Steam (Legends Saga Book 3) by Stacey Rourke Page A

writhing against her metaphysical restraints. “ Don’t … you … dare … speak … his … name! ”
    “Sweetheart, I’ll sing his praises on repeat if it’ll make you face the truth that he was an amazing man—”
    “ Stop it !”
    “And he will be missed—”
    “Just a quick second?” Ridley attempted yet again.
    “ Don’t say another word !” A fire ignited in the depths of Ireland’s irises. Her sword, resting in the dirt, winged through the air into her frozen hand. Her fingers didn’t close around the hilt. They didn’t need to. The sword hovered there, held by the sheer force of her will. Peyton yelped as Ireland managed one small step forward.
    “ But he’s gone !” Noah bellowed back, the tendons of his neck bulging.
    “ No he isn’t !” Ridley finally interjected, yelling to be heard over both of them.
    Silence.
    Four sets of eyes swiveled in Ireland’s direction. Veins snaked and coiled beneath her skin, ripening like inky black leeches feeding off her anger.
    “No,” she snarled through her teeth, “that’s not possible. He’s gone . The Horseman stole him from me!”
    Ridley’s features softened with understanding. “Or Rip knew you’d need him, so he hung around.”
    Even as tears welled in Ireland’s eyes, slipping passed her lids unchecked, her venomous rage lashed out. Her sword flew at Ridley’s throat, flipping in mid-air. It halted only when its tip dimpled the flesh over his jugular. “ Not another word .”
    Swallowing hard, Ridley’s Adam’s apple bobbed beneath the blade. “I just need you to see.”
    Wells’ plump hands closed in tight fists that shook with a sudden excitable realization. “Yes! That’s it!” For a moment, his head disappeared within his satchel. He emerged with two cuff bracelets. One looked like a prop from a Victorian fantasy. Black lace overlaid ruby red satin that was designed to taper in around the wearer’s wrist. In the center, silver gears framed an antique cameo inlaid with a half-dollar sized ruby. The other cuff had a simpler, more masculine flare. Comprised of two-tone metal, it gained its eclectic flare with four varying watch faces backed by an assortment of bronze and silver gears.
    “While jewelry is a lovely gift, this doesn’t seem the time.” Raising Ireland’s talisman, Noah concentrated on the sword. Metal clanged to the ground as he forced her influence to drop it.
    Wells brushed the dust from the lace with the back of his hand. “These are no ordinary accessories. I designed them specifically for those with supernatural gifts such as theirs. They are meant to create a more effective soldier by borrowing the gift from one and loaning it to the other—namely Ireland. Which means—”
    “If Ridley really is seeing Rip, she could see him, too,” Noah filled in, his arm drooping at the weight of the discovery.
    “Please … hurry .” Peyton forced the words through clenched teeth. Under the glow of the moon, a trickle of oily blood could be seen seeping from her ear. Still, she battled to keep Ireland captive.
    Nostrils flaring, Malachi whirled around and snatched the lace cuff from Wells’ hand. “Keep her off me,” he ordered Noah.
    “On it.” Noah’s chin dipped in a brief nod, his medallion wielding arm raising once more.
    Malachi didn’t wait for any confirmation. Sand kicked up from under his tattered shoes as he twirled around and stormed straight for her at a speed that would seem improbable in any other crowd. His face set in the mask of a soldier seasoned by battle.
    “ I will slice you to ribbons ,” Ireland rumbled, with a hint of whimsy at the prospect.
    “Hessian,” Noah commanded in an authoritative tenor, “ be still !”
    Her jaw flexed, teeth grinding, but Ireland Crane and the beast within lost the little mobility they had gained and settled into statue stillness.
    Skidding to a stop in front of her, Malachi wasted no time slapping the cuff on her wrist. Waves of mahogany-colored