by J. K. Coi
“What better time than the bright light of day when I can watch the way you blossom under my touch?” he answered. “What better place than here, so everyone else who sees will know you’re mine?”
He lowered his face to the curve of her neck. The prickly hair on his chin scraped gently, making her shiver, but not so much as his hot breath, or his lips as he parted them over her skin and his tongue tasted her.
His kisses moved to the underside of her jaw. His hands slipped up the middle of her back until he cupped her face and looked right into her eyes. One green, and the other a gunmetal gray.
It was the first time that Callie’s instinct wasn’t to retreat and hide herself away when someone looked at her. She might not be beautiful anymore. She might never dance again. But just maybe she was strong enough that it didn’t matter…and her life could have purpose. Her life could have meaning.
He lowered his head again and his mouth covered hers. Tentative at first, as if expecting her to bolt, but then more firmly when she didn’t. Callie didn’t want to run, but couldn’t remain still. Her eyes fluttered closed. Her heart was thumping, which energized her. She could almost feel the tiny organisms that kept her limbs working rushing through her blood faster and faster.
Electricity shot through her. Jasper caught her moan and gave it back to her with the slide of his tongue into her mouth. Wet and deep. The pleasure was a hot wind that swept her up.
He made a sound low in his throat and pulled back, but quickly bent again and dropped another kiss on her lips. And another. Short, hard ones as if he hated the moment to end as much as she did.
She braced her open palm against his chest and blinked, taking deep breaths. A flickering movement caught her eye and she glanced over Jasper’s shoulder. She couldn’t see anything and thought maybe it had just been her imagination, until a reflection of the sunlight bounced off metal.
An earsplitting crack burst into the late-morning air just as Callie threw herself at Jasper and tumbled them both to the ground. He let out a muffled grunt as she landed on top of him.
Something smacked into the juniper beside them and sharp wood fragments flew over their heads in every direction. Jasper quickly twisted in a smooth move that reversed their positions so she was beneath him, completely covered by him. Cold snow immediately found its way beneath the collar of her coat and trickled down her neck, but she paid it no heed. Her heart was pounding so hard she swore she could hear it in the short moments before screams rang out around them as other patrons of the park scrambled to find shelter.
“That was a damned shot.” He swore and looked up, first at the tree the bullet had crashed into, and then scanning the park. His mouth compressed into a hard slash. He gazed back down at her. “How did you know? What did you see?”
“I saw movement. Something. I…I just…reacted. I don’t know.” She shook her head, not even sure what she’d seen or why she’d reacted the way she had. She didn’t like the fact that they remained unprotected, and tried to push him off her. “Jasper, we have to get out of—”
He must have seen something, because his gaze narrowed and he got to his feet and pulled her up with him. From inside his coat, he pulled out a weapon of his own. Small and compact, but it had a wide round barrel and she imagined the bullets that came from it would do as much damage as any other.
He shoved her backward a few more steps into the shade of the trees. “Here. Stay out of the open until I come back for you.”
Jasper wasn’t actually going to leave her here and try to catch the shooter?
Oh, bloody hell, he was.
He took off at a run toward the same small copse of evergreens where she had seen the flash of a reflection, taking care to remain covered in a line of tall cedars along the way. Callie looked ahead of him, searching the area, aware that her mechanical eye was taking in more detail than she would have been able to see without it. Whoever had been standing behind those bushes was already gone.
She chased after Jasper, feeling surprisingly calm considering there was no doubt in her mind that whoever had taken that shot had meant the bullet for either one, or both, of them.
“Bloody hell, Callie. I told you to stay put.”
Stopping just behind him, she said, “And you thought I would listen to you because…?”
His angry breaths puffed into the air and he glared at her, but held his tongue. Instead, he replaced the pistol in the holster at his back and pulled her into his side before crouching low to the ground. He dragged his finger through a patch of snow that had been speckled with black dust.
“What is that?” she asked.
“The faint smell of cigar smoke still lingers in the air. The shooter must have been smoking while he waited here to take his shot, but he was smart enough to remove the evidence with him, except for this bit of ash.”
“But why would he bother to take a spent cigar butt with him?”
“Because it’s evidence. Something that might be used to identify him.” He paused before straightening as if the evidence of cigar ash meant something else to him. His gaze followed the footprints that disappeared a few feet away where another set of prints—hoof prints—started and blended in with all the rest along the narrow path. “Which means we are probably dealing with someone—”
“Someone we know,” she finished. The implications of that revelation hit her, and her stomach turned. “But who? And why?”
He frowned. “Come. We had better get back.”
“Jasper, tell me what is going on. Why are we being shot at?” Callie grasped his arm with her gloved hand when he would have turned from her.
She had never been the type to shrink from confrontation and wasn’t impressed with his silence. A woman of modest family didn’t become a world-renowned ballerina by hiding away in the shadows and letting men take care of her, nor did she learn to walk on mechanical legs if she was afraid of falling.
You are afraid of falling.
