Her father stood right behind her, the barrel of his revolver pointed at her head.

For a moment, London thought she might be able to speak with him, reason with him, but the complete and utter lack of emotion in his eyes told her such efforts would be fruitless. She was nothing to him. A body in his way. There was no kinship, no blood between them. Tears sprang to her eyes. She blinked them back.

"This is for your own good," he said flatly, c.o.c.king his gun. "And the good of England."

Her rifle was empty, but that didn't mean she could not use it. She leapt toward him, using the rifle barrel like a bayonet to jab at his chest. Clearly, he wasn't antic.i.p.ating any sort of counterattack. The daughter he had raised would never think to do such a thing. But she was no longer Joseph Edgeworth's daughter. At the same time, Bennett also sprang toward her father, so that they both collided with him.

The blow was just enough to knock her father's aim slightly. The revolver went off. Her shoulder caught fire. London stumbled to her knees, pressing her hand to her shoulder and seeing red seep between her fingers. An irrational thought flitted through her mind-Athena's shirtwaist was ruined.

Then her father and Bennett rolled on the ground. If London had thought the combat between Bennett and Fraser had been fierce, it looked like puppies playing compared to this brutality. She scarcely believed there was at least a thirty-year difference separating the men. Each fought with an ageless savagery, eyes blazing, naked hatred singeing the air around them. Even when Bennett slammed his fist into her father's ribs, making them audibly crack, her father did not stop his own a.s.sault, ramming his elbow into Bennett's chin. Bennett's head snapped back, but he shook himself into consciousness before continuing his a.s.sault.

But her father possessed an advantage. Two advantages. Bennett had been fighting for some time this day, already taking down several mercenaries and Fraser and and implementing the Eye of the Colossus. He was younger, stronger, but drained. And the Eye, still strapped to his arm, hampered his movements. He didn't have the freedom of motion her father did. implementing the Eye of the Colossus. He was younger, stronger, but drained. And the Eye, still strapped to his arm, hampered his movements. He didn't have the freedom of motion her father did.

London tried to lurch to her feet, desperate to help, but the pain radiated out, numbing her limbs. She watched as the man she loved and her father locked in lethal battle.

Her father, growing even more frenzied, pulled a knife from a hidden sheath. Bennett grunted as the blade slashed at the arm bearing the Eye. It was as if her father meant to cut Bennett's very arm away to get to the Source. Bennett gripped the hand holding the knife, attempting to pry it from her father's fingers. They grappled for the knife, but Bennett couldn't quite stop a gash along his forearm. He bent her father's fingers back until they snapped. The older man howled, then punched at the wound on Bennett's forearm.

"No!" London shouted.

Bennett's fingers loosened just a fraction from the handle on the back of the Eye. It was enough of a window for her father. He leapt to his feet and kicked several times at Bennett's injured arm. When Bennett's hand spasmed involuntarily, her father grabbed the Source and wrenched it off Bennett's arm, then landed a few solid kicks into Bennett's side.

Slipping his own arm through the leather straps and grasping the handle, her father's face gleamed with demonic joy. So delirious with exultation was he, that he didn't notice London crawling toward Bennett.

She kept her weight off her wounded shoulder, cradling her arm against herself, but she had to reach him where he lay on the ground. His face was white as he fiercely fought against pain. London helped prop him up so that he leaned against her, and his expression was murderous when he saw the bloom of blood seeping from her shoulder. No doubt she looked the same way, taking in the bruises, sc.r.a.pes, and gashes that marked him all over, especially his beautiful face and hands. She didn't care if he was scarred forever, but she hated seeing him hurt, in pain.

"Your shoulder," Bennett growled. He carefully turned her so he could examine her back, and his expression slightly eased. "The bullet went all the way through. That's good."

It didn't feel particularly good-in truth, the pain was unlike anything she'd experienced-but she nodded, lips pressed tight.

"Greek Fire," her father crowed. "I have it. The Source is mine. It belongs to England now, for the glory of England." He held the Eye aloft.

"You don't want it, Edgeworth," Bennett muttered. "Dangerous."

