“So what do you need?”
“Help.”
“What kind?”
“I need the Horsemen.”
Named after the riders of the Apocalypse, the team was as close-knit as the fabled Musketeers but far darker and even more deadly. Jack, code-named Death, had been their leader. Plague and War—Mark Winspear and Sam Ralston—were also vampires. Kenyon, the only werewolf, was Famine. They were the best operatives La Compagnie des Morts had, and Jack needed them at his back.
“You’ve all been working this case from the start,” Jack said. “And by case I mean ensuring the wedding goes ahead without interference from the Dark Fey. Like you said—bridal apocalypse.”
The wedding would be on Valentine’s Day and would turn Marcari’s capital city into one huge party zone. The rich, famous and royal—not to mention the international media—were arriving in droves to add to the security nightmare. And then there were the supernatural implications of the event. Weddings made powerful magic, and a joining of royal houses conjured more than most—and this marriage had the power to seal the gates to the Dark Queen’s prison forever.
“Our earlier cases are connected,” Kenyon agreed. “I mean, first we had the wedding gown disappear.”
“Lark designed the dress,” Jack pointed out, pushing away the memories of Lark back in New York, holding the diamond-encrusted gown like a sacred treasure. Jack had never married, but he’d been about to fall to one knee at the sight of it. What a fool he’d been.
“Yeah, well, it was a dress to die for,” Kenyon complained. “As in, we all nearly died in the process of getting it back, and it wasn’t even my size. And then, after months on the run, Lark’s assistant shows up with that enchanted book. We nearly lost Winspear over that one.”
Lark again, Jack thought. Her presence was like a glittering thread running through events and binding them together. And yet everything points to the Dark Fey. So why is the Light involved?
Kenyon continued, his tone growing deeper and more growly as his disgust increased, “And then the Dark Queen’s flunkies stole the wedding ring and tried to use it to open the gates to her prison.”
“If you hadn’t gotten it back, the carnage would’ve been staggering,” Jack said. “But they’ll try again. The wedding ceremony has enough magical juice to seal the gates forever. It’s now or never for them.”
“Tick-tock,” Kenyon replied. “If I were Prince Kyle, I’d be packing up my princess and skipping town for Vegas.”
“I wish.”
“Elvis chapel. European royalty. Vampires and werewolves. I dig it.”
It had been way too long since Jack had laughed, and it felt wonderful.
“I’m coming out from undercover, but only on a need-to-know basis,” Jack said as the cell signal crackled again. “Tell Ralston and Winspear. I need them on board ASAP.”
“They still think you’re dead. Deader. Whatever. They’re both out of town anyway. It’ll take some time.” Kenyon fell silent and Jack heard the rattle of dishes. By the sound of it, the werewolf was at a restaurant.
Kenyon’s next words were cool. “Don’t think they won’t kick your ass for holding out on them. I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating. Friends don’t let friends think they got barbecued in a fiery car wreck when they didn’t. You should have trusted them. You barely trusted me, and that’s only because I found out you were lurking around the palace.”
Jack flinched. The werewolf was as much of a son to Jack as a vampire would ever have. Lark’s words came back to him: Will your friends trust you when they find out you’re still alive, Jack?
“It’s not about trust.”
“Are you sure? What aren’t you telling me, Jack?” Kenyon asked, all business now.
That I’m a demon. That it’s getting harder to hide. “Everything I’ve learned undercover. I haven’t been spending my time knitting. I’ll fill you all in as soon as we’re together.”
“Give me a summary I can take to the others. They deserve to know what’s coming around the corner.”
Jack opened his mouth to answer, but the cell signal vanished. Odd. Reception was bad along the route, but it had never disappeared altogether before.
And yet one more bit of bad luck was par for the course tonight. Jack cursed and stepped on the gas, taking his temper out on the accelerator. The Escalade barreled up a rise.
He’d barely reached the crest when a warning ripped through him with razor claws. It was primitive instinct, straight from his lizard brain, but as clear as a siren.
Jack slammed on the brakes. The Escalade slewed on the loose gravel, sending up a spray of dust and stones. Tension corded his muscles, and he gripped the wheel hard enough to make it creak. An eternity passed before the vehicle finally stopped—although that eternity lasted but a human heartbeat.
The next moment passed in perfect stillness. Jack listened past the thrum of the motor, searching for whatever it was that had triggered his instincts. The phone was still dead. He could pick out the night sounds of the forest—an owl’s screech, the rustle of small creatures among the leaves and grass. Vampire hearing was preternaturally acute, allowing him to detect even the distant rush of the Mediterranean Sea, but there was nothing that spoke of danger. It all looked peaceful.
But if he couldn’t hear or see trouble, Jack could smell it. A choking, acid stink clung to the air. There had been a fire—and not just of trees. This was the scent of manufactured things—buildings, fuels and plastics. And ruined flesh. There was the oily scent of death on the wind.