She silenced the inner voice, but had to acknowledge the truth. Yes, she was afraid. It was a constant in her life now. Fear of falling. Of what she’d become. Fear of what the future would hold now that everything she’d worked for was gone. She’d even been afraid of Jasper—of how he would look at her, and what he would make her feel when she finally saw him again.
But fear was useless and she refused to be brought low by it. Anger was better. Anger and emotional distance—which would have been easier if the walls she’d put up to protect herself hadn’t already started crumbling.
She looked up and saw their burly driver rushing toward them. He carried a short-barreled Tesla pistol that would have been confiscated as illegal if the constabulary had caught him with it, but even though word of gun shots in the park had already spread like wild fire if the screaming was anything to go by, the Manchester police were nowhere to be seen.
“Tell me what this is all about,” she repeated.
“Not now.” His jaw clenched and he took her hand to pull her back to the carriage.
Callie bit her tongue, fighting to maintain her composure. If Jasper thought he could put her off and keep her in the dark or—heaven help him—lie to her, after all that had happened, he was sorely mistaken.
“Sir.” Samuel stopped in front of Jasper, his face a mask of concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. It’s just a scrape,” he said to the coachman.
“What?” She spun around. “You’re hurt?” For the first time, she noticed the slice in his outerwear, on the arm. Blood had left the fabric sticky, and the edges of the hole were seared black. He’d been shot.
At the sharp edge in her tone, his gaze shot up. “It’s nothing, Callie. Don’t worry.” His voice lowered and she winced at the obvious attempt to ease her anxiety.
He pushed her along and before she knew it, she’d been maneuvered back into the carriage. Jasper spoke to the driver in a low voice before he joined her and shut the door. She waited until they were in motion before demandin
g answers once again.
“Is this related to some other trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, or is it…?”
“I don’t know for certain,” he admitted. “But I’m going to find out.” The darkness in his eyes made him seem a stranger, and she had the revelation that whatever had once brought them together in marriage was not what would keep them together now—if that was even possible.
He was obviously torn between wanting to protect her and his promise not to lie to her again. And while Callie wished she could curl up and hide where this kind of violence could never touch her, she wouldn’t blindly leave her safety in anyone else’s hands again, even Jasper’s.
Again, she wondered if he knew what deals had been struck for her future. If he’d been a part of them. She debated whether she should simply ask and get it out in the open once and for all, when she noticed they were nearing the corner where she had seen the homeless man earlier.
The guilt and shame she’d felt for turning her back on him returned, and she leaned forward to rap on the wall separating them from the driver. “Stop the carriage.”
“What is it?” Jasper glanced out the window as they pulled over and slid to a stop near the alley.
Callie didn’t answer. A feeling of dread settled in her gut as she threw open the door and climbed down onto the street. The old man wasn’t there anymore.
“Where are you going?”
Entering the alley where the sun couldn’t penetrate, she pushed aside the chill, aware that Jasper was right behind her. At least he hadn’t tried to stop her. Yet.
Whatever the reason for the old man’s disappearance from his spot on the street corner, Callie was somehow certain he hadn’t simply gotten up and gone elsewhere. The rank stench of violence was heavy here. A feeling she was altogether too familiar with. Would never forget.
She saw them then. Two men at the end of the dark lane, standing over the prone body of a third, all of them half hidden by a pile of stacked crates and refuse. Despite the shadows, as Callie narrowed her gaze with her enhanced vision she could see blood dripping from a blade. One of the thugs clutched a worn hat in his hand and dug into it for the coins the old man had painstakingly collected.
They looked up at her gasp of outrage, mouths twisting into matching sneers.
“Callie, get back.” Jasper tried to push her behind him, but the men rushed forward quickly and he was forced to step up and meet them.
“Ye chose the wrong alley fer a little slap an’ tickle, gent.” The taller of the two chuckled as he looked her up and down. The other one leered, his switchblade flicking open and closed as he swung his arm in front of him. Open and closed. The sound drilled into her brain, making her angrier.
She’d had enough of threats from devils who thought they could hurt others and get away with it, who thought there would be no consequences for their evil deeds.
“You’re going to pay for what you’ve done,” she promised. A rush of adrenaline flowed through her. Her breathing came out in quick visible clouds as they both laughed. She could see why they thought they had the advantage. After all, the two toughs stood against one man and a mere woman. Armed, while they assumed she and Jasper were not.
“Listen, we don’t want any trouble.” Jasper stepped in front of her again and held out his hands. “Go on, Callie. Leave, now.”
She knew he was trying to get them out of here without bloodshed, but she ignored his order to return to the carriage. Was she foolish? Reckless?
No doubt about it. But rage blocked out rational thought. All she could think about was the poor old man, who hadn’t been able to defend himself, lying there in the dirt. She felt the strength coursing through her blood, giving power to her artificial limbs—and it was about time she stopped thinking of them as a curse and started using the gifts she’d been given for something useful.
All fine and good, but when one of the men lunged for Jasper and the other darted around toward her, she froze for just a moment. The look in his eyes was all too familiar. She’d seen it before on three other monsters. They had taken such pleasure in breaking her bones, carving her up, making her scream.
