Shadowdance: The Darkest London Series: Book 4

by Kristen Callihan

  Talent’s body went perceptibly harder, his muscles bunching, yet his hands remained still upon the book in his lap. Her hands, however, shook as she lifted the apple from her pocket and presented it.

  “I brought you a gift.” Her voice was a stranger’s, breathless and quick.

  He did not look at the apple. His attention was riveted on her. Oh, but his guilt was evident in the small tic at the side of his expressive mouth. The silence between them stretched. It took everything she had within her not to move closer to him. He compelled her, made her want to… she didn’t quite know, only that she feared the feeling and craved it in equal measure.

  “Why?” she asked, when he did not speak.

  His throat moved on an audible swallow. “I wanted… Lucien never took proper care of your needs. Neither did you. Somebody had to.” It appeared he would say no more, but then his words came, awkward and rough. “And you said you craved apples.”

  Her ears rang. One flippant remark, a small desire of hers, and he’d taken it to heart. Somehow she ended up at the side of the bed. Up close his skin appeared velvety smooth. Dark brown hairs gathered just below his navel and trailed down his tight belly, and a pale swath of bare hip, peeking out from the duvet, caught her attention before she looked away.

  His pulse beat visibly against the little hollow at his throat. A silver chain dangled about his neck, glinting in the light. She’d never seen it before.

  “Why?” she asked again.

  “To make up for what might have been.” His hand lifted as if he’d touch hers, but then it dropped, his fingers curling in the cover. “In a different world, I might have tried to make you mine from the first.” His thick whisper lanced her clockwork heart and had her breath quickening as he continued. “In a different world, I might have deserved you.”

  Then he moved. The warmth of his fingers made her flesh jump, but she did not pull away as his forest-green eyes burned into hers. “I might have met you that long-ago day in Lucien’s parlor, and instead of running away”—the rough pad of his thumb brushed over her knuckles—“I might have told you how utterly and completely you captivated me.”

  Her knees gave out, and she sank to the bed, her thigh brushing against his. They were face-to-face, close enough that she might touch him. That he might touch her. Neither of them moved. But the connection of their linked hands held her in place.

  Her voice, when she found it, shook. “You merely had to show your true self to me, and I might have been captivated too.”

  A sad smile tipped his lips. Slowly, as if giving her every chance to move away, his hand lifted. Warm fingertips brushed her cheek, and her lids fluttered under the sensation. “Ah, Merrily, you assume this is my true self?” He traced down her jaw and lingered at her throat where her skin was the most sensitive. A tentative touch, as if he wasn’t certain how he’d be received. “Even now I hide from you.”

  She leaned in, allowing herself the small pleasure of touching him, just on the corded length of his forearm. It turned to steel beneath her palm, and she applied firmer pressure, reveling in the illicit contact. “Then show me, Jack. Show me who you are.”

  A challenge. He never could resist one. Even now his lips firmed, and his blunt chin lifted a touch. His fingers wrapped around her throat, not hurting, simply holding her. He studied her. A large part of her rallied to hide from him, don a mask of indifference as she’d always done. She ignored it and let him see her. And his eyes widened a touch, his lips parting.

  Her voice broke the silence. “Show me who you are, Jack.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, as if cursing himself. The air about him shimmered, his form blurring. It happened in a blink, and then he reformed.

  Mary’s breath hitched. He was still Jack. Save for the scars. The cross caught her attention first. No bigger than the span of her hand, the nearly faded mark was a white ghost against the gentle rise of his left pectoral muscle.

  “My uncle did that one,” Jack said. “To remind me of my profane nature. Hurt like the devil.”

  His lips curled on a wry smile but Mary could not return it. She thought of all the demons similarly branded, and of a young boy being cruelly tortured. Something of her thoughts must have played on her face, for his mouth turned down and his voice lowered. “They…” He cleared his throat. “They had a particular fascination with that scar. Some of them took to calling me their acolyte.” Jack’s mouth snapped shut with a click of his teeth, his high cheeks going ruddy. “I wanted there to be no doubt who was coming for them.”

