Hatshepsut's Collar (The Artifact Hunters #2) (3 page)

Behind her, Nate’s chest rumbled with laughter, but no sound broke his lips.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” she muttered, practically holding her breath in anticipation as the dancing speck approached.

A small, unoccupied boat nudged up against the brickwork and came to a halt. A long pole extended from the front of the little craft, a single light dangled from the end, suspended out over the water.

“You’re carriage to Su-Terré awaits.” Nate’s lips brushed the base of her neck, sending a shiver over her body.

Cara’s eyes flicked from the dingy to the inky depths of the tunnel. “This is how we get there?”

The corner of Nate’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Yes.”

“It looks a like lot a sewer tunnel.”

“The hint is in the name, Su-Terré,
below ground
. It makes it harder for the Enforcers to raid. We can return to the house if you’re not brave enough.”

She bristled at the subtle taunt and reviewed her options. Pitch darkness drew in any light and gave nothing in return. She could hear the lap of water slapping against the stone lining, but no hint of what lay beyond. The boat waited, reminiscent of the Greek Ferryman myth. It was up to her to either accept or decline the offer.

“What guides the boat?” She tried to peer into the water, but given the blanketing darkness, she had no hope of figuring out what made it move or told the vessel where to go.

Nate watched her careful examination with amusement. “There’s a track under the water, the boat is attached, and a mechanism controls the movement along the guiderail.”

“There better not be any rats.” Her decision made, she gave her hand to Nate. She placed one foot on the base of the boat and stepped down, taking the rear padded seat. She hadn’t come this far to back out, not when one of London’s best kept secrets awaited her discovery.

Nate gave her a rare smile. “Rats should be the least of your worries.”

Once they were both seated, the little boat rocked forward, following an invisible current as it entered the tunnel. The ceiling pressed so low they had to remain seated or risk scraping their heads on the top bricks enclosing them. They travelled underneath the streets of London; only the trickle of damp and scuttle of unseen tiny feet broke the silence.

Time and distance lost all meaning; one stretch of tunnel illuminated by the pale yellow light looked the exact same as the next bit. Even the lap of water sounded repetitive, the same noise cycling over and over. Claustrophobia reared its head in Cara’s gut and started to claw its way up. She had images of being trapped in the never ending tunnel. At least she had Nate to protect her from the vicious water rats. She hoped they weren’t stranded so long he resorted to eating her.
Or maybe just a wee nibble … .

Her fingers tightened on Nate’s hand.

“Breath,
cara mia
. The tunnel is sound and it’s not much further.”

The sight of a small dock broke the monotony of their journey. The boat gave a gentle nudge against a tiny jetty just big enough for two people to walk abreast. Along the waiting path, tall metal poles were topped with yellow lights in cast iron cages. They illuminated the short walk to the large double doors. Nate leapt out of their small conveyance, and extended a hand to Cara.

She stepped ashore, relieved to leave the tunnel, but with no idea of where in London they were. Or more exactly, where
under
London they were.

They approached the imposing doors, the thick wood blackened by age. Not a single sliver of light, nor whisper of sound, escaped from behind them. Enormous iron hinges hugged the surface of the door, and two inch spikes were scattered all over in a random pattern to stop anyone trying to put their shoulder to the wood and force an entry.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

At a nod from her, he pushed the doors open and underground London washed over Cara. They stepped over the threshold and the heavy wood swung shut behind. Nate tightened his hold around her waist as people flowed around them and threatened to pull her away with the current of their bodies.

Her first impression was heat. It prickled on her skin, and even the breath she inhaled burned in her throat. Noise assaulted her next. Visceral music pulsed down through her bones to her booted toes. Laughter, chatter, and feminine shrieks of delight rode over the top of the strange music. Acrid sweat, jasmine perfume, malty alcohol, and sweet smoke combined and swirled in her nostrils. Every pore of her body soaked up the experience. Every sense tingled, stretched, and challenged by this strange new world.

Her eyes were round with wonder like a child on Christmas morning. She turned in Nate’s arms, unwilling to miss a single moment as her mind flitted from one sight to another. They drifted through the crowd, stopping at each spectacle.

