"Or perhaps that's what you want me to think." Malloryn snorted, and it broke the tension, even as he slid his thumbnail beneath the wax seal.
"You're getting cynical in your old age," Gemma retorted.
"That's what happens when one of your spies bugs your study with a recording device, and the rest of them have a betting pool on whether you're going to get your fiancée to the altar or not."
Kincaid grinned. "Well, some of us still know how to have fun."
"So far you're in front, Your Grace," Charlie said promptly. "Though if the bride cries off, do let me know. I've got fifty quid riding on it."
"Miss Hamilton's not going to cry off," Gemma said. "She trapped Malloryn into a betrothal, so she's hardly likely to...."
Kincaid's attention shifted away from the argument between Charlie and Gemma. The duke had opened the envelope, and he saw the sudden tension in Malloryn's body.
"What is it?" he barked, cutting through Gemma and Charlie's conversation.
Malloryn's gaze cut to his. "Where's Ava?"
Something about the way the duke said it made Kincaid's insides turn to ice. "She wanted to discuss something with her mentor, Dr. Gibson, at the Nighthawks guild. Why? What does it say?"
Malloryn tugged a piece of blonde hair from the envelope. "It says, 'You should keep a closer eye on your operatives.'"
Kincaid's heart kicked in his chest.
* * *
"Sure you're all right, lass?" Gibson asked, pouring her a cup of tea.
Not really. No matter what she tried, she couldn't focus this morning, and poor Dr. Gibson had noticed.
I am going to die. Maybe not tomorrow, but in a few years. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I am. But as I said, fairy tales don't exist.
Ava moodily drew her synthetic protein solution out of her reticule. She rubbed at her arms. The smell made her feel a little ill, but she felt decidedly unbalanced today. She'd spent all night sobbing tearlessly to herself, alone in her room with her heart breaking in her chest, and all she could think was that she needed to find a cure. Something. Anything. Even if the answer was to convince Kincaid to risk the craving.
...the way you accept your nature....
Damn it.
"What do you know of degenerative muscular diseases?" she whispered.
Gibson looked up sharply, handing her the cup and saucer. "Not a great deal, I'm afraid. Why?"
"No reason." And no hope there.
Gibson went to put the blood back in its melting ice bath, but Ava suddenly reached out, stilling her hand. "May I?"
"Are you certain, lass? You've been off blood for a long time."
Too long maybe. She nodded, and laced her own tea. Blood spilled through the diluted water, like a reddened cloud in the bottom of her teacup. Ava stirred it even as heat spilled through her veins and the predator within her awoke. It felt like something alien took over her body. She was sharper, more alert, her vision suddenly catapulting forward in intensity until she could pick out the fine hairs on Gibson's cheek, and the network of capillaries beneath the good doctor's pale skin.
If she couldn't accept her own nature, then how on earth could she convince Kincaid to even consider the idea?
"Bottoms up," she said nervously, and gulped a large mouthful of her tea.
The taste of it exploded through her mouth like a supernova, slamming through her veins until her head spun and the world suddenly seemed warmer and brighter, and slightly more wonderful. A drug of pure bliss for her poor, starved body, and Ava swayed, grabbing hold of the armchair to steady herself.
She'd forgotten how wonderful this felt.
Hague had taken away her choice by infecting her. She'd always felt like abstaining from blood gave her some kind of control over the situation. It made her feel like it was her choice, and not his.
But in doing so, she let his ghost haunt her future.
Every action she made was because of that monster. Every time she denied herself what her body wanted, it was because he lingered there in the background.
And damn him, but she was tired of listening to his ghost. She had more important things to think about than a man who'd been rotting for over four years.
"Any reason for this sudden change?" Gibson asked, watching her carefully.
"No." Yes. She sighed. "Kincaid told me he has a degenerative disease. There's no cure for it."
Gibson added a cube of sugar to his tea. "That's the fellow who's been working with you? And this bothers you, because...."
"I have feelings there," she admitted quietly, taking another sip of tea. "He hates blue bloods, but he likes me. And I suggested the craving might heal him, but... he rejected the idea."