“Callie!”
Jasper’s shout penetrated her fear, but the man’s fingers had clasped around her arm in a cruel vise. She pulled back and hit him with her closed fist, hearing the distinct crunch as the bones in his nose gave under her iron knuckles.
He let go and flew backward. Jasper was right there moving between them and hitting him again before he could straighten. Blood spurted from the man’s nose as he swore and cried out in pain, but he quickly recovered with a furious snarl, and joined the other man, both of them moving against Jasper together.
“Go.” Jasper threw the order over his shoulder as he dodged the swipe of a blade and countered. His movements were sure and capable. He blocked easily, striking back with strength and focus. As his fists connected with flesh more often than the others were able to hit him, she wondered why he didn’t draw his weapon against them, but soon realized that the very close quarters of the shadowy, narrow alley made that a worse idea than fighting hand to hand. In any case, it was obvious that Jasper’s military training had done him well and he could more than take care of himself. But she still couldn’t leave him.
In very little time, he had disarmed both men. One lay unconscious, having been thrown back. He’d fallen and hit his head against the sooty brick wall. The other was bent over on his knees, cradling his broken wrist to his chest.
Chapter Seven
Turning to Callie, Jasper did his best to rein in his temper, but a fire burned in his gut and a tic worked in his cheek. A rush of adrenaline surged through his system. “Get back to the carriage and have the driver hail a constable,” he bit out between heaving breaths.
After that, it was just short of an hour before they finally returned to the clinic. Callie had stubbornly refused to leave until the police officers assured her the old homeless man would be given a decent burial—to be paid for by Jasper, of course—and the men responsible for his death would not go unpunished.
It was only when he had seen the victim lying dead amidst the garbage and realized he had only one leg, that Jasper’s anger subsided enough to let him breathe again and he’d been able to understand what had set Callie off. In the thick of the altercation, he hadn’t noticed anything but her—rushing into danger. Now, at least he no longer wanted to throttle her for her reckless behavior, although he still intended to shake some sense into her as soon as he had her alone.
Malcolm was waiting for them. The look on his face told Jasper everything he needed to know. Their time was up.
General Black had arrived. “Where is he?”
The captain tipped his head toward the drawing room entrance. “In there with Mrs. Campbell. Arrived a little over an hour ago.”
“Who?” Callie looked between the two men.
Jasper nodded and started walking. “All right. Take Callie upstairs.”
“No,” she said.
She followed him and he spun back around to face her, his temper cresting once more. “You’ve already caused enough trouble this morning. Let me deal with this.”
“If you’re implying that it’s somehow my fault we were shot at. Or that I asked you to follow me into that alley…”
“Bloody hell. You were shot at in an alley?” Malcolm glared at Jasper, waiting for answers. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, then stifled a groan at the sound of a throat being cleared behind him.
“Colonel Carlisle. What is this about a shooting?”
Callie’s short, indrawn breath told him she knew very well who’d come to greet them.
He turned around to face the man whose methods against Britain’s enemies had painted him the bloodiest and most ruthless general in recent history. Black towered over Mrs. Campbell, who had accompanied him from the drawing room, although he stood eye-to-eye with Jasper.
However, while Jasper was lean with the aristoc
ratic figure that had characterized a long line of Carlisle earls, Black was wide and burly, attesting to his common beginnings and hard-laboring past. The scar cutting across his face had only added to his dark reputation, but Jasper was unimpressed.
“General Black. I heard that you had arrived. What brings you to Manchester? Is there suddenly a shortage of women and children to exploit and murder in France?”
He was tempting fate by so blatantly taunting a superior officer, but couldn’t seem to help himself. It was said that last year the general had ordered the detonation of an incendiary that had taken out an entire building in a slum of Paris. While he’d believed it to be a secret office of the French Resistance, it had, in fact, been a rough-and-tumble orphanage. Everyone inside had died, including at least twenty innocent children.
If that weren’t enough to provoke Jasper’s contempt, Black was also responsible for sending Jasper on the mission that almost cost him everything—his life, his wife, his very heart and soul. Just the sight of the bastard turned his stomach. No way in hell was he going to let Black anywhere near Callie.
The general only looked amused by Jasper’s antagonism. “You were shot at on your outing this morning?” he repeated. “And what happened to the criminal responsible?”
“I’m looking into the matter. It’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”
“I beg to differ,” answered Black with a patronizing smile. “Anything that threatens my new agent is of concern to me.”
“She’s not your anything,” Jasper snapped, moving to shield Callie. He still had her hand in his and refused to let her go. “She’s my wife.”
“Ah, but she’s also a very expensive investment of the Ministry, as you are well aware.” Black crossed his thick arms, drawing attention to the gun belt he still wore strapped across his chest. “Did you not agree to the terms of her rehabilitation?”
“I agreed,” he emphasized, glancing aside at Mrs. Campbell. “The deal was made with me, not with her. I am grateful to the Ministry for making Dr. Helmholtz available to my wife, and because of that the War Office has my continued commitment to the cause.”