Possessed by the Fallen

by Sharon Ashwood

  The ancient table stretched the room’s length. However, only a few dozen seats were filled at one end. She directed her steps that way, examining the other agents. Many were familiar, but there were some who’d flown in from other countries. Perhaps a third were new to her.

  This was the last of a string of encounters that day. She’d forced down her grief long enough to see her former design assistant, Bree, and rejoice in the young woman’s happiness over her career and son and loving bond with Mark Winspear. Before that, Lark had seen Haven reunited with his daughter Lexie. It would be a long time before the fey would be well again, but he would live. Those had been happy occasions. This gathering promised to be harder.

  The remaining Horsemen were already there, clustered near the head of the table. The largest chair, almost a throne, remained empty. That was where the Company’s commander usually sat—but he was confirmed dead. What piece of information prompted you to call Jack that night? she wondered. Although they all knew where the story ended, some pieces would always remain a mystery.

  Lark took her seat, cradling her bandaged arm. Across from her sat Sam Ralston and Mark Winspear, both of whom were fully recovered. Faran Kenyon was back in human form but still looked exhausted. An ugly scar ringed his neck from the silver collar. There was another figure at the table—one that made Lark look twice. “Uncle Soran?”

  “Niece.” His dark eyes, so like hers, held her in a gaze filled with pride. “I am glad to see you are well. I am here on behalf of the Light Court.” And for once—for the first time—he awarded her the same satisfied smile he gave to his warrior sons.

  “Welcome to you all,” Sam Ralston said, breaking into her thoughts. “In the absence of any other authority, I’ll start this meeting by saying the handoff from the Marcari police to our own people is complete. We owe Captain Valois a debt of gratitude for his expert work on the investigation into the destruction of the Company headquarters. Needless to say, there is still much to be done, but we are much closer to a formal identification of all the victims.”

  Absolute silence fell in the room, as if no one wanted to break the solemn mood. Lark closed her eyes, overwhelmed with the need to be anywhere else, anywhere there was a little less grief.

  Ralston cleared his throat. “However, I have word regarding the mountain stronghold. Thanks to Prince Kyle’s efforts, and especially his personal leadership, the mercenaries are in custody. An examination of the stronghold will be conducted prior to dismantling the facility. A preliminary report should be ready by the end of the week.”

  Winspear sat forward next, folding his hands on the table. “With regard to seizing the stronghold and the battle in general, naturally there were casualties on both sides. However, it could have been much, much worse. The real concern is dealing with the fate of the remaining Dark Fey. They are, in effect, refugees.”

  “I can speak to that,” said Soran. “They are leaderless now that the Dark Queen and the Blackthorns are dead. Most are so grateful to be free of the gates and of their former masters, they will agree to any terms.”

  “Can we trust them?” Ralston asked.

  “Their oaths are binding,” Lark put in. “It is always the wording that counts.”

  Soran sat back, folding his arms. “Quite correct. Any among them who will not swear solemn fealty to the prince and princess can take their chances with my knights. I do not blame Selena’s subjects for following their queen, but I recommend the nobles be watched with great care.”

  The room fell silent. “Do we have enough resources for long-term peacekeeping?” Winspear asked at last. “We lost a lot of agents when Headquarters was destroyed.”

  “The Light Fey will send recruits to the Company,” Soran said at once. “It’s time we rejoin the rest of the world. We have been too isolated these past years.”

  Lark was astonished. “When was that decided?”

  Soran gave her a sidelong gaze. “At the same council that decided your lack of obedience is deplorable.”

  Lark felt a flush creep up her cheeks. So the Light Court had heard about the Dark Fey healing spell.

  “However,” her uncle continued, “your courage is an example our warriors demand to follow. Many are demanding permission to join the Company. They claim that working with other races has made you a superior fey.”

  It was impossible to know how to answer. Lark had always wanted her uncle’s approval, but she’d had no practice in accepting his praise. Her throat ached with everything she yearned to say to her uncle—about pride and friendship and heartbreak and what it meant to be part of the wider world. She didn’t know where to begin.

  It would have to wait. Soran looked around the table, measuring every agent with a considering gaze. “Events have given the Light Court a second chance. It’s up to us to see that it lasts.”

  Lark swallowed. Amelie would be queen and the Light Fey had ended their isolation. At last, her people were out of danger. All her life, Lark had been dedicated to their cause, and now she felt that responsibility slipping from her like a huge weight. Maybe she could finally find a life of her own.

