Burning Up

cove.
    “Where is she?”
    “I locked her in the officer’s mess.” Yasmeen didn’t take her eyes off the men working the decks. “She looked ready to take a dive over the side.”
    “What the hell have you told her?”
    “Only what you should have—” Her gaze narrowed when an aviator stepped into a coil of rope. Her voice rose, hard and sharp. “Mind that line, Ms. Pegg, or we’ll be feeding your leg to the bleeding gulls! . . . again,” she finished quietly, before glancing at Eben. “All of the men who came to me from your ship that were in need of a blacksmith, I sent to her with a story. I embellished.”
    Embellished. Enough that Ivy had thought he’d rape her. She likely imagined that once they reached Vesuvius she’d be whipped, abused, starved. Why not? Half the people who came off Eben’s ship were.
    “At every port, I heard that you were asking about her. And I heard the talk that had begun: men claiming that you’d weakened for a woman—and if you are weak in one area, you can be weakened in others. So I spread a different story.” Yasmeen spared him another glance. “Both your ship and this blacksmith are better protected when everyone thinks that you only seek her because she cheated you. You’ve made destroying the Black Guard your crusade, but your first duty is to your men—and there are too many lives at stake for Mad Machen to become Softhearted Eben.”
    “I know,” he said grimly. Christ, how he knew. The lives of his crew and the freedom of every person rounded up and chained into the belly of the Black Guard’s slaver ships depended on the reputation he’d earned over the years. Fear was a more powerful weapon than the biggest rail cannon—and every terrified mercenary who’d rather give up his cargo than face Mad Machen saved more lives than a Softhearted Eben ever could.
    “Then choose who you will be. You can’t be both.”
    He pictured Ivy’s face—a sight that had helped him fight through hell. And he felt the strange, cold presence below his knee, a constant reminder that there were others who hadn’t been strong or lucky enough to break free.
    Maybe he couldn’t be both. But he could damn well try.

THREE
    T wenty minutes passed before Mad Machen came for her. When she heard the door open, Ivy turned away from the porthole windows, Fool’s Cove no longer visible behind them.
    With dark eyes, he stared at her until a shout from the decks and a sudden decrease in the airship’s speed sent Ivy stumbling forward. He started toward her, but stopped when she caught her balance. His gaze left her face, landing on the satchel she’d dropped by the door.
    Bending, he grabbed up the handle, slung it over his shoulder. “We’re almost above my ship. Come.”
    Ivy expected him to step aside to let her pass, but he didn’t move out of the doorway as she approached. Ivy paused, wary. When his brows drew together with his frown, she fought the urge to scramble back.
    His expression continued to darken. “Don’t be afraid of me.”
    A disbelieving laugh escaped before she could stop it. Clamping her lips together, she lasted only a moment until the rest came out. “Certainly. I’ll start doing that, right away.”
    To her surprise, he smiled before sliding the door open. Nerves fluttering in her stomach, she passed him quickly, entering the narrow passageway that led out from beneath the quarterdeck. Cold wind caught her full in the face. Shivering in her thin coat, she started toward the rope ladder at the side of the airship, already longing for the warmer air below. She’d forgotten how frigid even a slight breeze could seem as it blew across the airship’s open decks.
    Mad Machen came up beside her. Avoiding his gaze, Ivy looked down, where Vesuvius floated five hundred yards below. The ladder hadn’t been lowered yet. As she watched, two aviators at a nearby capstan unwound a mooring cable toward the waiting ship. Within a few minutes, the crew below had tethered the airship to Vesuvius ’s stern, the cable carrying enough slack to form a graceful curve between them.
    She glanced over at Mad Machen. His hands braced on the gunwale, he was looking down at the ship with an expression that might have been anticipation. His gaze slid up the mooring line, then unexpectedly locked on hers.
    “Put your arms around my neck, Ivy, and we’ll head down.”
    Confused, she looked to the ladder, still rolled up near her feet.
    Without warning, his arm circled