Page 7 of To Catch A Rogue
The guard froze. "You won't get away from us."
Us.A chill ran down her spine. "How many?"
He stayed silent.
"Do you know what I think?" Lark continued. "There were six guards on rotation in the gardens. Two in the house. You've got an entire ballroom full of potential enemies. I think you're the only one out here following me, which means—unless they heard the shots—we've got a window of ten minutes or so before they start wondering why you haven't returned. Would I be correct?"
"Curse you, you thieving bitch."
Charlie scrambled up the roofline, grimacing at the howling dogs below. "We need to get out of here."
"Agreed."
Lifting his pistol, he smashed it across the guard's temple and the man sagged against her.
"He's a blue blood," she told Charlie, which meant he probably wouldn't stay down for long.
"Why the hell does Golorukov have blue blood guards?"
The craving virus had once been an exclusive right of the aristocratic Echelon's sons. Accidents happened, of course, when the virus was so virulent, but they'd classed those infections as rogue blue bloods, and it wasn't wise to advertise your status as such. Both she and Charlie were rogues.
"The Russians don't follow the same rules the English Echelon did. They infect their guards," she replied, dragging the unconscious man against a nearby chimney. Ripping his shirt open, she found the black raven tattooed on the middle of the man's chest.Hell. "He's an Imperial Raven. We need to move. Now."
Charlie sighed and handed over a small, lethal looking dart. "Hemlock him, just in case. Might keep him down for longer."
So Lark did.
Hemlock caused an adverse reaction in a blue blood, rendering them paralyzed for a certain amount of time.
Then she stripped the Raven to his smallclothes and bound him to the chimney with his belt.
Because they'd need every inch of a head start if the Raven somehow got their scent.
"Now," Charlie said, "we need to talk."
Chapter 2
Charlie escorted her to a coffeehouse in the next borough, and indicated to one of the booths at the back, where they'd be granted a modicum of privacy.
At this time of night—several hours before dawn—there were few people about. Night was a blue blood's time, and despite the strict laws currently governing the nation, the commoners of London still thought it best not to chance fate and risk tempting a craver with the beating pulse of blood in their veins when the moon was out.
"Felt just like old times," Charlie said, as Lark shrugged out of the coat he'd draped over her shoulders. He flashed her a grin. "You, me, the chase. I forgot how good it is to work with you."
Lark had spent the past several minutes trying to compose herself. She wasnotgoing to allow herself to feel the same, even though the blood still rushed through her veins. Five minutes with Charlie and she was once again taking foolish risks and letting him rile her.
And worse, she'd enjoyed it.
Not to mention her distraction had almost gotten them killed.
"You were going to tell me what sudden urge drove you to seek me out," Lark suggested.
His smile faded. "You still blame me for what happened the night of the revolution."
The last thing she wanted to discuss was the night her entire life had been torn apart.
Almost four years ago, the humans, mechs, and rogue blue bloods of London had risen up against the cruel prince consort who had once ruled with an iron fist. Charlie had wanted to join the fight, and Lark found herself swept along because she could never resist one of his schemes.
And wherever she went, Tin Man went too.