  Slowly she nodded, her throat thick and her eyes burning. The cross was not his only scar. Her gaze wandered over them. Not simple scars, but cruel marks blackened and carved into his flesh. Thick swirls and symbols. Demon signs. She remembered them, dripping with blood as he hung on the iron spikes.

  “They rubbed ash and iron dust into them.” Jack’s voice was dispassionate, dull now. “Makes it permanent.”

  Mary’s throat closed. Bastards. Jack did not move as she reached out to touch one, but she stilled at the last moment. “But the marks are different.”

  “What?” It was a shocked whisper.

  She met his eyes. “I remember them. Each one.” She would never forget. And the symbols were not the same.

  A smothered sound left him. “Found a demon scribe. He changed the symbols. Carved new ones from the old.” His jaw clenched. “I’ll not be bound by those bastards.”

  “No.” She touched him then, resting her hand against his chest where his heart thudded beneath. His skin was warm and smooth, the scars not raised but more like a tattoo.

  A small furrow worked between his brows as he searched her face. She remained silent, not knowing what to say, or what he needed. When he spoke, his deep voice ended their stalemate. “I don’t like to see them.”

  Mary’s chest squeezed. He thought she needed an explanation for why he hid them. She pressed her hand more securely to his firm chest. But Jack didn’t appear to notice. His scowl grew. “I don’t want to remember.” He looked at her as though he believed she’d find him lacking for such a confession.

  “Does it tax you to hide them?” she asked softly.

  “It’s as easy as breathing.”

  “Then don’t stop. Hide them now if it eases you.” She couldn’t see him hurting.

  He blinked, and beneath her hand, his chest rose on a slow breath. “No. I want you to see me.” A small shiver ran over his skin. He leaned toward her, the bedclothes rustling as he moved. “I want you to know all of me.”

  And because she understood him with perfect clarity in that moment, she let her gaze move over him, learning every imperfection. His face was slightly different too. A bump along the bridge of his nose, a thick scar bisecting his left brow and another faint one on his stubborn chin. He noticed her inspection of him. “Poker to the head, age eleven. Blow to the jaw, age twelve. A few beatings in between.” His lashes swept down. “I did not heal as well when I was younger.”

  She cupped his face. Immediately he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, his whole body relaxing on a sigh. It spoke of trust. And she realized that he’d already given his to her. She had yet to do the same. Her fingers pressed into his skin. “Jack, I have something to tell you.” Because he should know all of her too.

  His eyes opened, brilliant green and beautiful. “You can tell me anything, Merrily. You ought to know that by now.”

  She was here. Jack could hardly believe it, but he wasn’t letting go. Fuck pride. Fuck staying away. He wasn’t going to leave her anymore. He’d stay by her side, or die trying.

  “Talk to me, love.”

  She licked her lips, a quick dart of her pink tongue. “You did not end my mortal life.”

  He frowned. “As much as I hate to belabor the point, I’m afraid I did.”

  “No. I…” Her hand slid from his cheek. “I ran in front of the wagon. I wanted to die.”

  The very thought of her trying to kill herself—He cuppe
d the back of her neck with both hands, holding her steady, holding himself steady. “What?”

  “I ought to have told you. Only I was ashamed. I am ashamed. Do you understand? Adam doesn’t grant life to those who toss theirs away.” She paled. “But he didn’t know. I never offered the truth. I took that secret and burrowed it deep into the darkest pit of my soul. Until your confession.”

  “Mary—”

  “If a GIM were to find out what I’d done, I’d be banished. I wanted to tell you, but after the way you treated me, I was afraid to trust.” She searched his face. “The worst of it is that, had you known, all these years of miscommunication, of you feeling soulless, might never have been.”

  Her eyes glowed like polished topaz and filled with tears. His hand shook so violently that when he wiped at the tear trickling down her cheek, he only succeeded in smearing it about with his thumb.

  “Don’t cry,” he whispered. Anything but that. “Not over my feelings. I’m not worth it.”

