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  Setting her jaw, she pushed off the bed. Ever knew what she had to do, knew it had been the right decision all along, just one she’d refused to accept. With her head held high, she smoothed the wrinkled front of her shirt and strode into the corridor. There she faltered, unsure, palms sweating. No. She’d made the choice, it was time to see it through to whatever end awaited her.

  She took four steps toward the bridge then turned and rapped softly on the door. No answer. Her hands trembled and she squeezed them into fists to quiet them once more. The lack of response didn’t matter. She wouldn’t turn back. There was only one thing for her to do.

  Her fingers relaxed, steady once again, reached for the handle and opened the door. Ever stepped into the darkness, making certain to close the door tightly behind her.

  Chapter Seven

  Spencer cursed in his sleep. Every dream was about her. Memories of the day she’d come aboard and laughed in his face. Her body pressing against his in the corridor, clothes slipping like satin against her skin. Along with conjured images of her lying with Zeke.

  Exhausted as he’d been, as much as he needed the rest, he wanted nothing more than to wake up and banish the visions. Instead, he saw her walk into his room. She glided across the floor like a specter. Her hair fell around her shoulders, the gaslamps drawing out the sun-bleached strands and making them glow. The mattress sank as she sat next to him.

  If he had to dream of Ever, this was what he wanted. He might not be able to touch her any other way, but here…here she could be his. Still, his hand shook as he reached for her.

  “I tried to stay away from you.” She spoke to the wall, her voice soft. “I should not even be here now, but I cannot allow this inexplicable connection to distract me from my duty.”

  Not what he expected, but he hadn’t managed to control any of his dreams yet. Why should this one be different? “What do you want from me, Ever?”

  She turned to look at him, her eyes bright in the dim light. “I want to know why, even when I throw myself at someone else, I cannot stop thinking of you. Why I am so drawn to a man who looks like he could not survive a single day in my world. Why I ache inside when you stop touching me. Why you look at me with passion in your eyes one moment then smother that heat the next.” She swallowed hard, searching his face as if the dream version of her actually sought answers.

  He sat up, his fingers cupping her cheek and sliding back into her glorious curtain of hair. “I can’t answer most of that. As for the last, b-because I couldn’t stand the idea of you laughing at me again.”

  “I am not laughing now.” She leaned forward, her lips pressing against his, hesitant at first, then harder, more passionate.

  Hands tangled in her hair, Spencer pulled her closer. He’d be damned if he finally had a dream go his way and he let it get away from him. Her lips parted, opening to him. His tongue traced her lips, savoring the taste of her. The soft moan of pleasure only drove his hunger and he plundered her mouth, his tongue twining with hers in an erotic dance.

  He could’ve kissed her forever, the rest of his life all but forgotten. His hand slipped from her hair, pressed into her back, trying to draw her closer to him. She hissed and pulled back, ending the kiss all too soon.

  Ever trembled, the look in her eyes no longer bright with heat but with something akin to panic as they darted from his face to his bedside table. “No. This was not how this was meant to work.” Her chest heaved as her hands pushed against Spencer.

  Keeping his hold on her back, he tried once more to pull her to him. “Ever, what—”

  When she winced, he gave in and released her. “I am sorry. I do not know what I am doing.” She dashed from the room.

  Only then did he see the dark patch on the back of her shirt. There was no reason for the cut to exist in his dream. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and fell against the mattress. It had been real. She’d come to him. And something he’d done had driven her away.

  The debate of whether or not to follow lasted only seconds. Then he glanced at the tintype and his sister gave him the answer. Spencer didn’t know what had happened, but he couldn’t just run after Ever. She’d come to him on her own terms. Surely she’d felt the same fire he had in their kiss.

  She’d come back—she had to.

  What had she been thinking? That kissing him would make the yearning go away? Her lips burned and the heat traveled through her body to pool between her legs. She had no choice. If she planned to take Princess Laurette back to the Badlands, she would have to find another ship to give them passage. She had to separate herself from Spencer Pierce or she would go mad.

  On her own bed once more, she curled into a ball, hugging her knees tight. The thought of leaving tore at her soul—duty or…

  She refused to think the word. She’d known the infernal man for only a few days. The four-letter word that tried to invade her thoughts was not one a sane woman used for a man she barely knew.

  For Ever, it wasn’t a thought she had at all.

  Duty came before all else. She’d vowed it long ago. Old queen, new queen, it didn’t matter. The Badlands needed her kind as surely as they needed a strong leader on the throne.

  Even as she repeated her vow in whispers, tears ran down her cheeks. Ever squeezed her eyes shut. She would not be a woman who wept over a man. It was self-indulgent—weak. But just like her screams of frustration before, this time her tears followed her into sleep.

  Before the sun’s rays even lit the port side of the Dark Hawk, Ever woke. The sky out her room’s tiny porthole shone blue and clear. Her mood suited the darkness inside her room far better. She sat on the bed, head in her hands. She had to survive on this ship until they landed. If she stayed in her room, she could avoid them all. Henrietta’s accusatory stares. Whatever reaction Zeke would have from last night. And Spencer—everything to do with Spencer.