"Of course it's dangerous," her father snapped. "I saw what it did to my ship, to the demon. That's why it's the perfect weapon. An unstoppable fire."

Bennett shook his head. "Dangerous to the bearer. Put it down. Save yourself."

"Listen to him, Father," London said.

"Shut up, b.i.t.c.h," her father barked. "You cannot call me that anymore. You lost that privilege when you spread your legs for this b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Stupid woman."

His words were ugly, yet London didn't flinch from them. All she felt was a dull sadness. Her father didn't understand her at all. He never did. And she could not recognize the man she had known her whole life within this gla.s.sy-eyed beast.

Bennett growled and moved as if to lunge at her father, a gesture that made her father laugh.

"Give it up, Day. You failed. And," her father added, tipping his head to indicate the amphitheater behind him, "my sorcerer will soon make mince of your pathetic witch."

Indeed, even as he spoke, the battle between Chernock and Athena raged on. Athena seemed to be weakening, spells uncoiling from her hands at a slower rate. The creatures within the nebula were growing more numerous than the warrior women. If Athena did not rally, and soon, Chernock would overcome her.

"Now I'll truly claim the Source," her father sneered. He raised the Eye, directing it at London and Bennett. "Cleanse the earth with fire. Erase all evidence of my mistakes."

"I'm warning you," Bennett said. "Last chance."

"Enough," her father roared. He narrowed his eyes in concentration, then gave a yelp of glee when a glow suffused from the surface of the Eye. It grew, widening, a furious burning, spreading outward. From where she knelt, several feet away, London felt the heat sizzling over her skin.

Her father groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as sweat poured down his face. He fought the Eye, grimacing.

"No," he gasped. "You're mine mine. Mine to command. You must obey."

But the harder he pushed against it, the larger the radiance grew. It rippled the air with its heat.

At Bennett's silent order, he and London edged back along the ground, putting distance between themselves and her father. Their hands brushed over something metal, and they both flicked their eyes down. A pistol.

The atmosphere around her father turned incandescent, white. His skin blistered. "Bend to my will," he snarled. "Do as I command you."

Bennett rose to face her father. Only she saw how Bennett swayed a little, fighting his injuries, and the pallor of his skin.

"Get down," London hissed, but Bennett's attention was fixed solely on her father. An expression entirely unlike Bennett settled across his face. He smirked, gloating and smug, the picture of a self-satisfied child.

"Looks like you're having a spot of trouble controlling the Source," Bennett sneered. "Just like you couldn't control your daughter. She leapt into my bed, practically begged me to ravish her. Did you know that? Just couldn't wait to have a Blade take her and spoil the pride of England. She was wild for it."

London gaped at him, at the hurtful words he said. Her father's face purpled with rage.

"Shut your f.u.c.king mouth!" her father shouted. The light from the Eye grew, its heat overpowering.

The pistol was heavy in her hands as she pointed it at her father. "Stop, Father. Put the Source down."

Seeing her turn a gun on him only enraged her father further. He grimaced as he struggled to control the Eye.

Bennett laughed, a hard, coa.r.s.e sound. "Must feel b.l.o.o.d.y awful to see your only daughter turn on you like this. Betray you. Betray England. And for what? A tumble. In my my bed." bed."

Furious curses, unimaginably filthy and vile words, spewed from her father's mouth. Suddenly, the circle of fiery heat, shrank to a tiny dot. Her father laughed jubilantly. Then his laugh turned to a scream as the light exploded outward.

Bennett threw himself over London, covering her. Her father's screams turned to unearthly shrieks. London lifted her head and gasped in horror.

Her father was on fire. Flames coursed over him, turning his clothing to ash, roasting his flesh. He dropped the Eye, the light receded, but it was too late. The blaze swallowed him as he clawed at himself, burning hair a demonic halo about his head. He screamed, on and on.

Bennett took the pistol from London. He fired a shot directly between her father's eyes. A mercy shot. Her father died instantly.

His body fell like a meteor, tumbling down the hill, bits of charred skin and fabric flying behind him in a cascade of embers. By the time his body reached the floor of the amphitheater, it was nothing but black bone splinters, brittle as charcoal.

