“Step away from Dougal and put the knife on the ground. I know what you are. Any sudden moves and I’ll pull this trigger, then all the king’s ’orses won’t be able to put you back together again.”

“Firebolt bullets, I presume?”

“Oh, no. Somethin’ of our own. Trust me when I says you won’t like it.”

The moment she stepped away from his companion, she was dead. The same way Goethe had been. Mina’s eyes narrowed on the marching clockwork soldier ambling toward the Warren. She had to stop it before it murdered dozens of women and children.

“Change of plans,” she said and whipped Dougal around, between her and Henley.

Too late. The Falcon had pulled the trigger as she began to move. Dougal jerked and screamed, and Mina… Something sparked through Dougal’s body and lifted her off her feet. She hit the cobbles, her head smacking down hard, unable to breathe for a second, her lungs catching and clenching on nothing. Mina blinked, her heart thundering in her chest. What the hell—?

It felt like she’d been hit at the elbow with a metal pipe. When her lungs finally opened up, the stink of burning hair and flesh nearly made her gag.

She heard the Falcon curse under his breath as the little clockwork soldier ground to a ticking halt.

Move, she screamed at herself. Her body didn’t want to. Her heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of her chest, and dear God, what was wrong with her hand? Where was the knife? She lifted her head just enough to blink away the blinding flash in her eyes. Her right hand—the one that had held the knife—was blistered and burned.

She finally found the source of the stink. Dougal’s body jerked on the ground, a small tripod-shaped anchor attached to his chest. A thin metal line ran back toward the strangely shaped pistol Henley had in his hand. He stared down at where Dougal’s heels drummed on the cobbles, and when he looked up…

Somehow Mina forced her body to roll, clutching her aching hand to her chest as she found her feet. The world swayed as she staggered upright, stumbling against a building. Henley tossed aside the smoldering pistol in his hand and drew a knife.

“So the duchess is not entirely defenseless.” A nasty little smile twisted his mouth. “You’ll pay for that. I’ll cut it out of your ’ide.”

Where was her own knife? Where—

There. Moonlight gleamed off the blade. Mina scrambled for her knife and Henley lashed out at her with his, a diamond-sharp flash of pain raking across her ribs. Her fingers didn’t want to work properly, but somehow she closed them around the hilt and spun.

A little tickling burn danced in her fingers and the slash at her side as the craving virus started to heal her. Not soon enough, though. Henley danced forward and grabbed her wrist as she slashed at him. All she could see was his own knife driving toward her face. She gave a twist, but it would be too late and—

Something slammed into the pair of them, driving her into the nearest house.

Back hitting the wall, she landed on her backside, agony jerking through her burned palm. Grunts filled the air—the sound of flesh hitting flesh. A shape materialized, hard and lean, moving like liquid shadow as he slammed Henley back against the wall, one hand tightening around the man’s neck and the other forcing the man’s own knife into his throat.

Henley jerked, but Barrons held him pinned, waiting as he kicked his heels against the wall, blood dripping from his shoes onto the dirty street. Finally the kicking stopped. Barrons snarled and discarded Henley’s body like an old rag, turning on her. Fury made him look even larger.

He was breathing hard, eyes blazing with black fire. Mina made herself very small. Barrons was always cool and in control, but at the moment his craving was in full ascendancy. Blue bloods all had their own inner darkness, but she’d never seen his hold sway like this.

Dangerous, her instincts whispered.

And so she didn’t move.

“Are you injured?” His voice sounded cold and distant.

Mina shook her head. “Not really. Barrons, I—”

“I know what you were doing. We’re not going to speak of it right at this moment. Right now, I have to get you back to the Warren.” He caught her upper arm and jerked her to her feet.

Mina staggered against him, wincing as her raw palm grazed his coat. A little animallike sound of pain came from her throat and Barrons froze.

“I thought you said you weren’t hurt.” If anything, he sounded even more furious, but his hands were gentle when he caught her chin and tilted it to the side, examining her face. All of that strength…so finely controlled. “Where?”

“He shot the other man with some sort of current-stimulating device.” Mina offered her hands for inspection. “I was holding on to the knife at the time.”

Cool fingers curled her palm up so that he could inspect the damage. “I can smell blood.” Tight, perfectly pronounced words, but they made her shiver. She could smell blood too.

Barrons had always seemed so charming, so urbane, so completely in control of himself and the darkness that stirred beneath the surface. It excited her a little to know that he owned such a dark edge. The part of her that she hid deep inside herself—her own brutal hungers—shifted and stirred through her middle, a rush of blood tingling through her veins. A heavy stillness settled between them, as if he felt it stirring too, both of them far too aware of the consequences of the hunger.

She found herself leaning closer, her eyelids growing heavy with a smoky hypnotism. Her teeth ached, throat suddenly dry with need. Barrons was so still it was almost a warning, but she could sense every muscle locking hard in his body, his focus on her narrowing until the world seemed to disappear around them. All she knew was the hunger. All she could see was the corded muscle in his throat working as he swallowed, the vein there punching against the skin. He wanted it. She wanted it.

A cool breeze cut across her bared skin, sweeping away some of the red that had brightened her vision. Good God, what was she doing?

“A mere cut,” Mina murmured, dragging her hands out of his. She felt breathless again, like she had when she first hit the ground, her gut muscles locked tight. She’d almost taken his blood. Heat flooded her cheeks. “We don’t have time for this. They’ve got some sort of clockwork device filled with explosives.” She pointed to the clockwork standing frozen in the street and the dropped control frequency box. “There was another man with another device. They’re marching on the Warren.”