Shadowdance: The Darkest London Series: Book 4

by Kristen Callihan

  “Harder,” she rasped. She wanted him to break her, reform her into something new. And he complied, rising up on his arms for better leverage, rutting against her in a way that was dirty, decadent, and unhinged. Everything that she wanted.

  “Fuck, Mary.” He groaned, his backside tightening as he flexed into her. “Oh, fuck you feel so good.”

  Her hipbones ached from the force of his body slamming into them, her sex burning from the friction. Pleasure grew within her, swelling outward until she shook. And she clutched Jack’s shoulders like a lifeline, her body tensing against his. “I… can’t… I want…” She couldn’t think, could barely breathe.

  “Let it go,” he whispered against her cheek. “Let yourself go, love.”

  As if his words were a reprieve, the thing she’d been waiting for, the pleasure within her peaked. And then she fractured, coming so hard and fast that she sank her teeth into the meaty juncture of his shoulder.

  At her bite, his entire body seized before a violent shudder wracked him, his brows furrowing tight as he bared his teeth on a wordless cry. The tendons stuck out on his neck, and his head canted as if reacting to a blow. It was glorious. The sight sent an unexpected tide of sensation through her once more. She strained against him, sore and pulsing as he filled her with warmth.

  And then they both collapsed. For a moment Jack simply panted, his body half slung on top of her, then he gathered her close and tucked her snugly against his side. “I knew we’d be like that together,” he whispered on an unsteady breath.

  Mary stretched against him, luxuriating in the soreness along her limbs and the feel of him still deep inside her. “Had I known,” she said, running a hand over his sweaty back, “I’d have insisted we shag the moment we met.”

  He grunted, and she squeezed the hard swell of his shoulder. “Jack,” she whispered. “Let’s do it again. Now.”

  Surprise rippled through him, which did delicious things to his muscles. And as if answering her, his cock twitched against her sex, growing thick once more. He eased himself up to peer down at her, and a wide, cocksure grin erupted over his mouth. She’d never seen that particular smile, but she liked it.

  “Again?” His voice was a rumbling rasp. And that lovely grin grew wider, and his cock pulsed. A light laugh left him. “Oh, angel, just let anyone bloody try and stop me.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  One more adjustment and it would be finished. Closing her eyes, Holly ran her hand over the heart, feeling for any weak spots in the design. Her fingertips reached an area that felt dark and unsteady. There. Taking a breath, she let her power go. The metal heated to searing hot, but did not burn her. Concentrating on what she wanted the device to do, Holly held on. The metal quivered, then rearranged itself. Another moment and her invention was cool once more. And complete.

  Holly opened her eyes and picked her creation up. Despite her disgust with this place, pride in what she’d accomplished surged forth. It was a thing of beauty, developed using a wax casting method, backbreaking hours of work, and the power no one else knew she wielded.

  At her elbow was the working diary of her predecessor. The mere thought that another had been here before her filled Holly with icy terror. But his notes fascinated. The man, Pierce, had been a clockmaker. At first he’d attempted to create new hearts, but when they failed he’d tried his hand at repairing stolen GIM hearts.

  With a shiver Holly remembered the ruined remains of Mr. Pierce and the damaged clockwork heart she’d taken from his corpse to examine. Though his notes did not say, Holly did not think he had volunteered to have the very heart he’d fixed placed in his chest.

  Would the same fate be forced upon her? Tentatively she lifted the heart a little higher. It glowed in the low light, a pale sheen that appeared silver, but was platinum. Rare and incredibly strong, platinum had the distinction of being the one metal that supernatural bodies did not adversely react to.

  That had been the key. That bastard was putting steel or gold hearts into shifters and sanguis. Both metals poisoned their victims, creating a change that was catastrophic. As if gaining a mind of its own, the metal would take over the body, weaving its way into the fabric of the immortal’s flesh, causing intense pain, mental instability, and, eventually, a complete body failure.