  “There is one other thing,” said Ralston. “Not that I’m big on administration, but we need to put some command structure in place until we can hold an election to replace the leadership of the Company.”

  Kenyon dropped his gaze to the table and said what they all were thinking. “Not yet. Not today. The next commander should have been Jack.”

  Ice squeezed around Lark’s heart. I could find a life of my own, but it won’t be the one I dreamed of.

  After that, no one had the heart to go on. Kenyon’s words haunted Lark as the meeting broke up, and she returned to the rooms Prince Kyle had assigned her close to the royal apartments. She kicked off her shoes at the door and began fumbling with her suit jacket. Her arm was still too sore for even the most ordinary tasks—though she had no plans to try another Dark Fey spell to speed recovery.

  Hands slid over her shoulders and eased the jacket off her arms. Lark froze, pulse suddenly racing with surprise and disbelief. She spun to see Jack neatly folding the garment over the back of a chair. Her mind skidded, unable to find traction.

  “Hello, Lark,” he said.

  “You did it again!” she cried. “You let us think you were dead. That’s a horrible thing to do.” And then she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  He looked as though he’d been to hell and back. The wings were gone and he was wearing clean clothes, but his face was haggard. He sank down onto the couch, his hands dangling loosely between his knees. “I did not have the strength to face the others just yet. I became disoriented when the portal was destroyed. It took me some time to get back.”

  She wasn’t sure where he was getting back from, and she was afraid to ask. “You’re here,” she whispered. “Thank the fates, I dared not hope for so much.”

  “I am,” he said, although he didn’t sound completely convinced of the fact.

  Now that the first shock had passed, Lark studied him more closely. His eyes were the same icy blue she’d always known, but starlight lurked just beneath the surface. “Who am I speaking to,” she asked, “Asteriel or Jack?”

  He rose and paced, prowling as gracefully as a tiger. “Both. Neither. The magic that closed the gates and destroyed Balziel changed everything.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “There’s no split between us anymore.” He stopped, his hand clenching. “I am a vampire, easily destroyed, and I have no force that compels me to redemption except my own conscience.”

  Lark very nearly laughed. “That’s how most of us live.”

  He wheeled on her, eyes flashing with sudden temper that faded almost at once. “But I am one of the Fallen. I... I still have much to learn.”

  “And you saved us all,” she said gently.
Lark approached him slowly, silent until she stood close enough to reach up and smooth his collar. His body was warmer than she was used to, almost human hot. Perhaps Jack was still physically a vampire, but that wasn’t all he was. “You’re afraid of being taken over by evil, but you’re the best man I know. Trust yourself.”

  “How can I?” His head bowed, his brilliant eyes shadowed by sadness. “When I came back from the Crusades, I had Asteriel’s fortune to do good works. The task seemed so simple, until I was killed and my brothers went to war over the treasure. Think of the hundreds of years of feuding and death visited on Marcari and Vidon because I brought that treasure home. If I had died in the Holy Land, none of this, not even the kidnapping, would have happened.”

  She shook her head slowly, drawing him down to the couch. “You didn’t murder yourself. You can’t be responsible for your brothers’ actions.”

  He sat, but he didn’t relax. Every muscle seemed coiled with painful tension. “But that’s what being Fallen means. Everything I touch is corrupted. I became a demon.”

  Lark understood what he was saying, but he was wrong. “Maybe that was true once, but not now. I saw you face Balziel. You were every bit an avenging angel.”

  His mouth quirked in a bitter smile. “I’m no angel, Lark. I haven’t been for a very, very long time.”

  “But you saved us. You fought for us out of love.”

  “Yes.” He closed his eyes. “Jack knew how to protect. He taught me much.”

  Lark saw her words had struck home, and she seized on it. “You learned those lessons. Demons don’t sacrifice for the greater good. Demons don’t risk their lives for their captive friends. Demons don’t save delinquent werewolves from a life of crime. Demons don’t care.”

  She took his hands, squeezing them until he looked up at her. His eyes were wild with a flicker of hope. There has to be hope, especially for someone like him. She couldn’t live in this world any other way.

  “I know you, Jack. You’re the one who has everyone’s back, plain and simple.”

  “I want to believe that.”

  “Know it. When I raised that knife in the tower and set it alight, I knew you would come. I gambled my life on you, and you saved me.”

  Her words were magic far beyond any spell. He relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders. All at once he seemed lighter—steadier and more solid—though he had not so much as moved a muscle.

  Lark didn’t move, not wanting to break the unfamiliar peace. But finally, his hands moved to clasp hers. In another moment, they were standing again, his body so close they touched.