Bennett clasped her in his arms, holding her to his solid chest. London covered her face and sobbed. But they were dry sobs. She hadn't anything in her anymore. Was she happy? Relieved? Sad? Everything and nothing.

She raised her head, Bennett's face inches from her own. "Thank you," she whispered. "That was a kindness you did him."

"It was to spare you, not him."

She found her tears then, and they ran down her face. He kissed her, gently, and when she broke the kiss, she left streaks of moisture on his cheeks, cutting through the grime that coated them both.

"You knew," she said. "What the Source would do to him."

Bennett nodded grimly.

Chernock's cackle brought their attention down to the amphitheater. The sorcerer looked as though he'd been through a hurricane, his long black coat tattered and flapping behind him, but the blaze in Athena's eyes dimmed. She hadn't Chernock's experience wielding powerful magic, yet she continued to fight on.

"Athena needs our help," she said. "Can we use the Eye?"

Bennett shook his head. "She's too close to him. And with all those spells flying-no way to know what would happen. But we'll help how we can." He pitched to his feet, movements stiff and slow from his injuries, and gently pulled London up to stand beside him, careful to mind her shoulder.

"Or maybe she won't need us after all," Bennett murmured.

Kallas charged up the beach, an axe in one hand, revolver in another, headed straight for the amphitheater. He'd anch.o.r.ed the caique in the bay, unnoticed, after circ.u.mnavigating the burning wreck of the steamship.

Even from their position up the hill, she and Bennett heard the captain's bellow of rage, his war cry, as he stormed the sorcerer.

Distracted by Athena, Chernock did not shield himself from the gunfire, and several bullets slammed into him. The sorcerer, snarled, moved as if to use magic to tear Kallas apart. Kallas moved faster. He swung the axe with all the strength of his powerful arms, hacking into Chernock's leg below the knee. The sorcerer screamed as blood poured from where his lower leg used to be. Now the limb, encased in black wool, lay like so much meat upon the black stone, the gleaming black shoe at the end of it a grisly taunt.

Chernock toppled to the ground, slipping in his own blood, and Kallas brought the axe down again and again upon the sorcerer with shouts of fury.

The appearance of her lover strengthened Athena. Her eyes glowed with renewed power. With a primitive yell, the sound of an Amazon at the height of battle frenzy, she summoned energy with her hands, calling forth razor-beaked owls, their eyes brilliant and merciless. Athena guided them, waving them on, and the birds descended upon the sorcerer. Kallas swayed back to give the owls room. The air filled with the sounds of beating wings, tearing flesh, and the tortured shrieks of Chernock. London turned her face into Bennett, unable to bear the sight.

Only when the screaming stopped did London look. There was nothing left of the sorcerer, save for a few sc.r.a.ps of black wool and spatters of gore. With a wave of Athena's hand, the owls gathered in a wheeling circle, then disappeared.

Gathering up the Eye, leaning on each other, London and Bennett slowly made their way down the hill and into the amphitheater. There were the remains of the Heirs-Fraser's broken body, the charred pile of her father's bones, the minuscule tatters of fabric and flesh that had once been a powerful sorcerer. The self-styled champions of England, brought to miserable death by their false ideals.

But also standing in the orchestra of the amphitheater, clasped in a fierce embrace, were Kallas and Athena. The captain's b.l.o.o.d.y axe had been thrown aside, its work done. They smiled at Bennett and London's approach, though the smiles were strained from exhaustion and threaded with concern. No doubt London and Bennett looked like h.e.l.l, since that is exactly what they'd just been through.

Bennett ripped off his jacket, then his waistcoat and shirt. His bare torso shone with sweat and blood, a long gash on his forearm dripping red, the essence of a warrior embodied here, on this rocky island. He tore his shirt into strips and, after unb.u.t.toning her own shirtwaist, wrapped the strips of fabric around London's wound, his ministrations tender but thorough. He'd performed field dressing before and knew it well. London couldn't stop her gasp from the pain, but his attentions helped.

"Better?"

