Agamemnon Frost and the Crown of Towers (7 page)

“William.” Frost’s voice was soft. To jerk the injured man into sudden action would only worsen his wounds. “Can you hear me?” He pressed his hand to the captain’s as he nodded to Mason to start to remove the rest of the rubble. “You’re safe now.”

Mason threw the last of the broken bricks to the side and lifted away a long sheet of copper. “Frost. Look.” He stepped back, propping the metal sheet against the broken bench.

They’d tried to transfigure Captain Beresford, that was Mason’s first thought. Copper splashed over his chest, welded to his skin, in a mockery of his lost muscle and flesh. More slithered over his legs and coated his right arm down to the fingertips. Threads of copper followed the path of veins, disappearing and reappearing against the skin he still retained.

The captain’s eyelids moved, and the flutter revealed the shine of copper replacing his irises.

“Theodora...?” His voice was a dry croak. He swallowed, and the movement of muscles and his sudden breath lifted his coppered-encased chest.

“What happened here, Captain?” Frost added a touch of authority to his voice, not enough to censure, but enough to snap his attention back.

“I was...” Beresford frowned and a sliver of metal drew a line across his brow. “I was following your instructions. I’d pulled on the armoured tunic...” He glanced down and panic hit him, his face flooding with colour, his body jerking. “What did they
do
to me?”

“Calm yourself, Captain.” Frost regripped the man’s unaltered hand. “Your report.”

Mason shrugged off his coat, rolled it into a pillow and eased it under the injured man’s head. Beresford sank back against it with a weary sigh. “Your brother and his wife. They burst in, a weapon unlike any I’d seen. It blasted a hole to Theodora’s room.”

Threads of metal moved with his tightened features. “I opened fire on Menelaus. Hit his wife square in the chest. She fell. And he turned his weapon on me.” His metal-coated chest lifted and dropped. “I knew nothing till you woke me.”

“And Theodora?”

Beresford wet his lips and winced. “The
kardax
had her mind. She was ordering your brother to free her. Rattling the cage, even as it burned her skin.” He closed his eyes. “I failed her.”

“No. You did your duty and you survived, Captain. Stopping them was impossible.”

The man blinked. “That’s something he said. Menelaus laughed, just before he fired. He said...” Beresford frowned and brought his hand to his face. He didn’t seem to notice the press of copper-coated tips to his skin. “He said, ‘Do you think you can stop this? Stop us? The Crown of Towers will rise tomorrow. And your world will go to hell.’”

8. Barricading the City

Frost stood at the hotel window, perfectly still. It was the stillness that again disturbed Mason. Frost was withdrawing; had been since Nestor had taken personal charge at Greenbank Hall.

The light from the single gas lamp on a small table flickered against Frost’s perfect features. Gas hissed and it was the only sound in the silence. There was a bleakness to Frost now, something lost. They were on the brink of losing everything...and the one man they needed stared out of a long window, watching a city trying to save itself from chaos.

“The report is that Captain Beresford is resting.” Mason ran his fingers over the
ektaxis
, still unused to the device. Nestor had taken one glance at Frost as they stood on the lawns of his estate and handed over the narrow plate of copper. Then Nestor gave the nod for a modified
aeolipile
to swing its wrecking ball into Frost’s half-destroyed home. “He’s healing fast, they say.”

“The tunic I ordered him to wear.” Frost’s words were quiet. “Its armour was grown from a slice of my bone, combined with copper.”

Warm, living metal now coated the captain’s skin. Mason’s throat tightened. Here was something else to which Frost could assign his guilt. “He’s been transfigured.”

“In a way. I don’t know what he is.” Frost’s laugh was dry with a hard edge. “We’ve yet to see if he develops a heightened sense of fashion.”

“On a captain’s wage?”

Frost snorted. “I’ll look into a stipend.” He turned away from the window, crossing the room to a sideboard. He toyed with the crystal stopper of a decanter. “I haven’t been able to drink myself into a stupor for too many years. Never thought I’d miss it.”

Mason pushed on with his report. “Nestor is securing the city. His men are hunting for Pandarus before he acts.” He glanced out of the window, the gaslit street empty of people, carts and trams even though it was only early evening. They could take no chances. His own instincts were screaming at him, a rawness to his nerves that he fought to suppress. Pandarus was in the city and their time was almost come. “He’s continuing the gas leak scare. After the destruction wrought by the hollow ships, Liverpool Corporation is more than ready to assist him.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Frost’s mouth. “I’ve never seen so many ’ships crowding the sky.” He frowned at the window, the running lights of the airships twinkling through the familiar wreaths of smoke and fog. “But a modified, gas-filled balloon is no match for Martian weaponry.”

He poured brandy into a rounded glass. “Would you like some? 1873. A passable year.”

Mason gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to fight with Frost, but his casual attitude, the air of defeat and almost disinterest that hung over the man tore fire through his gut. His instincts already had him panicked in a way he couldn’t explain, even to himself. He wanted the man he had come to know, to rely on, not this...fop.