Over one large table, a long red sheet tumbled from the ceiling. A nubile woman wearing only red French knickers and matching sparkling pasties hung, suspended. With one leg wrapped around the gathered fabric, she swayed back and forth above the patrons and their grasping hands. Her long blonde ponytail brushed over their heads in an exotic caress as she teased the men below. They sought to stroke her flesh and tuck bank notes into her panties as she performed acrobatics with the piece of heavy silk, spinning and tossing her body toward the spectators, only to climb out of their reach at the last moment.

In a darkened corner, another semi-naked woman reclined on an ornate gilded throne. Gargoyles sat on the uprights, impartial eyes watching over their queen. Black chain wrapped her body, circling one leg, around her torso, and down the opposite hand. She held the end of the metal in her fingers, clasping and unclasping around cool links. Her pale limbs were splayed in stark contrast to the black velvet seat. The people gathered around her were supplicants, eager to touch and taste her flesh. Her head was thrown back in ecstasy as the many mouths and tongues lapped and licked at her skin. A man knelt before her, his hands caressing her legs as he suckled from the juncture of her thigh. He threw back his head, eyes closed, and Cara shuddered to see the trickle of blood run down his chin.

“Blood drinkers,” Nate whispered in her ear. “Tastes like copper and if you over indulge, you end up doubled over, vomiting up someone else’s blood.”

“You sound like you’ve tried it?” She flicked her gaze at him, trying to imagine his dark head bowed to lap at a woman’s life force. The mental image sent a tingle down her spine.

He shrugged, watching the display with a detached eye. “I was eighteen and looking for something.”

“Did you find it?”

“Yes.” He curled his hand around the nape of her neck, pulling her closer to him. “Up a tree in Hyde Park.”

She smiled at the shared memory. Eleven year old Cara had been up that particular tree, hurling acorns at an infuriated governess, who quit on the spot and left three Enforcers to extract the girl. It was the moment Nate realised how different she was to other noble girls. The moment he decided the hell-kitten was the one for him.

Taking in the mass of bodies, a question zinged into the back of the head. “How did all these people get here on that little boat? And what happens if there is a fire, or we all need to get out fast?”

A laugh rumbled through Nate’s chest as he kept her close. “There are doors that lead up through the tunnels to the streets above. We took the scenic route.”

Cara snorted a laugh. “Only you would call a trip through the sewers
scenic
.”

She tried to penetrate the dark where beyond the reach of the light, shadows moved in the deep recesses of the club. From the darkness, groans and moans of ecstasy and pain washed over the patrons, heightening the atmosphere. Nate guided her in the direction of the bar, the beacon of light amongst the dark. The wood was so highly polished, the waxed surface reflected all around it. The barman wore tight black pants, a black waistcoat, and nothing else. His oiled torso shone silver in the light as though he had been sprinkled with fairy dust.

He gave Cara a lascivious grin as he leaned close so she could name her drink. One hand pulled a bottle from the top shelf behind the bar while the other unhooked a small glass from the rows hanging in front of a mirrored wall. Then he poured a rich green liquid into the petite crystal tumbler. Reaching under the counter, he produced an ornate silver spoon and balanced it over the top of the rim. The spoon portrayed a filigree angel, her wings outstretched to hold the sugar cube placed on her back. Taking up a chilled carafe, the bartender dripped iced water onto the sugar cube. The cold liquid gradually melted the sugar and it dripped through the fairy into the absinthe below her body.

Cara watched, fascinated, as a drop plunged into the alcohol and the deep green started to bloom. As the sugar dissolved under the ice water onslaught, the drink turned a milky white with a slight mint tinge.

“Saluté.” The bar tender pushed the drink toward her.

Cara inhaled tendrils of aniseed before laying aside the fairy spoon and tossing back the drink. She slammed the glass down on the counter and gestured for him to set it up again.

“Are you sure?” A smile played on his face as he dared her.

“Go hard or go home.” She grinned as he topped up her glass and placed a fresh cube on the spoon. Cara tossed back drink number two and waited for the mischievous green fairy to spread her wings and take her flying. Warmth radiated through her body, but her mind remained clear.
I wonder if I’ll start hallucinating?
 

