the ground, and the sound of approaching men rang in the clear night air.

Ever spared one last longing glance at Spencer, grabbed Laurette’s arm, and they ran. Every step tore at her, and when the gunfire started, she stumbled.

Laurette took hold of her arm. “You fool, if you love him, go back.”

“What?”

“It will take time, but even if we die, the Badlands will survive. The throne won’t stay empty long. There are far too many women there as stubborn as you for that to happen. Don’t give up this captain for some ideal you have.” She shoved Ever toward the fighting.

“But…How…”

A smile played at the corners of Laurette’s lips. “Because I know you, Everette. Go to him.”

“I cannot leave you.”

“Fine, then I will go to him, and you’ll have no choice but to follow.” Laurette charged toward the sound of fighting, her pistol drawn.

They raced back and found the others just as a bullet caught Mahala in the side, and another downed Noah. Ever’s heart pounded. These were people she’d come to call friends. They weren’t warriors. This shouldn’t be their fight. She tore her crossbow off her shoulder and awkwardly forced a bolt into the slot. Shot after shot took down enemies, but still they came. Her fingers fumbled, dropping the last bolt. She tossed the bow aside and jerked her gun free.

“Look out!” Spencer’s voice made her turn, even as a blade whistled past her face and thunked into the man towering behind her.

She smiled at Spencer then screamed as an arm snaked around and pressed a blade to his neck. There was no way to hit the soldier who held him, but she fired off a round, putting a bullet in the forehead of one who approached Mahala. Then the butt of a rifle smashed into her injured arm, and a meaty biceps cut off her air as flashes of light danced in her eyes from the pain.

A slow rhythmic clapping began, and Senator Mason crested the rise in front of them. “Well done. You managed to decimate my forces. Now, Captain, I’ll release you and your crew. All you have to do is hand over the princesses.”

“Princesses? There’s only the one, and she’s long gone.”

He was right about one thing. Ever hadn’t seen Laurette since she dove into the fray.

Mason glanced around, his eyes coming to rest on Ever. “Ah, it seems we already have one. Even more arrogant than you appeared in the portraits of the royal family.” He turned back to Spencer. “Hand over the other and the rest of you can live.”

Spencer caught Ever’s gaze, his own eyes wide. She held her head high, defiant.

“Fine then.” Mason motioned to one of his soldiers. The man dragged a struggling blood-covered Zeke forward. Mason raised a pistol and took aim.

“Daddy, no!” Henrietta raced from the ship. She stumbled, and the soldier reached out to steady her. Zeke leaped up and threw himself at Mason.

Too late, the senator fired into the tangle of bodies. When the smoke cleared, Henrietta lay on the ground, clutching her side as blood dribbled from between her fingers. The soldier tackled Zeke, forcing him onto the rocks.

Sparing his daughter a disappointed glance, Mason said, “Henrietta, my dear, you never did learn when to listen to your elders and stay out of the way. Regardless, I’m sure my people will manage to patch you up well enough when this is over. As for your friend…” He grabbed Zeke by the hair, pressed the pistol to his temple and fired.

Blood and brain matter exploded into the night, much of it splattering on a moaning Henrietta. She didn’t move to wipe it away, but when Zeke’s body fell, she crawled toward it, searching futilely for any sign of life.

Ever tore her eyes from the sight. She’d respected Zeke, cared for him even. She wanted to remember him laughing and fighting by her side, not like this. A painful lump formed in her throat, almost impossible to choke down.

“Now, as I said—” Mason drew back the pistol’s hammer, “—the other princess.”

“Why?” Ever screamed, no longer caring about containing her emotions.

Mason sniffed. “For the gold, of course. On the edge of your little kingdom is a treasure trove. It should belong to the United States and will once you and your sister are dead.”

How had he not seen it? They had the same delicate features, same lean bodies. And now it looked as if they’d share the same fate. His crew was dead or dying, and there was nothing he could do to help Ever, much less her sister.

A scream of fury rent the air. With his hands pulling against the soldier and his blade, Spencer tensed and caught Ever’s gaze, surprised as a small smile lit her face.

“I think you’ll find, Senator,” Ever said, “that this royal line is not so easily dispatched.”

A gunshot tore from the darkness and ripped through the soldier nearest the senator. The enemy fired back, but soon another shot came from a different direction, taking another soldier with it. Six shots, six soldiers down. It left two plus Mason.

With a scream, Ever smashed her head into the face of the one behind her. She rolled toward Spencer, driving her foot into the kneecap of the man holding him captive.

Taking advantage of the man’s pained shock, Spencer slipped from his grasp and drove the soldier’s own blade into his chest. Spencer’s hand came away bloody and without the knife.

“Enough of this.” Mason fired. The bullet blazed through Spencer’s stomach and threw him to the ground.

Ever grappled with the last soldier, desperate to keep him from Spencer.

A bullet burned against her cheek as it passed, and she twisted just as a second shot was fired. The soldier fell, Ever’s legs crushed beneath the weight of his body. She struggled to get up, to find a weapon. She’d heard the soldier’s neck snap. Mason was all that remained. If she could only finish him. Her left arm flopped against the ground, the brace jarred loose in the fighting.

Mason loomed over her, an evil smile on his lips as he pointed his gun into the darkness. “Come out, Your Highness.”

Ever’s eyes rolled up. Laurette stepped from the shadows, dropping her empty pistol, hands raised in surrender. Damned fool. She should have run and disappeared into the mountains. After all the help she’d given them shooting from the shadows, why was she giving up now? What good would that possibly do?

“Finally, one of you shows a little sense.”

