It wasn’t just supernatural power, but brute strength from his human side, too. The Crusaders of old had been hard men forged in the crucible of war, prepared to ride across a continent to take what they wanted at the point of a sword. That, too, was part of Jack’s basic nature.
His tongue parted her lips, demanding more. The taste of him stirred an ache of rising need. Then she felt the smooth, hard slide of his fangs against her lip, a suggestion of the exquisite pleasure their bite could give. She stroked her tongue against them, shivering with the knowledge of the pleasure they could bring. That was vampires—dark and terrible as a jungle cat, and just as beautiful.
Lark pulled at his lip with her own teeth, teasing and pulling at him until he plundered her with his tongue. When she returned the gesture, meeting his invasion with one of her own, his fangs drew a drop of blood. Jack shuddered, the foreplay cycling to a new intensity as his hunter’s instincts were aroused. The danger and darkness in him only whetted her curiosity, wondering how far he would go. Lark felt the shift like a crackle of static where their bodies met, her fey magic rising to meet his.
He refreshed the kiss, the pressure of his mouth drawing a different kind of fire through her flesh. Suddenly the robe felt too warm, her body pulsing with needs she hadn’t felt since they’d parted. Her breasts ached, nipples too sensitive to bear the rough fabric rubbing against them. Lark made a needy sound deep in her throat, begging for more.
This might not be forgiveness, but it felt good.
Or perhaps not. Gently, he stilled her hands. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said, his fingers still trailing down her arm. There was a note of regret in his voice, but it was firm.
He didn’t need to fill in the blanks. Whatever heat might be between them, it wasn’t going anywhere. Now that the crisis was over, he was returning them to their previous footing.
“Who says you can’t control yourself?” Lark fought a sting of aggrieved frustration. His diamond-hard principles were one of the things she loved about him, but she wasn’t a fan right now.
“What I want and what’s wise aren’t always the same thing.”
Ouch. Lark gathered her dignity. “Yes, well, maybe it’s the bump on the head, but I think we should get down to business and figure out what the Blackthorns are up to,” she said, pushing back her wet hair and wincing as her fingers found the place where Egon’s blow had struck. “The burning arch isn’t half of it. As she was ranting, Drusella claimed the Dark Fey are responsible for destroying the Company compound. Nothing we hadn’t guessed, but it’s confirmation.”
Jack took a step back, inhaling a breath he didn’t need. “They will regret that.”
Menace thrummed through the simple words. Just like that, the lover disappeared and the agent snapped firmly into place.
“What next?” Lark asked.
“With the phones down, we’ll have to go old-school.”
“What does that mean?”
A muscle in his jaw jumped, a sure sign of tension. “Up till now, I’ve followed the chain of command, done everything step by step, but as you say, we’re spread far too thin and the attacks aren’t over.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll ring the tower bell to summon the Company. It’s the fastest way to find out who is still here to answer the call.”
He didn’t take the thought to its logical conclusion, but Lark said it in her mind. We need to know if any of our friends are left alive.
Chapter 11
Jack’s chest tightened at the tolling of the bells.
Since the time of the Company’s founding, the supernatural warriors knew the signal required them to muster at the deepest heart of the old palace. The high bell tower had been part of the royal residence since the middle ages, and vampire ears could hear the ancient bronze bells for miles beyond the city’s borders. If any agents were nearby, they would heed the call.
But despite all the people hurrying through the halls—those not called outside by the fire—there was no flood of racing warriors. It wasn’t a good sign.
Uneasiness roiled through his gut as he strode through the palace corridors. He wished Lark was beside him, but he’d left her waiting for her clothes. She needed the rest, but he knew she wouldn’t take it. Stillness wasn’t in her nature—especially not at a time like this.
If only he knew what was behind her presence here. He believed what she’d said about Therrien Haven, but there was more to her story than that. The Light Fey didn’t need someone of Lark’s caliber to track a missing person. Her specialty was surveillance and slipping into places she didn’t belong—which raised more questions than Jack had time to ponder. Better to have her at his side, where at least he knew what she was doing.
Jack finally reached his destination. The old banquet hall—part of the original castle—still endured at the building’s core. Jack had been there when the stones had been dragged from the mountains to raise the first keep.
Jack heaved open the iron-strapped doors to the windowless, cavernous space. The smell of cold stone wafted on the movement of air. He entered, his glance taking in the enormous fireplace and the bare rafters above. Nothing had changed. Every inch of the walls was covered with battle shields, the heraldic designs faded by centuries, but Jack found his at once—the black hawk of Marcari on a field of gold. It was the same shield that he had carried home from the Holy Land. He’d been a youngest son, battle weary and angry with the world, carrying a fortune in his pack and a curse on his head. That journey had been nine hundred years ago, but the memory still turned him cold.
The tapestry at the front of the room only made things worse. The colors were still brilliant—bright yellow stars shooting across an indigo sky. At the bottom was the fiery pit with tentacled monsters reaching up to snatch the souls of the damned. But most striking were the falling angels and what they had become—demons as vile as any creature of hell. They had walked the mortal world only a handful of times, and the swath of blood and destruction they had cut beggared description.