The bartender went to pour a third, but Nate put his hand over the top of the glass. “I don’t think so.” He leaned in close so his breath tickled the back of her neck. “Absinthe creeps up on you, and I want you sober when I get you home tonight. You can’t wrap those delicious, stocking clad legs around my hips if you’re passed out drunk.”

His hand moved down to stroke the inside of her thigh, just above the patterned stocking top. A flicker of electricity shot along her skin straight to her core. His words and touch heated her blood more efficiently than the absinthe.

“I’d better find this blasted ring and put a smile on Sara Collins’ face then.”

“The Trickster will be at the gaming tables in the back.” With one possessive hand on her waist, they made their way through the undulating mass of lost souls making up Su-Terré. Cara stepped over a young buck prone on the floor, waving his arms and legs, and declaring himself a floor angel.

“Too much absinthe,” Nate muttered, shooting Cara a pointed look.

In an adjourning room, there were three gaming tables of different hued felt; one a pastoral green, another heady red, and the third inky black. People crowded around the players, watching as fortunes, favours, and bodies were won and lost.

Cara was drawn to the black table and the unusual gamer seated at the head. Tall and lean, he wore a waistcoat of brilliant copper and bronze metallic embroidery. He wore no shirt underneath, just the tight-fitting vest that emphasised his exposed strong arms and broad shoulders. Veins ran over his biceps and down his forearms, but his face intrigued Cara. He wore a copper mask, obscuring most of his features. The eye sockets were rimmed by tiny cogs and gears spinning down over the cheeks, making his face alive with mechanical movement. Keen black eyes surveyed his domain from behind his metal façade. On his pinkie finger an enormous diamond spun fire with captured light.

“Sara Collin’s engagement ring, I presume?” Cara asked dryly, drawing his attention. “I’ll be needing that back.”

He wiggled the digit in her direction. “What are you offering for it?”

“The young lady has come to her senses and is willing to meet your original terms. You can have her for an entire evening.”

He stroked his metallic cheek, setting the cogs spinning in a different direction. “No. She reneged. That option is no longer available to her.”

I know you.
His voice brushed over Cara and haunted her with tones of familiarity. “Lady Collins will double her offer to two nights.”

Interest flared behind his mask. “I’ll take her nights, and you. I want both of you together. Fire and ice.”

Nate’s fingers tightened around Cara’s waist. “Poker,” he spoke up. “The ring or Cara, winner takes his pick.”

“Now hang on a minute.” She had no intention of trading herself for someone else’s piece of jewellery. Apart from the fact she only trusted one man to touch her; if she was willing to swap her body for bright trinkets, she would have adopted the life of a courtesan.

“Worried I’ll lose?” he whispered against her flushed skin.

“Yes, actually.” She turned into his chest, her fingers clutching at the edge of his jacket, using his solid presence as an anchor. She didn’t like the way events were playing out. They moved beyond her control and that made her nervous. The nightmare she endured as a child threatened to resurface.

“I don’t play to lose.” With a finger under her chin, he tilted her eyes to meet his.

A stab of longing and love shot down their shared bond and Cara knew he would do all in his power to keep her.

“You better not.” She stood on tip toe to brush her mouth over his and opened her mouth to draw in his bottom lip, nipping lightly before she released it.

He let her go to take his spot opposite the Trickster, an expanse of black felt between them like the river Styx as two demons diced with souls. Nate’s opponent pulled the heavy ring from his pinkie and tossed it to the centre of the black table. The stone gleamed against the felt like a sparkling quail egg.

“Sit here, my peach, where I can see you.” The Trickster patted a spot on the table in front of him. “We don’t want you distracting Nate down there.”

Nate.
The word bounced around her brain. Only his closest friends called him that, otherwise it was Nathaniel or Lord Lyons. She imagined the clockwork mask falling away, and kicked herself for not seeing the obvious reference. The Trickster was Lachlan Hawke. Or Loki as he preferred to be known, the god of mischief. He was one of Nate’s oldest friends and his pirate captain.