“Of course, I’m sensible, Senator. Your pistol only holds six bullets. You’ve fired five. You can only kill one of us.” She stepped straight up to the man, pressing her chest against the barrel of the gun even as her feet kicked the dirt near Ever’s outstretched fingers.

As she fought the weight pinning her, Ever felt something there, just out of reach of her injured hand.

“And once you’re dead, I have time to find another weapon to finish your sister. The gold along the coast will be mine.”

“How many lives is it worth? Your men’s? Your daughter’s?”

Spencer.

It didn’t matter how many died here, his was the only name on Ever’s mind. Her fingers reached out and clawed at the dirt. And found something else. Agony screamed through her as she clutched at their one shred of hope.

“The United States will be a world power with that gold. Sometimes people must die for the greater good.” The words dripped with venom.

“And sometimes,” Ever hissed, pulling herself from under the soldier, “people just need to die.” Laurette dove to the side. Ever rolled and jerked her legs from under the corpse as she swung the short arrow in an arc and buried it in Mason’s chest.

His eyes widened, his mouth gaping open even as his finger squeezed the trigger, his last bullet flying harmlessly into the air as he tumbled backward against the rocks.

Finally free, Ever crawled to Spencer’s side and wrapped her arms around his still form. None of the pain in her body hurt anywhere near what she felt looking at the gaping wound in his belly.

His fingers reached up, brushed her hair from her face and traced her phoenix tattoo. “We won, my crazy warrior woman. The Badlands will rise from the ashes.” A smile inched across his face then his hand fell away, all the strength gone from his body.

Ever buried her face against his shoulder and sobbed.

Epilogue

Six weeks later

Sunlight seeped through the porthole, stirring Ever from sleep. She sat up and watched the light play on the planes of Spencer’s face. Her fingers trailed along his skin, pausing for a moment at the red, puckered wound on his abdomen.

So many injuries, so much pain. Zeke’s death still weighed on her conscience, but at least Henrietta had managed to work through her pain from the graze in her side and tend to the rest of them. Still, one death was one too many, and while Henri’s healing skills may have convinced Spencer to allow her to retain her place on the ship, she hadn’t come close to earning anyone’s forgiveness or trust.

Spencer twitched beneath her hand, and she poised to tickle him awake when a sharp pain lanced through her wrist.

She forced her hand into a fist, pushing past the agony. It didn’t matter what Henrietta said, Ever would have full use of her left hand again. While surveillance duty on the Dark Hawk was pleasant enough, it wasn’t Ever’s calling.

As soon as word of Laurette’s crowning reached them, their people had come out of hiding and begun to rebuild the fortress. For now, the new queen was housed deeper in their borders, at the north end of the very mountain range where they’d made their stand. What remained of the border guards had been joined by men—former prisoners who had earned their freedom—and helped even now to hunt down their brethren. Ever argued against the plan from the beginning. The new queen had turned the Badlands into something different, something foreign. Laurette decided Ever needed time to heal and ordered her to patrol the air with the newly outfitted Dark Hawk in order to ensure their skies stayed clear of more invaders.

For the first time since childhood, Ever had regretted abdicating the throne to her sister.

Looking at Spencer, she bit her lip. If she were queen, she’d never be able to be with him. Still, she needed to be on the ground…at least some of the time.

He rolled toward her, and she lowered her hand, enduring the pain to stroke him awake. His eyes drifted open as he hardened beneath her palm. “Is that the proper way to wake your captain?” His voice was still husky with sleep, but the playful smile on his lips told her more than the words.

“No, sir. However, the proper method involved you staying asleep a few moments longer.” Ever had never expected to willingly follow a man, but on this ship, she knew titles were meaningless. Whatever she called him, she knew they were equals in his eyes.

He growled and rolled over, pinning her to the mattress. “Well, Princess, I think we better remedy the situation immediately.” His length pressed against her, and her muscles tightened inside as moisture made her slick and hot and ready.

“If that is what you think best.” She lowered her eyes for a second, playing coy, then lifted her head and nipped at his chest.

A throaty laugh rumbled through him. “Still feeling feisty, I see. I’d have thought the last two weeks on board would have bored that out of you.” He shifted his weight, his tip teasing her.

“It will take longer than a fortnight to make me sick of being with you.” She raised her hips, yearning to get closer, but he moved just out of reach. Ever growled.

Spencer lowered his head, his breath tickling her neck as he trailed kisses up her throat. “But there have been complaints from the rest of the crew. I’ve been told if you scream my name one more time, they’ll mutiny and I’ll be cast bodily from the ship.”

A slight turn of her head and Ever’s mouth was a breath away from his. “Then I suggest, Captain, you find a creative means of keeping me quiet.”

His lips curled into a smile an instant before he covered her mouth and thrust into her.

Ever clutched his back, her nails digging into his skin as he stroked inside her, her moans and screams lost in his mouth. Perhaps ground duty could wait a few more weeks.

About the Author

Seleste’s first attempt at a novel was a sweeping epic romance called Wars and Wishes, Disasters and Dreams. She finished about three chapters before deciding she had better things to do. At twelve years old, most girls wouldn’t have made it that far. She went on to write numerous short stories and poems throughout her teens, but it wasn’t until after earning a degree in chemistry that she returned to her love of writing fiction. In addition to her Carina Press work, Seleste also has work with Decadent Publishing, including her debut story Of Course I Try.

These days, Seleste splits her time between the worlds in her imagination and her home in southwest Michigan. Her husband and two children have learned not to worry too much when she doesn’t seem all there, and her dog is attached enough that he waits patiently by her feet until she returns.

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9125-0

Copyright © 2011 by Seleste deLaney

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