Jack turned away from the tapestry. He carried one of the Fallen inside him. Only his mortal will and the discipline of the Company kept him from toppling into the abyss and taking everything he loved along with him.
He waited near the huge rough-hewn table in the center of the room, hoping for some sign of the Company warriors running to answer his summons. The tolling ceased, the echoes seeming to cling to the high ceiling, reminding him he was utterly alone. Even with the conflagration outside, the bells could be easily heard for miles.
Jack looked around, apprehension making his mouth run dry. Was it possible that every last member of the Company in Marcari had been caught by the infernal blast?
The enemy had taken out Marcari’s greatest protection with one masterful strike. Then they had created the distraction of the burning arch to occupy any remaining opposition. Whatever was happening was big, and it had been carefully planned.
Jack couldn’t wait any longer. He surged toward the door, ready to search the palace himself. But no sooner had he moved than a figure appeared in the doorway.
“Kenyon!”
Faran Kenyon, the Horseman called Famine, stood taller than Jack. He was strongly built and had a werewolf’s fluid grace, managing to look dangerous despite his fine clothes and the stylish cut of his fair hair. Obviously, he’d been out someplace nice—no doubt the restaurant Jack had heard in the background during their earlier phone call.
“You’re all right?” Jack asked.
Kenyon stared at Jack a long moment, his blue eyes guarded and looking very much like the stubborn street kid he’d once been. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Jack took two strides forward, grasping him in a hard embrace. Kenyon was like a son to him. Logic might have said he was safe from the blast, but Jack’s heart had needed
to see him in the flesh.
After a moment, he felt the rib-cracking pressure of the young werewolf’s embrace and, for an instant, the world was good. The young man snorted. “Good to see you, too. Fuzzy balls, Jack, what’s going on? Why the bells?”
“Where are Ralston and Winspear? You said they were away.”
“Yeah, so tell me what’s happening,” Kenyon demanded.
Jack took a shaking breath. “You first. I need to know where my team is at.”
The werewolf bowed his head, submitting to his leader—though he was a little grudging about it. “Winspear has taken the girls to Paris for some emergency wedding shopping.”
“Winspear?” Jack asked, relieved Plague was fine but having trouble envisioning the ex-assassin anywhere near a shoe store. “Which girls?”
“Chloe, Lexie and Bree. And don’t picture him carrying around a bunch of pink-wrapped parcels. He’s just driving. He’s got some medical thing at the university he refused to miss. They should be back sometime Tuesday.”
Mark is safe. The women are safe. “What about Ralston?”
Kenyon pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed. He listened for a long moment and then put away his phone. “Still no signal. I haven’t been able to reach him, but he’s out leading thirty new agents on a training exercise.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
Jack fell back against the table with a sigh of relief. He could finally admit to himself he’d dreaded this moment, in case it had gone a different way. But it hadn’t. All his Horsemen—and their women—were all right. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
Kenyon caught Jack’s expression. “Now you tell me what the bloody hell is going on. Why are you so worried about everyone? What’s happened since we talked?”
It had only been a few hours, but it felt as though a month’s worth of events had been crammed into that single night. It was past midnight now, Jack’s vampire senses telling him they had reached the deepest part of the darkness.
Jack swallowed and ripped off the metaphoric bandage. “There’s no easy way to say this. Company HQ is gone. It’s been destroyed, almost certainly by Dark Fey magic. There’s nothing left but a hole in the ground. I saw no sign of survivors.”
There was a heartbeat of utter silence as the blood drained from Kenyon’s face. He backed to the wall and leaned against it, his movements deceptively casual. It was a long time before the werewolf spoke again. “Start talking.”
Jack described what he’d seen. As he spoke, Kenyon’s expression closed off, assuming the blank mask of a man used to hiding his thoughts. “Is that why an email went out calling an ad hoc meeting of all Company staff?”
“I find it hard to believe it was anything but a lure to get as many Company members as possible into the building. Can you think of anyone who didn’t go?”
Kenyon shook his head. “I skipped out and went into town for dinner. I came back when I heard about the palace fire on the radio. I just arrived, but so far I haven’t seen anyone else from HQ.”
Fresh grief slammed Jack like a fist to the gut. So many must have died. He turned away, fighting for calm. “That leaves thirty trainees and the Horsemen to guard a palace and a royal wedding with all the dignitaries and celebrities involved. King Renault put out the call for agents stationed in other countries, but it will take time to get reinforcements here.”
“This is the Blackthorns at work, isn’t it?” Kenyon asked.
“Yes. And they’re responsible for the fire outside.”
Swearing softly, the werewolf rubbed his forehead, as if a headache was starting. “Last time they cooked up a blood ritual in the palace maze. I can’t wait to see this week’s surprise.”
“I can,” said Jack drily. “After a thousand years, anything that still surprises me can’t be good.”