  She caught him by the wrist, staying his clumsy efforts. The simple feel of her fingers on his skin gave him the strength to move. Jack pressed his forehead against hers and just breathed, taking in the scent of her, that warm, sweet fragrance that felt of home and hope.

  “I don’t want to live without you,” he said, cracking, pleading. He did not care. “That is my truth.”

  Her slim fingers curled about his forearms. “You hurt me, Jack.” She was close enough that he heard her swallow. “For so long.”

  “I’m sorry.” Pathetically small and useless words.

  Soft breath caressed his face. “So I tried to hurt you in return. But it only made my pain deepen. I suspect it was the same for you.”

  She did not know the half of it. But he shook his head slightly. Words burned as they worked their way out. “Your pain is mine.” His fingers tightened on her. “Infinitely.”

  You deserve better than me. You deserve someone who can make you happy.

  “That’s where you went terribly wrong,” Mary said softly. “You make me happy.”

  He hadn’t known he’d spoken aloud. Jack stared at her, not knowing what to say. So he kissed her. Not hard. Not frantically. But in the way he’d always wanted to: as if she were his. Mary opened to him, her warm tongue sliding into his mouth.

  Together they fell back onto the bed. He slid between her open legs, rocking his stiff cock against the barrier of skirts and sheet, gritting his teeth when pleasure and want punched through him with the force of a freighter.

  A little sigh escaped her, and her fingers drifted down his face, along his throat, raising the tiny hairs upon his skin as they went. She stilled as she reached the chain about his neck. Her finger hooked it and lifted. It had taken him a few moments to figure out that the key turned invisible to the eye when worn against the skin. Only by pulling it away could one see it.

  A smile played about her lips. “My key.”

  The chain was too short for him to see the key now, but he could almost feel it dangling just above his skin. “I wanted to keep it safe for you.”

  Her legs twined farther around his as she gazed up at him. “That you did.” The color deepened upon her cheeks, and she licked her kiss-plumped lips. He watched, his cock twitching, his pulse picking back up. Her voice grew almost shy, save for the huskiness underneath it all. “Will you put it back on me?”

  Jack swallowed. Hard. Beyond the roaring of his ears and the tightness of his skin, he felt the chain around his neck loosen and slither free, and then she was holding her key. An offering.

  Everything grew silent, save the sound of their breathing and the thundering of his heart. His focus narrowed to the rise and fall of her chest and the row of toggles fronting her regulator’s tunic. It was a simple linen one, the sort they wore when practicing combat. The natural shape of her beneath the cloth made it clear she was not constrained by a corset. Anticipation made his words thick. “Were you expecting a fight?”

  A small smile tilted her lips. “Perhaps.” Her gaze grew dark. “Or perhaps I did not favor too many impediments during our discussion.”

  His breath caught. “Practical girl.” It was said lightly, but the knowledge she’d given made him shake, every bit of him, save his fingers. They were steady and determined as he pulled each toggle tight, then released it with a tiny click. With each button set free, his blood grew hotter. Her eyes followed his progress, and her sweet lips parted, drawing in short gasps of air.

  The tips of her fingers, so lightly holding his biceps as he worked, seared his skin. At last her tunic was spread open, revealing the tissue-thin ivory chemise beneath. Gently he touched the smooth skin just below her collarbones, and her breath hitched, that fine skin prickling with gooseflesh. His breathing grew labored, his mouth dry, as he worked the little pearl buttons free, and when he finished with the last one, he opened his prize.

  He’d seen her before. But not like this. Not when she was arching her back ever so slightly, lifting her luscious breasts up like an offering. Not when he could touch her.

  So he did. Light and careful, as he ran a finger along the edge of the golden teeth guarding her heart. “Does it hurt?” he whispered. He needed to know that first.

  “No.” A tiny tremor lit over her skin. “It feels… wonderful.”

  He stroked the other edge, gently, smiling as he did it. He hadn’t expected to smile with her. Not this way. Happiness bloomed warm and tender beneath his ribs. His fingers drifted down, tracing under one breast. They were small breasts, firm yet delicate like the rest of her. The honeyed caps of her nipples pointed upward, just begging a man to suck.