Cautious now, Jack drove the Escalade to the side of the lane and killed the motor. He got out, hand reaching for the grip of the Walther pistol beneath his jacket. But the road to the Company’s main compound was deserted, even though the facility was just a mile up the road. He was the only living—or undead—thing in sight. Slowly his hand slipped away from the gun, fingers twitching as if they wanted to return to the familiar handgrip. Dread crept out of the darkness and into his bones.
If there was a fire, someone from the Company should be here. Cleanup crews. Vehicles. Construction. He knew the routine. He’d spent years working on those very teams. Come to think of it, he should already see the lights from the buildings bright against the inky-black sky. But no glow shone above the canopy of trees.
Jack cursed softly, refusing to follow that logic one inch further. He would approach his old home silently—and that meant on foot. With his insides slowly turning to ice, he changed his mind and drew the gun, advancing toward the Company’s main gates in perfect silence. The ashy stink grew stronger with every step, as did the gut-churning smell of charred flesh—human, vampire and other. Nausea worked its way up Jack’s throat. The path made another turn, angling down to the left where the Company’s compound nestled, almost hidden in a shallow valley.
A white piece of paper had drifted to the base of a tree, the page so bright it had to be new. Jack snatched it up. It was the printed copy of an email about a meeting that night, all agents to attend. It was from a general administrative account, just like the commander had said. Such meetings were far from unusual—the Company had its share of bureaucracy. Still, the email made Jack uneasy.
Jack rounded the final corner—and stopped. Where once-thick foliage had concealed the view, he had an unobstructed line of sight between charred and splintered trunks. Clearly there had been an explosion and then a blaze. Forgetting all caution, he abandoned the path, rushing to the lip of the valley with vampire speed. He crouched on the ash-covered loam, looking down on the devastation. At that moment, he hated his long experience with war and violence because he could read what he saw like a book.
Whatever had happened, the Company hadn’t stood a chance.
Chapter 4
The compound had been reduced to dust, as if a giant fist had smashed
it. Blackened rubble sketched the outline of buildings. Where there had been gardens, nothing but scorched earth remained. Heat still rose from the devastation, telling him the damage was fresh.
Of course it was. He’d spoken to the commander just that night. Whatever had happened had struck hard and fast, burning out almost at once and leaving nothing but ash behind.
Jack closed his eyes, fighting against the reek of death that rose up like a curse. The email slipped from his fingers, fluttering down the slope and into the ash. All agents to attend. Anyone who’d survived the initial blast had been trapped in a ring of fire. None of them—his friends, his mentors, the young ones he’d nurtured like sons and daughters—could have escaped. Jack’s fists clenched as rage welled in his blood, effervescent in its intensity.
If Lark hadn’t held me up, I would have been here. So why had she picked that moment to show up? Because she’s involved up to her slender, perfect neck. Her presence boded nothing good. Had she betrayed him and the Company again?
A roar of frustration ripped from his throat. Pale blue fire crackled along his fingers, arcing and snapping like something from a Frankenstein film. The urge to destroy rose up like strong liquor in his blood, ballooning inside his skull. Delirium made him feel suddenly weightless, as if he could dissolve into a formless cloud of death and retribution. He rode the sensation, letting it numb the wild pain in his heart.
Revenge would be better than sorrow. Revenge would taste as sweet as living blood on his tongue—and be every bit as addictive. But then Jack clenched his fists, exerting iron control. Once more he dragged the searing energy back into his flesh. The demon wasn’t going to win. Not today of all days. He drew in a shaking breath, more to steady himself than because he needed air.
“What happened here?” Lark asked from behind him.
Her timing couldn’t be worse. Jack whirled, gun at the ready and demon rage fresh in his heart. His senses quested, searching out his prey.
There was no one in sight. “Where are you?”
“Will you shoot me?”
“Probably.” His lips curled back to show fangs. “But my hands around your throat would be more satisfying.”
He’d been too distracted to notice Lark’s approach, but now could sense her. How could he not? His entire being was flooded with desire and rage, and she was at the core of it all. Her presence was like a magnet, drawing him as inexorably as iron—and yet her glamour was good enough to disguise exactly where she stood.
“Put away your gun, Jack.” That soft voice had an edge now. Whatever uncertainty she’d shown in the alley was gone.
“You’re in no position to make demands.” Fresh anger rose, warring with incredulity. He lowered the gun, but didn’t holster it.
Apparently that was good enough. Lark stepped out of the dark forest without warning. Here the moonlight was bright enough to catch her features, showing more than the shadowy murk near the café. For the second time that night, Jack’s dead heart nearly stopped all over again.
“Why did you disappear like that? Where did you go?” he demanded, but the words lacked force. It was hard to growl when he’d lost his breath. And then for a blessed instant he forgot the horror where the compound had been. He forgot everything but her.
Lark was beautiful, like all the fey—tall and slender with pale skin and delicate features. But her coloring, all creamy skin and mahogany hair, radiated warmth and life. It had been that vibrancy that had attracted him, her fey light to his profound darkness.
“I meant to leave,” she said. “But I got curious about what the commander wanted with you. I couldn’t figure out what was so important.”
“And so you kept on following me?”
