Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,36

brickwork that led out into the lane behind the Warren. They would be collected in the morning and the task wouldn’t wait.

Bending down, she nestled the milk bottles in the old crate left there to be collected. Noise whispered behind her and Esme jerked her head up, staring into the dark.

“Hello?” she called. “Is there anybody there?”

Only the gentle hush of drifting snowflakes answered her. Still, she couldn’t quite escape the sensation that she wasn’t alone.

Her heartbeat ratcheted up and Esme dragged her shawl close around her shoulders. Taking one nervous step back, she kept looking around.

Movement shifted behind her, a hand clapping over her mouth and wrenching her head back. She was jerked hard against a man’s lanky body, something sharp pressing into her throat and stilling the scream that boiled there.

Esme froze.

“That’s right, dove,” a man whispered in guttural cockney slang. He stank of rot, as if he’d crawled straight from the graveyard himself. Or perhaps he worked with some form of death? “Make a sound and I’ll cut yer throat, you understan’?”

Esme nodded carefully. What could she do? As her eyes rolled, she caught a glimpse of the warm light glowing in the windows of her kitchen. So close to safety…

And yet so far.

Hot breath stirred over her ear and her attacker’s hand relaxed, though didn’t quite leave her lips. “Name’s Bill ‘iggins and I been meanin’ to ‘ave a little word with you.” He laughed roughly. “Your menfolk think they’re so smart, don’t they? Aye, well they ought to watch their backs a little closer.” A hand slid over her breasts, making her jerk. He laughed again, the sound rough as gravel. “And ‘ere’s me, stealin’ their little ladybird right out from under their noses. Ain’t so clever now, are they?”

Hot wet tears slid down her cheeks as he kissed her throat. The hook dug into the tender flesh there and something warm slid down into her collarbone. Higgins licked at it, suckling the skin tenderly and making her cringe. Under her skirts, she scraped a H into the snow with her toe, moving slowly and carefully. Then the E and the L.

“Now, you come wit’ me and keep quiet,” he whispered. “Let’s get a little better acquainted, shall we?”

She never got the chance to trace the letter P.

CHAPTER TEN

Rip relaxed back in bed, cupping his head in his hand. His mech arm lay cold and motionless on the bed beside him. Staring at the ceiling, he listened to each creak as people sought their beds, his breath catching at each sound then releasing when he realised it wasn’t Esme.

The house fell still.

Nothing but silence, his ears almost ringing as he tried to listen to her. His rooms were directly above the kitchen, and though he could usually hear her moving about down there – indeed, he’d spent many a night listening to her – there was no sound now.

She wouldn’t have gone to her own bed, would she?

Rip frowned. That look he’d given her had spoken volumes and the little smile she’d tried to hide was as much a reply as anything she could have uttered.

He swung his legs out of bed and reached for his shirt. Dressing swiftly, he eased open the door to his room and went searching for her.

Not in her room. Nor the lower section of the house. The kitchen hearth glowed in the shadows, Esme’s apron lying forlornly on the bench. Rip picked it up, but the material was cold. An uneasy prickling ran over the back of his neck.

The back door rattled under his touch. Locked. She couldn’t be out there. Turning, he raked his gaze over the kitchen as if it would tell him where she was.

What did she do usually? Her pans were all put away, some still resting in the sink for tomorrow. Yanking open the door that led to the basement and the ice-room where Blade kept their blood chilled, he tried to scent her. Nothing.

Perhaps she’d fallen? He hurried down the stairs but there was no sign of her. The drumbeat of his heart started to kick a little harder.

“Esme?” he whispered, but nobody answered him.

Raking a hand over the stubble on his scalp he climbed back up to the kitchen. Footsteps creaked on the main stairs that led upwards and he let out a relieved breath. Finally.

Shoving through into the living room, he stopped in his tracks as Blade slowed, eyeing him curiously from the stairs.

“What are you doin’ up?” Blade asked.

“You ain’t