The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(21)
“No,” he said. “I don’t know them. That one with the black in her hair sure is tough, though, ain’t she?”
“Very,” she replied, clearly impressed. “And she knows Eastern fighting techniques.”
“They’re becoming all the rage in London now,” he responded. She’d sounded slightly suspicious. “Especially among the suffragettes.”
“Warrior women,” she mused with a smile. “I like that. I … noticed you looking at the red-haired girl. Do you think she’s pretty?”
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.