Steel Dominance (2 page)

He took out the envelope and checked the contents again. The papers affirmed his temporary rank of captain, gave him ad hoc permission to own a slave while in Hellene territory, plus detailed his duties. Aid the emperor-bey in tightening his security and unearthing traitors. Protect this civilian Sofia White while she attempted to unravel the mystery of the Tomb of the Clockwork Warrior.

A smeary-faced child
toot tooting
like a train across the tiled floor threatened to steam straight into his shiny black shoes. He shifted a suitcase across, then beamed at the befuddled look on the child’s face. Good. A barricade worked. If only he could use cannon on them too.

The emperor of Byzantium had finagled a lot of aid from the Hellene Nation.
And all for what? So we can get a portion of what might come from the tomb?
A far-fetched idea that one. More likely the politicians aimed to keep the city out of Ottoman hands.

A woman caught his eye. Tall and elegant, in faded blue slacks, cream shirt, and long leather coat, she wove a path between the groups of jabbering people and pets. She put a hand on the curly mop of one toddler’s head as if to steady him, did a slip past a melted ice cream, and then spotted Dankyo.

He kept his gaze on her. Pretty. Forthright green eyes. Wavy walnut-brown hair that touched her shoulder blades and swung fluidly when she turned. He dipped his head slightly, and she set course for where he waited in his fortress of baggage.

* * * *

In all that’s holy. This one’s big
. Sofia’s first thoughts made her smile. She compressed her lips to hide her amusement.

Since he blatantly studied her, she did the same as she approached. The kids and the scattered litter she had to dodge made pretending not to study him easier. Smart, sexy, and Asian. This had to be him—Dankyo of House Kevonis. He didn’t frown, but disapproval radiated from him. She tightened her hold on the case tucked under her arm.

He stood slowly, brushed off his tan trousers, and straightened the buttons, one by one, on his white shirt.

Her long stride made the distance close fast.

Rumors said he could be a ruthless bastard. But she could be a ruthless bitch. The struggle for university grants had taught her how important it was to pretend to be friends with your enemies. But, in the face of such an intimidating man, her certainty faltered.
Stop this. I will not doubt myself.

Maybe if she kept practicing being ruthless, one day she’d believe her own press.

The man’s a little taller, maybe. Brawn does not beat brains. I can handle him.

“Hello. You must be Dankyo of House Kevonis?” She grinned and held out her hand. Her contralto voice came out warm.
Perfect.

“Yes. Good morning.” As if he’d not already seen every inch of her, he examined her top to bottom and back up again. “Sofia White?”

She lowered her arm.
Like that, huh?
“Of course.”
Who the hell else would I be?

“Your clothes are inappropriate.”

“What?”

“For a slave. You’ll have to change your attire.”

Was he
trying
to upset her? She bit out her words in a sweet voice. “I’m
not
a slave. I’m pretending. Once we reach Byzantium…”

“You will obey, or I am not taking you.”

“What? You can’t do that! You’re supposed to be helping
me
.”

His eyes narrowed the slightest before he steamrolled onward. “Let’s be clear from the start. Two-minute explanation. If I’m in charge of your safety, you will follow my directions. Your clothes are inappropriate. Now. Here. Not just in Byzantium.

“We are going to a city that has centuries of slavery ingrained in its system and spying is like milk to a baby to them. There will be someone assigned to watch us there.” He swept his hand in a small arc. “It is possible there is someone here. Slaves do not question. They wear far less”—he tweaked an eyebrow upward for a fraction of a second—“clothes. You need to be a slave to access the harem where the tomb lies, fine. To their eyes, you must be, not pretend. Emperor-Bey Constantin’s enemies will destroy him if they guess what you are truly doing. Mistakes may kill.”

She opened her mouth, sure from the burn on her cheeks that she was blushing furiously. “Look—”

“Here.” He held out a small paper-wrapped package. “I checked your luggage that you sent here and saw the deficiency. These are your clothes.”

At the last second, she remembered,
there may be watchers
, and lowered her voice to a furious whisper. “You checked my luggage! How dare you. How—” The anger closed her throat down, and she shook her head vigorously.