"A little."

"Are you well?" asked Kallas.

London rested her head against Bennett's chest, feeling his warmth, the steady beat of his heart that found its twin in her own heartbeat. She felt the deep vibrations of his words throughout her body, her soul, as he spoke.

"Never better."

Chapter 20.

The Eye Restored He found her in her favorite place, the bow of the ship. Though they were anch.o.r.ed just off the island, with the prow pointed toward the beach, she stared up, at the tops of the sails stretching to the sky. Her eyes were turned from the smoldering hulk of the steamship, most of it now lying underwater. He couldn't fault her for avoiding the sight. Even he found it a grisly reminder of what had happened a few hours earlier.

She had her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, head tilted back. His blood warmed to see her-worn and weary, beautiful beyond reckoning. They had only been apart a few minutes, but even that was too long to be without her. She'd become as necessary as his pulse.

"Your shoulder's feeling better."

She turned at his approach and smiled. His heart stopped at the sight, then pounded back to life.

"Athena's magic has grown considerably." She tested her shoulder, rolling her arm. "I can hardly feel the wound anymore. Just a little soreness. And the cut on my chest has vanished."

He bent to examine her shoulder, peeling back her fresh shirtwaist to reveal the silky flesh beneath. Sure enough, a small, puckered scar, fresh and pink, was the only reminder that a bullet had torn through her only hours before. The thought of it brought a fresh surge of fury, but he made himself push past that anger. She was well. Her son of a b.i.t.c.h father was dead. Edgeworth would never threaten London again. That was enough.

"I won't be able to wear low-shouldered gowns anymore," she said with a rueful smile.

Bennett kissed her there, tenderly, upon that scar. "Wear them. Let the world see how brave you are." He didn't care if her beauty bore such marks. They made her all the lovelier to him.

She shivered under his touch, her eyes drifting shut as his kiss grew more heated. His tongue lapped at her collarbone, the curve of her neck. He tasted salt on her skin and that indefinable essence of sweet and spicy uniquely hers.

"You seem to be...quite recovered," she said, breathless. "More of Athena's magic?"

"Mm. We'll not talk of her, now." His lips moved to hers as he sank to his knees, facing her. "I want you."

"More of your post-adventure concupiscence?" she asked between kisses.

"It's you you, love. You You make me want you." make me want you."

They tangled together, and he felt, in the heat of her kisses and press of her body to his, how she shoved away at this day's darkness, clinging to life and love and their promise of tomorrow. He would be there with her, every step of the way.

"I'll never get enough of you," she sighed into his mouth.

"Good," he growled. "Because I plan on never letting you go."

"Never?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Never." His voice was firm, immovable, as he stared into the gold-flecked sable of her eyes. The single word was weighted with everything he felt for her, more expressive in its tone than he could hope to achieve with a thousand honeyed words. Words had always come easily to him, but now he demanded more from them. She had to know his meaning, had to know what he offered, and he felt a stab of fear that she might reject that offer. The world was open to her. She could do exactly as she pleased. He wanted to please her. So much that he burned with it.

"Never, then." She smiled against his mouth.

The kind of wild joy he felt at the completion of a mission was only a dim flicker compared to the blaze of euphoria now consuming him. He pulled her tight against him, her soft, strong female body, her heart, her entire being, everything about her rare and entirely wondrous.

He started to lay her back onto the deck, when someone nearby cleared their throat.

"Perhaps the lovemaking can wait a little longer," Athena said dryly.

Bennett, grumbling, raised himself and London up to sitting, to see the witch and her captain standing close by, hand in hand. The surge of magic that had filled Athena earlier was now gone, and she seemed, aside from a bit windblown, her old self. Except, of course, for the palpable air of powerful magic that infused her with confidence. It wasn't the hauteur of her aristocratic breeding, but the sense that she was in complete command of herself and untapped founts of magic.

The presence of the fierce, devoted man beside her might have had something to do with Athena's poise, as well.

However, Bennett didn't really want to think of any of this right now. He wanted London, to think only of her and be a part of her for as long as possible. Maybe forever.

Still...