“I’d forgotten you were such a ray of sunshine.”
“I’m more of a thunderbolt kind of guy.”
That got a rueful laugh, but it died quickly. “You’ve been expecting something like this, haven’t you?”
“I never expected a direct attack on Headquarters.”
Kenyon flushed, looking suddenly very young. “There was one other person who wasn’t at HQ. Winston Rathbone. I had dinner with him tonight.”
“Rathbone?” Jack said curiously. He handled the finances of the individual agents. Rathbone had a supernatural nose when it came to return on investment, but he was hardly Kenyon’s typical choice for dinner companion. It did, however, explain the werewolf’s dress suit.
“I wanted to make sure everything was all right with me on the money side. I’m marrying Lexie,” Kenyon said quietly. “In case you didn’t already know.”
“You’ve mentioned that a few hundred times.” Jack swallowed around the sudden ache in his throat. Married! Yesterday, he was just a mouthy kid with a talent for second-story work. There was still mercy in the universe if Kenyon had picked tonight of all nights to check his portfolio. “She’s getting one helluva guy. I’m proud of you.”
“I hope you can squeeze our wedding into your calendar, now that you’re on the Jack Anderson superhero comeback tour,” Kenyon said. “Sounds like we’re going to be busy playing Dark Fey Whac-A-Mole.”
Jack felt a sudden, grim pleasure at that image. It was good to have at least one of the Horsemen back. “I will dance at your wedding. You can count on that.”
Jack just hoped the Dark Fey wouldn’t be dancing on their graves first.
Chapter 12
A knock came at the door to the banquet hall and Jack looked up as Kenyon answered it. Lark pushed past the werewolf, her gaze sweeping the room until she found him. She was dressed now, looking neat and pressed, but her eyes were wild. “Jack!”
His brain stalled a moment, still seeing the white terry robe—and the silky skin beneath it—in his mind’s eye. Then he saw her looking at Kenyon, and he remembered his manners. “Jessica Lark, this is Faran Kenyon.”
The werewolf’s eyes widened. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
She leaned forward, planting her hands on the table as if she needed the support. She was trembling, light shivers moving up and down her frame, but her voice was controlled. “Forgive me for being rude, but we don’t have time for pleasantries. I’d barely set foot in the hallways again before Captain Valois found me.”
Valois was the head of the local police and a good cop. “With the arch on fire, I’m not surprised that he’s here,” Jack said.
Lark shook her head. “Valois is here for another reason. He got a ransom note and came to the palace to verify it. It was demanding the rubies of Vidon for the safe return of Princess Amelie.”
“The princess?” Kenyon asked sharply. “What are they talking about?”
“A ransom?” Jack demanded.
“No way,” Kenyon added. “That’s not even logical. Amelie always has that ring on a chain around her neck. You couldn’t kidnap her without kidnapping it at the same time.”
A bad feeling was pooling at the base of Jack’s spine. “Who sent the note? What were the details?”
Lark met Jack’s eyes. “It was vague, saying there would be instructions to follow—but there’s no question it’s real. Valois says Amelie’s gone. I came straight here to tell you.”
* * *
Lark had barely finished speaking when Jack bolted from the room, Kenyon on his heels. Lark outpaced them—fey were faster than any other creature, even vampires. Her feet barely touched the marble floors as she darted through the palace. Blood pounded in her aching head, but she desperately tried to think.
Drusella had said Lark had been easy to follow—and what had she been doing but visiting Amelie time and again, telling the princess all about her fey heritage? Despite Lark’s precautions
, had they been overheard? Was Amelie kidnapped because I used Dark magic to heal myself? Shame wrenched her as she sped through the twists and turns of the corridors.
They were almost back to Amelie’s rooms when she skidded to a stop, her shoes sliding on the hard floor. The passageway outside the royal apartments was crammed shoulder to shoulder with people, most of them in uniform. Without a doubt, something had happened.
Lark suddenly felt hollow, as if every scrap of blood and bone had vanished from inside her. She leaned against the wall, bracing herself before she sank to the floor. I was supposed to protect Amelie and instead I brought danger to her door.
Lark had barely finished the thought when she felt Jack’s hands on her shoulders, holding her back when she moved to join the crowd. The deliberately gentled strength in his hands brought back intimate memories, and her breath hissed in as her flesh reacted to his presence.
“Stay here,” Jack said softly. “Wait and think.”
“Wait for what?”
“This had to be the Blackthorns,” Jack said. “Magic is the only way someone could get to the princess so easily.”
With a cold chill, Lark thought of the tricks she’d used to get into the princess’s rooms. “I agree. And now we know why the arch was on fire. This is why they’d needed a distraction.”
“The blaze drew the crowds away,” Jack agreed. “It certainly worked on us.”
“I left Amelie under guard just a few hours ago. I told her she would be safe.” Lark pulled away and turned to face Jack. Her panic over the kidnapping was reflected in Jack’s eyes, but they both had their professional masks on. Emotions weren’t helpful now. “I need to start questioning witnesses.”
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