  But she wouldn’t. She’d brought all of this upon herself; she would stand proud and deal with the consequences. With that thought firmly in mind, she stood, prepared to dress for the day, when a knock sounded on her door. Her brows knit together as she crossed the room and opened it.

  Spencer. Of course he had to test her resolve when she was barely out of bed.

  “Captain,” she said, her voice even, but tighter than she’d intended.

  He fidgeted in the doorway, the package from their trip to the clothier in his hands. “I wanted to bring these to you since they were forgotten during our departure.” She took the bundle without a word, silence stretching between them. “You’ll need the bandages changed.”

  Her breath came in shorter gasps, certain where the conversation was headed, unsure how to prevent the obvious outcome. “That would be prudent.”

  He cleared his throat, eyes shifting from the floor to her face. “I can tell Henri to expect you, or if you’d rather avoid her, I could…” His voice trailed off.

  The thought of his hands on her again heated her to her core. She yearned for his touch even if it was just to change the dressings. But he’d offered her a way out. “Thank you. Please tell Henrietta I will be there momentarily.”

  Spencer’s face fell, and Ever’s fingers bit into the door. She didn’t want to cause him pain, but she had to stop this. She never should have gone to him in the night, but she couldn’t take it back. Besides, he had the woman in the tintype to consider. This was the kindest gift she could give him.

  His jaw flexed for a second then his mask of command slipped back into place. “I’ll let her know to expect you.”

  Ever closed her eyes as he stepped away from the door, trying to still the pounding in her chest.

  “Are you coming to breakfast?”

  Her eyes shot open to find Zeke standing in front of her open doorway. Would she have to face all her nightmares before she’d fully awakened? “I need to visit the infirmary.”

  He nodded. “I can see that. I’ll do my best to make sure there’s something left for you.” With the barest flash of a sm
ile, he proceeded down the corridor.

  Ever blinked at the empty space. At least he was as good as his word. One night with no tomorrows promised or implied. She heaved a sigh of relief. One less worry. On the other hand, she’d just agreed to visit Henrietta of her own accord.

  Laying the package on the desk, she debated opening it. Better to save the new clothing for their arrival. She opened the closet, pulled out the second shirt from Mahala, and carried it with her to the infirmary.

  Henri bustled around the room, straightening things that didn’t appear out of place. When Ever stepped in, she turned, hands on her hips, lips pursed. “Spencer informed me you require care…again. I will need to have words with him about using my infirmary, but first I suppose I must deal with you. So let’s see it. How did the good warrior injure herself this time?”

  Ever bristled and reminded herself she’d asked for this. She turned from Henrietta and pulled the bloody shirt over her head.

  With a sigh of exasperation, Henri shut the door before perfunctorily unwrapping the bandages. She let out a little gasp. “Good heavens, what did you do?”

  It was all Ever could do not to laugh. Henrietta would never believe the story. Not that she had any intention of telling her. “Does it matter?”

  “Was the blade at least clean?” Her fingers prodded the wound.

  Ever ground her teeth. “From what I could see.”

  Henri tsked and told her to lie down. “Spencer did a fair job of stitching you, but you will have a scar. There’s simply nothing to be done about it.” She dabbed at the cut with a cool, wet cloth. “It’s cleaner, but there isn’t much I can do for it other than apply new dressings. Do you require something for the pain?” She rose from the cot.

  Ever sat up, watching the other woman move around the room. She realized soon enough Henri was avoiding meeting her eyes. The question was some sort of test. Ever shook her head. The woman simply would not quit. “No, I do not need anything. I have battled with far worse.” It wasn’t completely true. She rarely wounded herself like this, but she would have fought someone to the death with it open and bleeding if she’d needed to.

  “Stubbornness will be your undoing.” Henri started wrapping clean cloth around Ever’s torso.

  The words echoed in her brain, taunting her. It wasn’t stubbornness—she was simply following the most logical course of action. She did not need medication. And whatever she felt for Spencer could not reach fulfillment. Ever was not that sort of woman. Life with her would offer him nothing but heartache. As for herself, she was better off without the distraction of a man who expected her to be there. To be his.

  And Spencer Pierce was the type who would want a wife. He deserved a woman like the one he had waiting for him.

  As Henri tied off the bandage, Ever said, “I appreciate your advice, but thus far, it is the thing that has kept me alive.”

  She managed to avoid Spencer through breakfast. Shortly after though, he approached and pulled her aside. Ever squared her shoulders and trailed him onto the bridge. When he turned toward her, his face flitted to the pained look for an instant then returned to normal. “It’s reached the point I need to know where to set down to locate this princess of yours. Our engines don’t have enough fuel to take a leisurely course anywhere.”

  A business meeting she could handle.

  “Princess Laurette is in Philadelphia at the university.” She paused. Her brain screamed at her to say that after she accessed funds to pay him, she would seek other passage back. But the words wouldn’t come. “Is there anything else?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, and she thought—hoped even—he would mention what had passed between them. She wouldn’t do it herself, but if he…

  “No. That’s all. We make berth in Philadelphia anyway. I’ll deal with my contract while you fetch your princess.” He turned back to the helm, scratching out calculations on paper.

