Read Online Skies of Steel: The Ether Chronicles by Zoe Archer - Free Book Online
Authors: Zoe Archer
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us.”
“They’re stuck in the middle of the storm. Too dangerous to try the maneuver in the midst of that.”
“So,” she said, hopeful, “we’ve lost them.”
He was more guarded, saying flatly, “Not going to breathe easy until I see nothing but night sky around us.”
And she could not breathe easy until he no longer anchored her body with his own. Not when she felt the rise and fall of his chest, or the unyielding strength of his form. It sparked an awareness she did not want, one she could not afford.
“I can stand on my own now.” Her voice was brusque, spinsterish.
After that initial, breathless burst of speed, the ship incrementally slowed. The black mirror of the sea below gained sharper definition as the Bielyi Voron decelerated.
“As you like.” Despite his disinterested tone, he straightened gradually, as if making certain that she truly had stable footing. He kept his hands on the railing, however, even when she stood fully upright.
They both stared at the tempest. Though they had put distance between the ship and the storm, it continued to rage, shaking the sky with thunder and flashing with lightning. Yet she couldn’t see the Russian ship. It had to be trapped within the storm.
She turned around, and found herself effectively pinned by Denisov against the railing. The span of a moth’s wing separated them. Her awareness of him climbed higher. They’d skirted the battle between the British and Russian airships, and evaded their pursuer. So why did her heart beat faster now ?
He’s metal and flesh. A handful of technological components grafted onto the body of an ordinary man. Nothing else.
Yet he seemed far more than that.
“Have you used that evasive technique before?” she asked, striving to sound calm.
His grin was audacious. “First time.”
She felt her mouth drop open. “Was it dangerous?”
“Akua,” Denisov said over his shoulder, “was what I did just now dangerous?”
“Ridiculously so, Captain,” came the answer. “We had less than a five percent chance of surviving.” Yet Akua didn’t sound upset at all. He sounded … pleased. As if his captain’s reckless behavior was something to celebrate.
A skewed value system these mercenaries have. Definitely something she would have liked to document more. Instead, she said aloud, “That’s a ninety-five percent chance that we could’ve been killed.”
“And if the Zelyonyi Oryol had gotten close enough, the odds were one hundred percent that we’d be blasted from the sky. I’m not much of a mathematician, but a five percent survival rate is better than none at all. We’re alive now. We’ve lost our pursuers. That’s all that matters.”
Indeed, Denisov fairly glowed with arrogant pride as he stared down at her.
Dear God … they’d come so close to death. But his actions, audacious as they’d been, had prevented that.
A scoundrel of the first order. Wild, impulsive. Acquisitive and perfectly willing to go to outrageous lengths to save his own skin.
Yet he wasn’t entirely self-serving. Had she fallen overboard when the ship had raced forward, the gold would be his, and he’d save himself a trip all the way to the dangerous Arabian Peninsula.
But he’d kept her safe. And she didn’t know why.
She ducked under his arm. “I need a drink.”
“There are two things you’re guaranteed to find on a rogue Man O’ War airship.” He offered her a roguish smile. “Outlaws. And an abundance of alcohol.”
O NLY WHEN M IKHAIL was certain that they’d lost the Zelyonyi Oryol and everything on his ship was relatively undamaged did he finally agree to leave the top deck. For security, he didn’t permit any of the lights throughout the ship to be lit. The crew knew how to move in darkness from years of practice. As for himself, seeing in the dark simply came with the improvements he’d gained with his implants. Something that had taken some getting used to—opening his eyes in the middle of the
“They’re stuck in the middle of the storm. Too dangerous to try the maneuver in the midst of that.”
“So,” she said, hopeful, “we’ve lost them.”
He was more guarded, saying flatly, “Not going to breathe easy until I see nothing but night sky around us.”
And she could not breathe easy until he no longer anchored her body with his own. Not when she felt the rise and fall of his chest, or the unyielding strength of his form. It sparked an awareness she did not want, one she could not afford.
“I can stand on my own now.” Her voice was brusque, spinsterish.
After that initial, breathless burst of speed, the ship incrementally slowed. The black mirror of the sea below gained sharper definition as the Bielyi Voron decelerated.
“As you like.” Despite his disinterested tone, he straightened gradually, as if making certain that she truly had stable footing. He kept his hands on the railing, however, even when she stood fully upright.
They both stared at the tempest. Though they had put distance between the ship and the storm, it continued to rage, shaking the sky with thunder and flashing with lightning. Yet she couldn’t see the Russian ship. It had to be trapped within the storm.
She turned around, and found herself effectively pinned by Denisov against the railing. The span of a moth’s wing separated them. Her awareness of him climbed higher. They’d skirted the battle between the British and Russian airships, and evaded their pursuer. So why did her heart beat faster now ?
He’s metal and flesh. A handful of technological components grafted onto the body of an ordinary man. Nothing else.
Yet he seemed far more than that.
“Have you used that evasive technique before?” she asked, striving to sound calm.
His grin was audacious. “First time.”
She felt her mouth drop open. “Was it dangerous?”
“Akua,” Denisov said over his shoulder, “was what I did just now dangerous?”
“Ridiculously so, Captain,” came the answer. “We had less than a five percent chance of surviving.” Yet Akua didn’t sound upset at all. He sounded … pleased. As if his captain’s reckless behavior was something to celebrate.
A skewed value system these mercenaries have. Definitely something she would have liked to document more. Instead, she said aloud, “That’s a ninety-five percent chance that we could’ve been killed.”
“And if the Zelyonyi Oryol had gotten close enough, the odds were one hundred percent that we’d be blasted from the sky. I’m not much of a mathematician, but a five percent survival rate is better than none at all. We’re alive now. We’ve lost our pursuers. That’s all that matters.”
Indeed, Denisov fairly glowed with arrogant pride as he stared down at her.
Dear God … they’d come so close to death. But his actions, audacious as they’d been, had prevented that.
A scoundrel of the first order. Wild, impulsive. Acquisitive and perfectly willing to go to outrageous lengths to save his own skin.
Yet he wasn’t entirely self-serving. Had she fallen overboard when the ship had raced forward, the gold would be his, and he’d save himself a trip all the way to the dangerous Arabian Peninsula.
But he’d kept her safe. And she didn’t know why.
She ducked under his arm. “I need a drink.”
“There are two things you’re guaranteed to find on a rogue Man O’ War airship.” He offered her a roguish smile. “Outlaws. And an abundance of alcohol.”
O NLY WHEN M IKHAIL was certain that they’d lost the Zelyonyi Oryol and everything on his ship was relatively undamaged did he finally agree to leave the top deck. For security, he didn’t permit any of the lights throughout the ship to be lit. The crew knew how to move in darkness from years of practice. As for himself, seeing in the dark simply came with the improvements he’d gained with his implants. Something that had taken some getting used to—opening his eyes in the middle of the
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