“Nestor has raided everywhere identified with Pandarus. The North Western Hotel, Exchange Flags, the Lyceum.” Mason squinted down at the
ektaxis
. “He even shut down Garston Docks. Anything to do with Irish banking was also seized. They found nothing. He’s in the city. But we have no clue where.”

Frost sniffed the brandy, sloshing the dark amber liquid in its glass. He took a sip. “You can simply taste the icy weather.”

Mason swore hard and quick. “What are you doing?”

The man lifted an eyebrow. “Is there a point in me twisting myself into a knot? In a few hours we’ll fight, and in all likelihood, die.” He stared into his glass. “He has Theodora. My people and my home are gone. I
transfigured
a man.” He pushed out a slow breath, but there was colour in his cheeks. Frost was fighting down his anger, he wasn’t immune to it. “I will fight, but our cause is lost.”

Mason snorted. “I’ve faced a lost cause before. Still here.”

Frost looked up and his eyes shone with an inner light, fierce and sharp. “You saw the future. The future of every living thing on this planet. We’ve done nothing to change it.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Pandarus has unknown numbers of automata and
kardax
at his command. He has Theodora, a central figure in his plans. And we?” He waved a hand to the window. “We have
balloons.
”

“We—” Mason took a step closer to Frost, “—have you.”

Frost’s mouth curled in disgust and he knocked back the rest of the brandy. “He was right. Pandarus. I get people killed.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will get
you
killed.”

“I made my peace with death a long time ago.”

“So fucking
noble.
” Frost bit out the word. “Going to your god like a soldier.”

The words were meant as an insult to force anger through Mason and drive him out of the hotel room. Push distance between them, so that Frost could face down Pandarus alone. He had to know that Mason would follow the man into hell itself. And Frost did. He knew it. It was there in his eyes. It brought him yet another twist of guilt.

“Get out, Mason. I’ll ring if I need you for anything.”

“Nestor told me to remain here until we know what Pandarus is up to. Orders of a superior officer.” He snapped a salute. “Sir.”

Frost cursed and poured himself another brandy. “This is not a game.”

Nerves heated Mason’s blood, made his fingers itch. Anger and guilt surged into the aching want that always bubbled away in his mind and flesh.

Frost was right. They would die that night. They had no future, neither the one he’d imagined with Frost as Theodora’s husband, nor the secret, impossible one that pained him to think on. A future shared solely with Frost. But what they did have was the time before Pandarus raised the Crown of Towers.

“
We
were never a game.” Mason covered Frost’s mouth, pulling a forceful kiss. The shock of firm, sure lips against his own, the taste of Frost mixed with the sweet brandy, drew a groan from Mason, and the parting of his own mouth invited Frost in.

Sensation cracked under Mason’s skin, his gut tightened and his balls ached. Heaven help him, he’d find his release all too soon, and just from a chaste kiss.

Frost’s fingers worked through Mason’s hair, fingers tightening. Pain and pleasure laced into his flesh. “You will wait.” He growled the words, his breath hot and sweet. “If we do this, it will be perfect.” In a blur of movement, he shoved Mason against the oak-panelled wall, pressing his body against his in every way. “Is that understood, Patroclus?”

Mason swallowed. Frost’s familiar scent surrounded and invaded him. Sandalwood and vanilla. Aromas that had him hard at the slightest hint, but these moments were their only time. Perfect. He would make it perfect. “Understood, Achilles.”

Frost bit his lip. “I promised you everything.”

Mason’s head fell back against the hard panelling. The thought of Frost, of him finally together, of seeing a bliss
he
brought overcoming the other man... It squeezed his heart. “Everything?” The question was little more than a groan.

Frost drew his fingers around the first ivory button of Mason’s coat. He traced over the intricate design. “Tonight you’re mine. And exactly how I want you.” His thumb pushed through the buttons, following a slow slide over the smooth material.

Every touch was precise, perfect. For him or the intricate buttons and expensive cloth, Mason didn’t know. He pushed away that thought and the doubt that came with it. It was only them in the silent, shadowed room. No one else.

“For you.” The words burned over Mason’s mouth and Frost kissed him. His tongue teased against Mason’s bottom lip, snapping fire under his skin. Pushing the coat from Mason’s shoulders, he dropped it across a chair. “Though, that coat is one of my favourites. Wore it when I insulted Lord Salisbury’s beard.”

Mason spluttered a laugh. “Shocking.”

“He turned a delightful shade of puce.” Frost’s finger stroked over a mother-of-pearl button stitched to Mason’s waistcoat. “I have a waistcoat in the
exact
colour.” He pushed the buttons through, one after the other. “Where was I?”

He pressed himself against Mason, his hands finding a hot path around his waist. Mason sucked in a breath, fighting the tight ache in his balls. The simplest of touches drove him to distraction.