“Yes. I did. It was my job to do so. I seek out weak points. If you’re an enemy, I use them to take you down. If a friend, I fix things. Do you want to come to Byzantium, or not?”

“I…” She wound down. Keep yelling at him sotto voce—a behavior she hated in others—or shut up and take her medicine because this was what she wanted?

The implacable set of his face reinforced his words.
Or I am not taking you with me
. She had to go. This was the chance of a lifetime. Giving up this close to success was not an option. All the angry, argumentative words avalanched up in the back of her throat, dying to be said.
Could this be as dangerous as he said?

To their eyes you must be, not pretend
. She’d be okay in her own rooms or even in the emperor-bey’s harem while she studied the tomb. This was temporary.

Damn. I can see the logic, to a degree, though spies watching us here seems crazy. Damn. Medicine-taking time
. This was going to taste bad.

“Very well.” She sniffed, then took the bundle from him. “Thank you. A porter should be bringing another small case. The contents are important to my work. Send it on to the airship, please.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll go get changed.”

“Do that. In Byzantium, you’d be doing this in front of me.”

Oh sure. Not in a million years
. Now he smiled?
Bastard.

In the ladies’ room, she found a spare cubicle and took out the clothes. Little red silk bandeau top, matching panties, as well as a flowing dress-like top, and pants that cinched in at the ankles, and were as see-through as a mist of rain. Teensy diamantes glinted from the fabric. Plus there was a pair of red shoes like ballet flats, and a black leather collar.

“Oh God.” This was a slave collar. But no worse than wearing the clothes. It would be stupid to stall about this one thing, wouldn’t it?

What evidence had he given her that proved there might be spies here? None. There’d been that kerfuffle some months back and the assassination, but nothing since. Why would anyone watch her or Dankyo? They’d have to be suspicious already. Knowing what she’d heard of Dankyo, he was just being super conscientious and protective. Damn him.

But… She heaved out a sigh. No matter how much she told herself she was brave, the man daunted her. And he’d said he would leave her behind. Risking his displeasure seemed unwise.

She scrutinized the collar. Maybe she could meet him halfway? Well, nine tenths of the way.

She shut her eyes and counted to ten. Getting changed took five minutes, summoning the courage to walk out into the airfield boarding area took another five. But she did it.

As she walked back to Dankyo, she made sure to keep her gait businesslike. No swaying of hips, nothing feminine at all, yet every eye in the place seemed to center on her. She clutched to her chest her old clothes and the collar she’d not donned and prayed the outfit covered the essential bits.

The pile of baggage had gone and only Dankyo remained. The line of his trousers suggested a person who liked order. The close cut of his black hair said
military
. And the flagrant regard of her figure as she approached, well, that rumbled
male
, through and through, all the way up her spine.

She faltered. Her nipples tightened against the cool silk.

He stared at the collar.

“Can we skip the collar? I mean—”

He shook his head. “No.” Then held out his hand. “Your clothes?”

One day she’d get revenge for all this. She thrust the clothes at him, took a deep breath, and put on the collar. It didn’t feel so different. Just odd—like painting a target on herself.

“Thank you.”

“My other case?”

“It arrived. I sent it on. Follow me a few feet behind.”

She rolled her eyes, then trailed him out onto the landing field, feeling like some sort of lost puppy dog. The drone of passing gyrocopters and chug of pump engines drowned out sounds, but the salt tang in the air reminded her of the sand and waves beyond the perimeter fence.

Every half minute she had to stop herself from adjusting the fit of the collar.

She walked a bit faster to catch up to Dankyo.

“Excuse me, but is
all
my luggage aboard?”

Dankyo didn’t turn his head. “No. Most of it was wrong for a slave. You’ll find I kept the essential equipment of your profession and some toiletries but not much else.”

She gaped. This seemed ridiculous. But Dankyo was the supposed expert. It would also be ridiculous of her to ignore his advice without more facts.

“We’ll be lucky to get on board in any case. That much baggage would’ve gotten us grounded.”