  The endless line of failures had not pleased the madman holding her here. Peace in this hell only came when Master—how she hated that name—had consumed a few drops of the glimmering blood from the vial he kept close to him at all times. To his glee, one drink had closed a few of the smaller sores on his face. Talent’s blood, if his rantings were to be believed.

  Holly had hoped that would be the end of it, but she’d been ordered to create a heart that worked. Her guts cramped at the thought. Because if she didn’t find a way, she was dead.

  Holly had put all her skill into the creation, for she realized that success would ultimately destroy him. Holly simply needed to make a heart that would work. Once Master put one into himself, she would use the electric prod against him and stop his heart. Not a very strong plan, granted, but it was all she had.

  The door to her cell slammed open, and a man strode in. With shining hair, firm skin, and a gleam in his eye, her captor fairly beamed at her. Rising from his back were a pair of wings covered with glossy black feathers. One dropped to the floor as he came forward.

  “Happy day, Miss Evernight,” he said. “My body is whole once more.” He gave a wry little laugh. He glanced at the platinum heart on her worktable. “Is that it?”

  “Yes.”

  “It is marvelous.” Gently he touched the smooth arch of the heart’s outer surface, and Holly had the mad urge to snatch it from him. But she held still as he lifted the device up to the light. “Platinum, is it?”

  Holly knew he wanted an explanation. He always wanted to hear her methods. “I believe previous failures were due to the type of metal used. Platinum ought to be benign to immortals.”

  “You are a diamond of the first water, Miss Evernight.”

  And you are a disgusting coward. I’d like nothing better than to ram my screwdriver into your eye.

  “You made two of them?” he asked, grinning wide.

  Because the coward wouldn’t attempt to use it on himself before trying it out on another. Which was a pity, since she’d hoped he’d take a chance on this one and replace his own heart with it. Despite this, her curiosity compelled her to ask, “If you are healed, then why bother with these hearts?”

  Gently, he fingered the curve of the heart. “So that I may never be vulnerable again.”

  Holly would be quite satisfied to watch him die. “This is the first. The second should take a day.”

  He frowned slightly, his eyes gleaming silver-white for an instant. But then he waved an idle hand. “Very well.” He set the heart down and clapped his hands, the sound booming unnaturally loud.

  A hunched figure walked in, pushing a screeching trolley before him. She ignored him in favor of the man strapped to the top. The large male, dressed only in trousers, thrashed against the golden bands that held him down. White hair fell in tangles around a sharp face, and dark-blond brows arched over eyes that flickered from ice to coal. He was beautiful. And completely helpless. A demon, if gold could hold him fast. Sanguis, if the needle-sharp fangs dropping down over the gag around his mouth were to be believed. Bloodsucker. Beautiful, but vile.

  But when Master stroked the demon’s cheek with the loving care she’d just shown her inventions, as if he too were looking at a creation, nausea rolled up Holly’s throat, and she swallowed hard. She knew that look, and what would come of it.

  “Mr. Thorne here has been telling tales to those who should not hear them.”

  Thorne bucked, and the gold bands cut into his lean torso. Dark rivulets of blood ran over his dusky, ivory skin. He snarled against his gag, the corners of his mouth turning white.

  Walking over to a worktable set off to the side of the room, Master picked up a long
, ivory-handled bone saw.

  Thorne grew unnaturally still, his now-black eyes tracking the movement.

  Slowly, and with great theatricality, the sick winged bastard let the steel blade catch the light as he turned toward Thorne, whose chest begin to lift and fall in rapid motion. Thorne’s gaze clashed with hers, and his eyes widened, a desperate plea shimmering in them. Her insides pitched. She couldn’t look away. Nor could she save him.

  God. God. God.

  “Shall we try our newest creation?” Master asked softly.

  Holly jerked to her feet, the chains about her wrists and ankles clattering. “Stop! We haven’t chloroform.” She couldn’t stop the surgery, but she could ease the poor man’s pain.

  Master simply grinned. “Not to worry, it will not affect the procedure.”

  Holly swayed. A cold sweat broke out over her clammy skin. Master reached the table, and Thorne went wild, bucking so hard that the trolley rocked.