She didn’t answer, but scanned the devastation below. The night vision of the fey was almost as good as a vampire’s and her eyes widened, her expression mirroring his horror. She crossed to his left, keeping distance between them, and peered down at the ruin. Slowly, she sank down to a crouch, one hand gripping the thin trunk of a sapling. She looked as if she might faint.
“By Oberon,” she gasped. “It’s all gone.”
“And everyone in it. There was an email calling a general meeting tonight. It came from administration. No way to know who actually sent it.” No way to know who had lured all the agents into the trap.
She turned to look up at him, her eyes wide and bright with tears, but her lips clamped in a grim line. “Did the commander have some hint of this?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Is that why he called you?”
“He knew something was up and that it was urgent, but obviously he didn’t know enough. He asked for my help.” Jack kept his voice steady, but his heart raged at the admission. “I should have come straight here.”
“But then you’d be ash, just like them.” Tears slid from her eyes, glittering as they fell. She wiped her cheeks with her fingers. There was no fuss or drama. Lark rarely wept, but when she did it was as graceful as everything else she did. Jack wanted—needed—to hold her, but logic stopped him from dropping his guard. She’d deceived him, abandoned him and spied on him.
And yet here she was again, sharing his tragedy in a way no one else could. The look on her face was identical to the emotion slashed into his soul. At a fundamental level, beneath the deception and anger, they’d always understood one another like twin spirits.
So Jack stood there in fury, cycling through love, desire, distrust and anger one more time. He had no idea what to do with her. He had to trust his head, because his heart was spinning out of control.
“Who did this?” Lark asked.
Fey. But he needed hard evidence, or at least more information. “I don’t know. But I do know you’re a wild card standing next to a crater where my home used to be.”
Lark’s head jerked up. She looked genuinely shocked as she rose to her feet. “I didn’t have any hand in that.” She gestured toward the scene of devastation below. “I swear.”
Jack holstered the gun, if not his suspicions. “The fey lie as easily as they breathe.”
The spark died from her eyes, replaced by anger. Without a word, she took three steps to close the distance between them, her long coat swinging with her strides.
“Don’t,” he warned.
But she kept coming. One moment she was out of reach, and the next her coat was brushing his knees—and he’d let her get so dangerously close because some mad part of him wanted her there.
Her fingers curled into fists and she raised them, poised to strike. He knew from experience she was a more than capable fighter. Quick as lightning, Jack grabbed her wrists. He felt her tense, her fierce fey strength straining against his.
“Don’t what?” she growled, her voice husky with anger.
“Don’t lie to me. Don’t do that to me again. Not now.” For an instant, her very nearness put him off guard. Yearning froze him where he stood and softened the iron strength of his grip.
“I didn’t do this!” She gulped a shattered sob, her anger sliding suddenly back to grief. “You have to trust me that much!”
“No, I don’t. I have no reason to.” Nevertheless, relenting, he released her wrists.
“No.” She shook her head, her eyes tightly closed. Tears stained her cheeks again. “You know me better than that.”
“No, I—”
“Remember this.” Lark slid one warm hand on either side of his face, pulling him down so that her mouth was on his. Jack took a breath to protest, but then she was stealing the air from his lungs and filling him with a painful longing that burned down to his core.
In that scene of death, she tasted like something hot and sweet and golden, and his emotions rocked with the contrast. Desire clawed through him, merciless as a tiger. It had been like this whenever they touched, as if madness could be transmitted by skin-to-skin contact. He
jerked her close so roughly her feet left the ground. There was no need to hold back—the fey were almost as indestructible as the undead.
But the undead could be destroyed. They were standing next to their cold ashes. Reason slammed down like a sheet of ice, forcing Jack back to his senses. He released her almost as quickly as they had joined. His sudden move made her skitter back, panting from their kiss.
She opened her eyes, her dark gaze searching his face. Her expression was full of guilt, but there was anger sparking through her sadness, too. “What’s the matter, Jack? Didn’t you like that? You were the one pushing me against a wall just hours ago.”
Heat rose to his face, proving that once in a while vampires could blush. Of course he wanted her. The truth ached in his groin, but that wasn’t his smartest asset. “Don’t ask me to remember what we had. The ending’s not to your advantage.”
Her mouth flattened into a line.
He pushed on. “Now explain what you’re doing in Marcari. Did the Light Court send you? Why did you talk to me tonight of all nights?”
“I wanted to.” She smoothed the front of her coat, her look resentful. He saw the slight guilty tell—a downward shift of the eyes.
“I don’t have time for your games,” he snarled. “Not after that.” He jerked his head toward the ruins.
Slowly, Lark nodded. “Whoever did that needs to be caught. No question.”
“Who did it?”
She gave a slight shrug. Her lip was trembling, as if holding back another bout of tears. He prayed she didn’t start to cry, because as the first shock faded, howling grief was setting up shop in his gut and planning to stay for a good long while.
“It changes everything,” she said. “A move like this has got to be a part of something larger.”
She was right, but it wasn’t enough of an answer to satisfy Jack. Gruffly, he grabbed her by the elbow and began marching her toward the Escalade.
Possessed by the Fallen Page 3