The Girl in the Clockwork Collar

Asking if Miss Emily was pretty was sort of like asking if the sun was warm. She brightened any room she was in, as fresh and light as Mei was dark and exotic. There was no way he could compare the two of them, and that’s what she was asking him to do. What she really wanted to know was if he thought Emily was prettier than her.

“She’s all right.” He squeezed her against his chest. “She’s not you, though.” That was the most diplomatic reply he could think of.

Clearly it worked, because Mei smiled and cuddled against him. When she lifted her face for a kiss, Jasper paused again. A soft ticking noise captured his attention—it was coming from her. “That collar. Does it hurt?”

Mei raised slender fingers to the clockwork device around her neck. “It’s a little tight when Dalton winds it, but I’ve gotten so accustomed to it, I barely notice anymore.”

“So he doesn’t tighten it to punish you?”

“He did in the beginning—when I tried to escape. That’s how I know that it actually works. I don’t know how, but he knows when I try to leave. But tonight, at the fight, I was fine.”

Jasper’s jaw clenched. He could kill Dalton. “It probably transmits through the Aether.” He didn’t know much about the “energy” but he had seen machines that could harness the power—it was like they could work without wires or connections. Mei had been fine, because she’d been close to Dalton. “It’s a big risk you’re taking, sneaking in here to see me like this.” If Dalton found her not in her room, he might tighten the collar just to remind her of her place.

She stroked his cheek with her delicate fingers, eyes sparkling up at him. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“What if Dalton finds out?” He couldn’t stand it if she got into any more trouble because of him.

Mei inched closer, bringing her face to his. “I don’t care,” she whispered, resolute.

The second her lips touched his, all of Jasper’s misgivings evaporated, and he realized that—at that precise moment— he didn’t care about Dalton, either.

Chapter 5

Griffin knew the exact moment Finley returned to the hotel. He knew because he was waiting for her in her room. He sat in a chair playing with a little clockwork owl he had bought for her earlier that day—thinking it might help make up for being such a git to her the other night. When wound up, it turned its head, blinked its big eyes and fluttered its delicate brass wings.

Perhaps it would be petulant of him, but he was tempted to crush it beneath his boot.

He was so angry at her. She could have gotten herself seriously hurt. She could have gotten herself killed.

He had lost his parents. He’d almost lost Sam. He would not lose her. Emotion seethed inside him, churning his insides until it felt as though all of his organs had been displaced. Unfortunately, heightened emotion tended to trigger a defense response from his abilities, which was never good.

Griffin was connected to the Aether, which, simply put, was energy. It came from all living matter and made up the realm of the dead. Most people went their entire lives without ever touching it. Some people could harness it to speak to the dead, see ghosts. Griffin could literally cross over into it. He could wield it as power, but sometimes, if he wasn’t careful, the Aether used him. He had runic tattoos, similar to the ones he’d given Finley, that helped him focus and channel his power, but there was only so much symbols could do. Even those made from Organite ink.

That raw power closed around him, thinning the veil between this world and the next, filling him with restless energy. He had to calm down before it was too late.

Slowly, he drew a deep breath and exhaled it. Then again. In his hand, the little owl fluttered, going through its repertoire of motions as he allowed bits of Aetheric energy to flow into it.

Never before had anyone inspired such turbulence within him. Finley Jayne had been trouble from the night he literally ran into her, and yet, he could not bring himself to let her go. He wanted to trust her as deeply as he wanted her to trust him, but at this rate, they would never get there.

When he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, he stilled—and so did the owl. He focused his attention on the door; for a moment, he thought the heavy wood bowed ever so slightly on its hinges, pulling toward him.

Another breath. In. Out. Calm.

The moment she crossed the threshold, his heart punched his ribs as though it was fighting for life—so hard it was painful. Her black-streaked, honey-colored hair was a mess, tendrils escaping from sticks she used to secure the thick knot on the back of her head. Her knuckles and corset sported rusty smears—dried blood. Her pretty face hosted similar blooms of color along with violent-looking bruises, which smeared across her skin.

Smeared?

Griffin’s eyes narrowed. Not bruises—not anymore. The smears were from cosmetics, no doubt employed to keep Dalton from noticing that she had healed faster than she should. To be honest, he would think her healing abilities would only serve to make her more attractive to the criminal. Should he mention that or simply be grateful she hadn’t been eager to give away all her secrets?

Emily was with her, laughing at something Finley said as they entered the room. It was Emily who first noticed him, laughter dying as she saw him. Whatever she saw when her gaze locked with his made the cute little redhead blanch.

“Evening, lad,” she said, voice slightly strained.

Griffin rose to his feet—it was what a gentleman did when ladies entered the room. “Good evening, Em. Finley.”

Finley didn’t pale when she met his gaze, although it would be hard to tell with the amount of dried blood and cosmetics on her face. Her chin came up defiantly, however. She expected a fight. He wasn’t surprised, as a fight was exactly what he suspected she wanted. She’d taken and delivered over an hour’s worth of violence during the fights that night and still had a little steel left in her spine.

He had told her he wouldn’t fight for her affection, but that had been a lie. He would fight. Only, he hadn’t thought that she would be his opponent.

“I’m really tired,” Emily announced out of the blue. “I think I’ll trundle myself off to bed. Good night!” She was gone before either Griffin or Finley could respond, the door clicking shut behind her.

The air seemed to thicken now that just the two of them were left in the room. The temperature seemed higher, as well, as though their mutual anger set the water in the radiator to boil.

Finley crossed her arms over her chest and stood with legs braced, as though ready for battle. Griffin kept his own hands at his sides, the thumb of his left stroking the owl.

“You put Emily at risk tonight,” he accused, because he couldn’t think of how to put his feelings into words. He was too afraid of making an idiot of himself. It was better to be harsh than vulnerable.

A deep scowl furrowed between her arched brows. “I didn’t make her come along. You ever try to talk her out of something once she’s made up her mind? Besides, she can take care of herself. You and Sam treat her like a china doll rather than a capable female.”

Perhaps he and Sam were guilty of behaving too protectively toward Emily, but it was how they had both been raised to treat women—even ones as capable as Emily and Finley. He tried to remember that they could fend for themselves quite nicely, and most of the time he succeeded, but his natural tendency was to play the gentleman.

“Is that what this was about?” he asked in a deceptively calm tone. “To prove just how capable you and Em are?”

Bright amber eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “What are you really angry about? That I entered the fight or that someone other than you came up with a plan that worked? Dalton wants to meet with me.”

Her words stung like a slap, and Griffin winced accordingly. Is that what she thought of him? “You may have noticed I came up with a similar plan, which you would have known, had you talked to me.”

She snorted. “Dalton’d see through you and Sam in a second. You’re too fine. Too good.”

“Perhaps I’m concerned about the fact that you have developed a penchant for unsavory company,” he