  “Come now, Mr. Thorne,” said Master. “I am giving you a gift. Blood such as you’ve never tasted, a bit of my power.” For their benevolent Master had imbued each of his crawlers with the ability to dissipate into shadow at will. That none of them survived long enough to truly appreciate it wasn’t his concern. “Should you survive, you will possess a body stronger than you could imagine.”

  Thorne was unimpressed and continued to fight his bonds.

  “Ingrate,” snarled Master, and while the silent guard held Thorne steady, another took a metal tube attached to a funnel and shoved it into the corner of Throne’s mouth. Jack Talent’s blood emptied out of the glass vial and went down Thorne’s resisting throat.

  Master wasted no more time. He made the first cut. Thorne’s shout broke around his gag.

  Holly bolted, her mind blank and her blood ice-cold. The chains held her back, and she crashed to the ground. Above her Thorne thrashed, his raw bellows echoing in the stone chamber.

  Sobbing, Holly curled into a ball and tried to block out the sound. But Master glanced back at her, and a vicious gleam lit his eyes. “Get her up here,” he snarled to the guard. And then he grinned once more. “Come, Miss Evernight, and see your creation be born.”

  Struggling was useless, and too soon she had a personal view of the carnage. She gave a great dry heave but her stomach was empty. Thorne’s agonized gaze lit on her, and a murderous rage burned bright there before Master carved deeper into him; then he was screaming, the veins on his neck standing out as he threw his head back. The guard held her there as Master did his gruesome work. And the scent of terror and hopelessness filled the cell.

  Mary woke at the break of dawn to find Jack sleeping beside her, his face half-mashed into the pillow, his hair adorably mussed. With his lips soft and parted and his cheek scrunched up by his eye, he appeared a boy, if one discounted the masculine sprawl of his body, half-hidden beneath the sheets. Her gaze followed the light and the way it touched his skin. The smooth arc of his back raced down, then swooped up to the hard swells of his buttocks, just peeking out from the linen.

  As if feeling her admiration, he stirred, giving a little grunt, and turned onto his back, the move pulling the sheets farther down. Oh, my, but that was a lovely sight. She could not help herself. Her hand fell to the taut hardness of his belly and began to caress it, loving the contrast between silky smooth skin and the rough trail of hairs that led the way down.

  His cock rose before he did. When it lay thick and heavy against her hand, his eyes opened, long, dark lashes surrounding irises the color of evergreen on a winter’s day. His gaze focused on her, and a smile lit over his features. Little lines fanned out from his gorgeous eyes, his brows tilting on an upward slant, his wide mouth curling up, flashing even white teeth.

  Mary’s breath caught. With shaking fingers she touched one of the brackets emphasizing that grin of his. “Ah, now, Jack Talent,” she said with quiet awe, “when you smile, your soul shines through.” Her palm settled on his warm cheek. “And it is utterly beautiful to me.”

  His smile wavered, his eyes clouding with something like shock and discomfort. “Christ”—he laughed lightly—“that ought to be my line, Merrily, not yours.”

  In a blink she was under him and he was sinking into her with a deep, smooth glide that took her breath, his body warm and loose-limbed from sleep. “Are you sore?” he murmured.

  “Yes.” A delicious, decadent ache.

  His mouth quirked, but he didn’t stop moving within her. “I’ll be gentle.” He kissed the sensitive spot on her neck. “But thorough.”

  Shivers of heat licked up her sides as his hands skimmed along them, up over her breasts, her arms, until he found her hands. Their fingers linked, and he held them tight. He’d trapped her, leaving her unable to do anything but feel. Jack in her, around her, filling her. Each withdrawal had her whimpering in protest. Each surge back in made her groan. And so slow that she couldn’t stand it.

  “Feel good?” he asked, giving her back the words she’d asked him before.

  “Yes.” She shuddered. “God, yes. But”—she licked her lips—“I want to move.” Her flesh was on fire, her muscles trembling in protest.