Anxiety flared again and gave her courage. All this pretending would be pointless if she couldn’t do her work when she got there. Sofia tapped hesitantly at his broad back with her finger. “Much of that was equipment. If you’ve left any—”

He swiveled on his heel to face her, and she ran into his chest. “You must be smart, or you’d not be here. Use your brains. Slaves do not poke their owners.” His mahogany-brown eyes glared into hers. “Can you remember that?”

And not snapping at him took effort. She sucked on her lip, then took three calming breaths. This close she could smell him—a mixed, earthy and bitter scent. Gun oil? Cordite? It reminded her of her dad and shooting cans off tree stumps. Back when things were good between them. She blinked, then sighed. “Can we talk, please, on board?”

“Yes.”

She searched his face and found blankness. Damn, as readable as the wrong side of a playing card.

The midsized airship they headed for had a pale blue envelope with gold and black running wolves decorating the midline. At the bottom of the boarding ramp they met an Asian woman, Captain Kaysana Onomi, with her black hair perkily done up in a bun. Though she greeted them, a giant of a man called Sten had the final say. His fringe of messy blond hair swayed across his eyes while he poured a mean stare over Dankyo.

“Shall we let them aboard?” Kaysana cocked an eyebrow at Sten.

“Sure. Might liven the
Princess Kay
up if we get them to walk the plank.”

Dankyo drew in a long breath.

Is he going to get angry? And he wants
me
to be low-key?
Panicking, she lurched forward into his back, rocking him. No one would know it was a deliberate distraction.

“Excuse me.” Dankyo swung around and inserted a finger under her collar. “Thank you for allowing us aboard. I must attend to my clumsy slave’s punishment.”

What? She’d been trying to help him. Being towed up the ramp with his finger hooked under the collar was the last straw. Her temper shot to boiler level.

She hissed. “You are not—”

His palm clamped over her mouth, but he kept urging her upward. “You need to control yourself.”

She bit him, hard, and though he glowered, he left his hand there.

By then Dankyo had tucked her into his body and held her even tighter. His hip and hard muscles rolled against her as they walked. That no one stopped him gagging her was alarming, but what worried her more was the way she warmed between her legs. A couple in long, flowing Eastern dress watched wide-eyed.

“It’s just a slave,” the man muttered to his partner, and they turned away and entered the airship door.

“No matter how you feel about this, no owner would allow that to go unpunished. You
should
be crawling to the cabin.”

Embarrassment, anger, and confusion flooded her. She so wanted to kill him. This was taking the pretending too far. By the time they reached the cabin door, Sofia had stopped biting, and his palm was moist and hot on her lips.

“I’m letting you go so I can open the door. Are you sensible now?” He loosened his hand.

Just to annoy him, she licked his palm as he lifted it away, then wiped her mouth with her fingers. While he turned the knob, she dragged her wet hand down the pretty finery of her clothing as if getting rid of something distasteful.

“Enter.” The word came out like a growl. On his palm she caught sight of the red and white marks from her bite.

Oops.

“Why, thank you, Sir.” She walked in feeling lost and cross yet determined to keep her head.

Her two lonely suitcases waited next to a neat brown bedroll. A row of tiny bottles in a timber carry case was perched next to it. Another suitcase lay on the bed, which was covered with a peach quilt. There was a chest of drawers, and a door to the right that must lead to a bathroom. Along the far wall behind the bed ran a row of small brass-rimmed portholes. The scents of lemon and furniture polish teased her nose. She sneezed.

“Gesundheit.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and Dankyo strode past. He sat on the bed, making it dip and creak, and crossed his legs, showing black socks above his black shoes. As if she wasn’t ready to strangle, emasculate, and claw him to pieces, he unlatched his suitcase, pulled out a revolver, and proceeded to check its mechanisms.

The pistol made her pause only a second. He wasn’t going to shoot her. “If that’s for me to kill you, I don’t need it. My fingernails will do.”

He grunted and unloaded, then reloaded the gun.

Two sleeping places.

Wrong, wrong, wrong
. Alarms rang in her head. “Um…” She almost didn’t want the answer. “Where are you sleeping?”