  Well then. Jack swooped down and drew a silken tip in deep. Mary cried out, her lithe body bowing into him. He smiled around her sweet nipple, then caught the hard hoop of her piercing with the tip of his tongue and worried it.

  “Jack!” She grabbed his shoulders. Her nails biting into his flesh were a sharp pleasure.

  Slowly he pulled back, holding on to his prize as he went, until the tip was freed, glistening in the light, and the little crystal hoop stood at attention. “I had to prepare it.” Unable to help himself, he gave the stiff nipple a flick with the end of his tongue before looking up at her flushed face. “Give me your key.”

  Lightly panting and hand shaking, she handed him the key. His fingers were too large and clumsy for the task, fumbling with the effort to remain calm as he unhooked the hoop and slid the tiny key into place. By the time he finished, they were both trembling, a sheen of sweat covering their skins.

  Resting a hand upon her stomach, Jack smiled down at his handiwork. “That has got to be the most erotic sight I’ve ever beheld.” Idly he touched the small key, moving it back and forth and loving the way she instantly writhed against his finger, as if seeking more.

  “Sensitive, are you?” God, but she made him burn. Before she could answer, he leaned in and kissed her nipple. And again, because once was not enough. And she whimpered beneath him, her arms closing ranks around his neck, holding him there. Jack closed his eyes, shuddering as he gave in to the heady sensation of simply letting go with her. Heat washed over him as he suckled her. His teeth clicked against the key, and he bit down and gave it a tug.

  “Sweet God, that feels so…” Mary groaned, her fingers grasping the short ends of his hair. He tugged it again, twisting a bit. And she jerked, a moan tearing from her. “Don’t stop, Jack.”

  Palming her other breast, he gave her what they both wanted, tormenting her with his mouth as his fingers plucked at her other nipple. Lust drew him in circles, making him dizzy.

  “I can’t stop touching you.” He kissed his way back up her body, finding that tender spot on her neck as his hands roamed over satin-smooth skin. “I don’t want to.”

  She roamed too, finding sensitive patches and secret hollows of pleasure along his body. Kissing a line across his cheeks, along his jaw. Her hips lifted, pressing against his. An invitation. Jack pulled back, his chest working against hers
.

  “Let me see all of you, Mary. I want to. So badly.” Instinct shouted that he take, plunder. But enough had been taken from both of them. Her tremulous smile and small nod were his reward. He undid the ties of her skirts, fighting impatience, and then slid them down her slim hips. His mouth went dry. She was everything he’d ever wanted, and things he’d never even known he needed.

  Gently curved, slender limbs rose up to meet a dark-gold triangle of curls and a small glimpse of sly pink. Her buttery skin prickled, a light shiver working over her. Uncertainty creased the corners of her wide eyes and tightened her mouth. Jack couldn’t bear that.

  The first touch of his hand upon the soft skin of her thigh nearly undid him. Slowly he caressed her, and his skin tingled as if he were the one being caressed. “Ah, Merrily,” he whispered. “I’ve no words. Not the proper ones to do your loveliness justice.”

  “Nor I for you, Jack Talent.” Her hand eased over his arm, a light, heady touch that drove him insane. Her lips curled. “I suppose we shall have to muddle through.”

  But she deserved words. She deserved to know that she was cherished. His hand glided to the subtle swell of her hip. “Show yourself to me, love.” His voice was as rough as splintered wood.

  Her pale thighs trembled as she spread them. Her sex, glistening coral pink, was plump with desire. For him. Mary Chase wanted him. She was waiting for him, her gaze not shy but hot and impatient.

  He prolonged the moment, taking his time to reach out for her. And when he ran a finger down her slick center, she bucked, a little helpless gurgle filling her throat. But she opened her legs wider, canting her hips. For him.

  He found himself panting, his body quaking with lust. “God, just to be able to touch you.” Slowly he circled her sex, watching her writhe. “Do you know what that does to me?” He pushed a finger into her tight quim, and her lips parted on a wordless cry. Jack eased out and plunged in again, his throat closing, making his words raw. “Have you any idea?”