  His smile was sweet, and evil. “I know, love.” He kept her pinned, his thick heaviness moving in and out just enough to torment. And the pressure within, the shuddering pleasure, increased. She struggled against it, and he caught her lower lip, suckling it, his slick tongue slipping into her mouth like a tease. She licked back, wanting to feel the hot sleekness of him, but he edged away and gave her a soft, chaste kiss instead. “I know.”

  “Jack,” she growled. He was driving her mad. And he knew it, chuckling, his pace never faltering. Mary stretched, having nowhere to go. Her body wasn’t hers. It had become a needy, hot, pulsing thing. “Jack.” She licked the salty smooth skin along his collarbone, loving the way he shivered. It wasn’t enough. She wondered if it ever would be. “God, I want you.”

  His smile was lopsided and wry, even as his eyes lit up. “Just so you’re aware, you’re having me.” He moved with a little grunt. “Right now, in fact.”

  She laughed softly even as that greedy need grew stronger. “You move, you bloody breathe”—she spread her legs wider, trying to take him deeper—“and I want you more. I want to bite you, do you a violence.”

  “Christ, Chase.” He thrust hard and firm, his lips parted on a ragged breath. “Christ. You destroy me.”

  That dark, hot feeling surged again, and she turned her head and sank her teeth into the hard swell of his bicep. And he lost himself in her. Just as she wanted him to do.

  This time, when she came, it was a quiet shiver that rippled over her body, her cheek pressed against his. They stayed that way for a moment, Jack a heavy, wonderful weight and her arms holding him as close as she could. “You are beautiful, you know,” she said.

  He snorted softly. “I’ve always thought you were a bit touched in the head, angel.”

  But she could hear the cautious happiness hiding behind his quip.

  “That is because you don’t see your true self. But I do.” She smiled. “You cannot hide from me.”

  Again the joy within him peeked out, but his voice was low and somber when he spoke. “That is because you own me heart and soul, Mary mine. You always have.”

  Her own heart felt like a thing made not of metal but of spun glass, fragile and light. Her thumb traced the corner of his mouth, noting the way it stretched upward, despite his disquiet, as if her touch made him happy.

  “I love you, Jack.”

  He did not blink, not even when she kissed his mouth with infinite care. But she felt the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She kissed him again, tenderly because she knew he was unhinged just then. “I love you heart and soul.”

  He was pale when he settled back, his eyes wide and searching. “Say it again.”

  “I love you.” It was an easy thing to say. Keeping it back would have been harder, for she felt it with her whole being.

  His ha
nds wrapped around her forearms, and he dragged her up, laying her over his wide chest, where she could feel his heart pound. “I hear the words,” he said slowly, “only I can’t believe them.”

  “Can’t believe that I love you? Or that anyone could?”

  His lashes lowered. “They didn’t. My parents. They saw the true me and deemed me unworthy to live.”

  Her fingers stroked along his scalp, then rested on his cheek. Jack leaned into the touch on a sigh.

  “They were your childhood,” she said. “But they aren’t your family. You know who your real family is. One day you’ll know how much you are loved. You’ll feel it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  How the crisp linen envelope with an SOS seal ended up on Jack’s bare chest hours later was a mystery. One he could not do anything about, for whoever had left it was long gone by the time Jack woke and found the thing. Easing out of bed, he left a sleeping Mary, fragrant and warm with the intoxicating scent of sex and sleep, to read it.

  The message was simple, a time, place, and request that Jack arrive alone scrawled with a fanciful hand. An elaborate A was the only signature. Jack, having learned a thing or two from the men in his life, all of whom loved headstrong women, woke Mary and showed it to her. Last night he’d told her everything he knew of Amaros, and of his being a Nephil, which still unsettled him. Upon hearing that Jack was part angel, Mary had grinned wide. “Your dulcet nature ought to have been the first clue.”

  “Ha!” Jack had murmured against her neck; his hands were busy elsewhere. “You are truly hilarious. A comic bard.”

  “And to think you call me the angel.” She’d chuckled, a warm, contented sound that went straight to his heart. Her hands ran over his back. “My winged wonder—Ack!”