  Ever bit her lip and strode from the bridge. This was what she wanted. He was following her lead and pretending nothing happened. It should have made everything easier, instead she felt like someone had reached into her chest and was squeezing her heart to determine how much pressure it could withstand before it stopped beating.

  In the empty cargo hold, Noah grumbled about the equipment lying around. “Zeke and his stupid projects. Working on them in the middle of the God-blamed night. I need to clean this up before the captain gets down here and sees the mess.”

  The contents of the crate were scattered across the floor as though someone had grabbed one piece after another and hurled them with all their might. “What happened?”

  Noah glanced up. “Who knows? Everything was where it was supposed to be last night. I came down after breakfast to do some work and found this.”

  Ever had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that somehow she was the one responsible for the mess. “Can I help you?”

  Giving a nod, Noah said, “If you can just bring some pieces over here, I’ll make sure they get back where they belong.”

  She dove into the work, grateful for something to do. For a few blissful hours her body was so busy it didn’t leave time for much thought. During lunch though, Mahala delivered food to Spencer on the bridge, and his absence was like a gaping hole to Ever, painfully reminding her of the chasm in her dream. She choked down some food and made her way back to the cargo hold.

  It was empty. Noah had left some of the portholes open for air when they’d been cleaning. She stood in the middle of the space and inhaled deeply, cleansing her lungs and clearing her mind. Her arms and legs traced patterns through the air. She normally exercised with blades in hand but today she would do without. It would take more focus to keep her motions slow and steady. Soon, sweat dripped down her neck. The stitches on her arm and back itched and burned, but she savored the pain and the distraction it provided.

  She stabbed at unseen enemies. Sliced through their bellies. Swept their feet from under them. Every move calculated to injure or disable. Her surroundings blurred, replaced in her mind by the glorious desert. Her personal demons took the shape of the man who had earned her the mark of the phoenix on her cheek. He’d crossed into the Badlands and stumbled upon Ever’s patrol. Rather than turning himself in, he’d attacked.

  She swung her imaginary blade, hearing it hiss through the air as she sliced him from shoulder to hip.

  She’d left him for dead. A year later he’d found her again. This time he was stronger, faster, with metal welding his body together. Someone had turned him into a machine, and he’d learned to survive alone in the Badlands. That was how he’d found her—alone. She’d gone on a vision quest, far from the border. A place that should’ve been safe. He’d attacked during her deprivation haze. She’d thought he was truly a ghost, come back from the grave.

  Her right foot stepped back and she ducked an unseen blow. Her hands prepared to drive the imaginary blade through the chest of the man who had risen from the dead to hunt her when the present day intruded on the memory.

  Birdsong erupted, and Ever’s vision righted on the inside of the cargo hold. She had the briefest moment to realize how odd it was to hear tweeting over the engines before a dozen winged creatures soared through the open portholes.

  They swarmed around her head like gnats. Claws scratching, needle-sharp beaks pecking at her skin. She spun, swatting at them, but still they attacked. One landed on her forearm and held tight, its talons digging in. Ever raised her arm to yank it off. As it drove its beak into her flesh, she saw the glinting metal on its head and screamed.

  Chapter Eight

  Ever grabbed the bird and dashed it to the floor, crushing it under her boot.

  But the others, bigger than the first, overtook her. One, a small raptor, bit into her wrist, the metal of its mechanized beak piercing deep into the skin. Blood spurted from the wound as another clockwork latched onto her hair and began pecking at her face. Ever dropped to her knees and curled in on herself, banging the raptor a
gainst the floor, attempting to dislodge it.

  Over the flurry of wings and her screams, Ever heard one sickening crunch after another. A voice broke through and tried to calm her, but she couldn’t make out the words, only the soothing tone. Something grabbed her arm, pinned it to the floor. She struggled against the hold. Then the thunk of an axe sounded near her and she risked peeking out. The raptor lay on its side, its head severed in half, brain matter and blood mixing with oil inside its skull.

  She shook as she tried to sit. All around her, the crew demolished what remained of the clockworks. Ever grabbed the part of the raptor’s head still attached to her wrist to yank it out. A hand fell on hers.

  “No,” Spencer whispered in her ear, the same quiet tone he’d used to break through her screams. “We need Henri to take it out. You’re bleeding a lot. I’m not sure what it hit.”

  All she wanted was the last of the evil machines off her, but she nodded. With a strength she hadn’t guessed he possessed, Spencer lifted her off the ground and held her tight to him. As much as she’d endeavored to stay away from him, in that moment she clung to his body and the safety he represented. When he laid her on the cot in the infirmary, she clutched at his fingers.

  Henri swept in, an apron over her fancy clothes. She paused when she saw them, staring at their twined fingers. But only for a moment. “You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?” She turned the wrist over, and Ever saw it for the first time.

  Thank God Spencer had stopped her. Beyond the risk that it had hit a major blood vessel, the beak hooked around one or more of the tendons in her wrist. Had she jerked it free, she would have torn them. She’d have lost use of the hand—death to someone in her profession.