Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,37

seen Esme?” he asked, his chest tightening. “She ain’t been with you?” It wasn’t expected now that Blade took his blood from Honoria, but it was worth the question.

Blade shook his head. “No. Ain’t seen ‘er.” His voice hardened. “Why?”

“She were s’posed to stay with me tonight,” Rip blurted. “I can’t find ‘er.”

Blade’s knuckles tightened on the stair rails as they stared at each other. “She were in the kitchen,” he said finally. “Puttin’ stuff away last I saw ‘er. You keep searchin’. I’ll rouse the lads, see if anyone knows.”

His tone remained even but Rip saw the look in his master’s eyes and it chilled him to the core.

Blade thundered up the stairs and Rip turned back to the kitchen. Maybe she’d been locked out? Blade or one of the lads often performed a last check on all the doors before they went to bed. He yanked it open and stared out into the yard.

Snow gleamed in the moonlight. Enough for him to see the faint swishing trail of someone’s skirts.

Rip strode outside, his nerves itching along his skin. From the faintness of the impression, she’d been outside long enough for the snow to begin filling it.

The milk bottles were all stacked neatly in their crate. He knelt down in the shadow of the arch, fingertips pressing into a strange line. Almost… a letter. Thank God Esme had taught him to read somewhat. He traced the H with a frown. H. E. And something else that had been almost obliterated by her skirts. I? L?

H. E. L…

His blood ran cold. Help. With a surge of his thighs he straightened and stepped out into the back lane. There was no one in sight, but the trail of her skirts dragged toward the street. Rip took three steps before he smelt it.

Blood.

A little droplet of blood in the snow.

“Blade!” He was running before he knew it, his lungs seizing in his chest. No, no, no. This was his worst nightmare. He knew immediately what had happened and how. Higgins. This was just what the vindictive prick would do now that Rip and Blade had killed several of his men.

The thought made him feel sick. Not Esme. Anyone but Esme. Why the hell hadn’t she screamed? The only reason she wouldn’t have, would be if she couldn’t.

Panting, he staggered into the street. Wheel ruts and footsteps turned the snow into slush, Esme’s trail vanishing in with the echo of a thousand others. Rip spun on his heel, though he knew what he’d find. He’d been in bed for almost half an hour. More than enough time to vanish with her if someone knew how.

Fuck. He scraped his hands over his head. Not a soul lingered in the streets and the curtains were closed on most of the windows. He’d waste his time – and breath – in questioning people. Whitechapel was the sort of place where nobody ever saw anything.

“Rip?” Blade slowed down at the end of the lane, Will hard on his heels. “You seen ‘er?”

He shook his head, his throat so thick he could barely talk. “No.” The word came out hoarse and barely audible. He tried again. “It’s that Slasher. I know it. I saw some blood on the snow back there--” He lost the ability to speak again, his throat closing over completely.

“Aye,” Blade murmured, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Well, ‘e’s made ‘is mistake this time.” Eyes glittering, he surveyed the street. “We’ll get ‘er back, Rip. I swear. And then I’ll skin ‘im alive for this.”

***

An hour later, they met again at the junction of Petticoat Lane. Rip was drenched in the icy water of the sewers, shaking so hard he could barely stand. The rage in him was growing, the hunger creeping over him like the threatening weight of an avalanche. The only thing holding it at bay was the thought that if he lost control, he’d never find her. He needed to be rational for this.

“No sign?” Blade asked.

“Chemical,” he managed to choke out, his throat and nose burning from the smell of it. He felt like he’d never get the scent out of his nose. “One o’ those chemical bombs they been usin’.”

Will knelt in the snow, his amber eyes gleaming in the moonlight. As close to the edge as Rip in his own way. “Found nothin’,” he growled in frustration, his own eyes red-rimed. “Every tunnel stinks o’ chemical. Can’t smell a bleedin’ thing now.”

“’E planned this,” Blade muttered, staring down