“Slow and sure.” The words were followed by the waistcoat joining the coat on the chair. Frost’s attention moved to his tie. He pulled free the Indian silver pin and threw it, letting it clatter against the decanter on the sideboard. With a dark smile, he eased the tie free and unbuttoned the collar. “I’ve wanted to do this.” His fingers teased, tracing heated patterns through the smooth linen of Mason’s shirt. “Undress you. I would play with every fantasy, if we had the time...”

For a moment, the illusion was broken and his fingers stilled. In the silence of the hotel room, with the golden light of the gas lamp playing against his skin, Mason cupped Frost’s jaw. The touch sparked electricity over his palm and he drew his thumb down over Frost’s parted mouth. “We have now.”

Frost kissed his thumb tip. “Now is enough. I will make it enough.” He surged forward and took Mason’s mouth, something slow and deep, hot and sure. Mason curled his fingers against Frost’s chest and couldn’t stop the trembling, nor the moan that escaped him. He wanted every inch of this man. Every inch.

Frost pulled back with a smug smile. “No more of your touching. It’s distracting. Now—” he licked his lips, “—I believe I was here.” He opened the shirt buttons, his knuckles and fingertips caressing Mason’s skin with each slow slide. He eased back the braces holding up his trousers and lifted an eyebrow. “Your hands.”

Mason complied, lifting his arms, a distinct tremor running to his fingertips. Frost unbuttoned the cuff from each sleeve and popped the solitaires. First one then the other. Mason’s heart thudded. Frost’s attention, the mirroring of the intimate care which he himself brought to the man every day was dizzying. Mason held his gaze, the warmth and wickedness he found there a heady mix.

One question burned on the tip of Mason’s tongue. “Did you think of this as I dressed you?”

“Perhaps.” Frost slipped the shirt over his shoulders, pressing a kiss to Mason’s collarbone. The crack of heat flaring under his skin broke a groan. “Or perhaps I simply imagined you wet.” He licked a slow line up his throat. “Naked.” His teeth grazed his skin and Mason swore. “Totally mine.”

Frost’s palms caressed Mason’s chest, a delicious slide over his stomach to stop at the buttons of his trousers. A thumb teased above the smooth band, and Mason drew in a sharp breath. His body vibrated with want, the hum of it throbbing under his skin. Frost was still fully dressed, the brush of cool cloth a taunt to Mason’s bare skin.

“So sensitive,” Frost murmured, his lips brushing Mason’s ear, and the sensation, the touch of his hot breath, his lips, danced light before his eyes. “Have you thought about me fucking you?”

Mason licked dry lips. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Frost nipped a path down Mason’s neck, his hands slipping over his hips. Mason’s heart stuttered, failing in its mechanical precision under the man’s onslaught. Frost dipped his head to lick and kiss his chest, his stomach and Mason’s hands squeezed into bloodless fists. The pain fought with the fire in his flesh. Frost was killing him.

“What...?” Mason swallowed and focused his hazy vision on the man now kneeling before him. He couldn’t breathe. Frost was so close, so close to where he ached for him.

Frost held his gaze. The want there had his gut tight and his dick so hard it was a blissful agony. “Not yet, Mason. Perfect, remember?”

He bit at his lip to stop the flow of curses that needed to fly from him. “I don’t have your...restraint.”

“Restraint.” Frost snorted. He pulled a boot free and rolled up a sock. The other boot followed. He sat back on his heels. “If we survive, I am taking you against the nearest wall.”

Again the future intruded into the illusion Frost had wrapped around their room. Mason broke the man’s rule and stroked his hand over the smoothness of his hair. They only had this time. This night. Come the following night they would be dead. His heart twisted, the thought of losing Frost a sudden, hollow ache. It was more than lust, more than unexpected friendship. Frost was a fellow soldier. He admired him.

A fist tightened in Mason’s chest as heated emotion hit his gut. He loved him.

“Agreed.”

Mason found himself speaking, his revelation a shock that scattered his thoughts. It had crept up on him. Silent. Stealthy. Day by day. He eased his fingers free and pressed his hand to his mouth. He
loved
him...

Frost lifted an eyebrow. “Hands to yourself. Good. Whereas mine...” He pushed his palm over Mason’s thigh, drawing closer to his straining dick. He ran light fingers over the obvious bulge and a dark smile touched his mouth. He unbuttoned the fly with slow and aching precision, the press of his fingers fleeting. “This. Definitely mine.”

“Frost...please.” He was happy to beg. Anything if he could find relief. Anything. Lust and love drove through him, a wild and unexpected pleasure.

“All things come...” The man had the audacity to smirk. “You know the rest.”

Mason’s trousers and underwear were a puddle of cloth at his bare feet. His dick stood free and he fought to keep his hands to his sides. To deny touching himself, or what he ached for—fisting his fingers in Frost’s dark hair and driving his dick into that perfect,
perfect
mouth.

Frost drew closer, his hot breath a taunt to Mason’s aching dick. He licked his lips and his golden-brown eyes shone. The man was pure sin. And Mason ached for him.

Frost lifted an eyebrow. “Well, what are you waiting for?”