  “You’re wise in ways not even a long life can grant. You see with your heart.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, drinking her in as surely as if he had pierced her vein. She arched into him, rising up on her toes to get the best angle. When he broke the kiss, releasing her, neither of them moved for the longest moment. His mood had shifted, a fresh intensity taking over. And it was focused on her. Lark could feel they were standing on the precipice of a new partnership, and she felt suddenly painfully shy.

  “I don’t want to be without you again,” she said, and then turned away, stepping out of the circle of his arms. Her face was hot and she needed a moment to hide. It was ridiculous—they had been together many times before, but it had never been quite like this. Maybe it was because Jack was different now, but suddenly the future felt weighted and serious, with their tomorrows hanging in the balance. All at once, she was afraid.

  “It’s late and I’m tired,” she said, even though neither was true.

  “Shall we go to bed?”

  She jumped. He’d slipped up behind her, vampire quiet. Now he reached around her middle, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons of her blouse, one by one. The tiny disks of pearl betrayed her, giving way to him in an instant. Then he slid the silk from her shoulders, tossing it to the side. With a rumble of triumph, he planted a kiss on one shoulder.

  With that casual touch of his lips, she was lost.

  Clothes fell, a piece at a time, with unhurried ritual. Just days ago, Lark had hidden in his bathrobe, reluctant to share so much as a glimpse of skin, but now it was different. She had no more secrets. He was no longer split in two. There was a chance for trust between them again. All at once, with so much less of her energy spent guarding herself, she had the leisure to discover him anew.

  She took his hand in hers, pressing a kiss to his palm. Jack’s hands were always calloused—she guessed it had been from holding a sword when he had been alive, and the rough skin had never quite faded. Responding to her kiss, his fingers curled around hers, gentle despite his incredible strength. He pulled her against him, her back to his chest, and cupped his hands around her breasts. It was a gesture of simple possession, of celebration.

  But now his fingers grew clever with the delicacy of a safecracker. Lark closed her eyes, shivering as he played and squeezed. She sucked in her breath, trying to steady herself so he would not end the game too soon. As her pulse quickened, the throbbing of her blood made her burned forearm ache beneath its bandages, but the pain only danced with her pleasure, making both more deliciously acute.

  He turned her around, wringing a protest from her until he took a nipple in his mouth, bringing one, then the other, to perfect peaks. Lark pulled away, taking his hand and drawing him to the bed. It was almost a dance move, both moving with one mind. She fell backward onto the soft mattress, crooking a knee up as he hitched himself forward to join her.

  Their bodies brushed, skin to skin, and anticipation brought gooseflesh trickling down her limbs. His hand traveled up her calf, as slowly as if he was memorizing the curve of it. Lark closed her eyes, finding it almost impossible that his touch there, cupping her ankle, could feel erotic, but it did. His lips brushed her knee, then those amazing fingers worked their way up her inner thigh with a featherlight touch, teasing, but never quite promising. Lark closed her eyes, pressing her head back into the mattress, loving and hating how immortals took their time.

  And then his mouth was there, too, fangs and tongue sliding against her most intimate parts. Gasping, Lark froze, pressure building inside her—but she dared not move. Not with razor-sharp teeth right there. And yet the urge to squirm and buck was rising as Jack delivered everything she wanted in a mind-blowing way. “Let me move,” she begged. “Please.”

  His response made her fingers dig into the coverlet as she shuddered, muscles straining, and she cursed his delectable torture. He kissed and sucked, proving centuries of practice made pretty damned perfect. When he finally rose, sliding his body up hers until their lips met, she could taste herself on his mouth. Then his fingers slid to exactly the right spot, and she came again, finally able to grind and rub where it felt so good.

  After that, he slid easily between her thighs, filling her to the edge of discomfort before he withdrew again slowly. Lark moved under him, admiring the curves and valleys of his torso. Shadows played across the muscular ridges as he worked, a living sculpture bent to the task of her pleasure. Her palms braced against the heavy bulk of his shoulders, demonfire crackling between her fingers and the silk of his skin. The glowing, brilliant creature from the tower was there in her arms—tender and protective, a guardian of the night. He cradled her against him as if she were the one thing in the universe he cherished.

  He loved. Demons didn’t love.

  She wanted to speak, to say something, but words slipped away as the rhythm changed between them, hitting a new stride of urgency. Suddenly all thoughts were lost beneath a wave of need as he grasped her hips, holding her still, stroke after deep, thorough stroke.

  Lark dissolved, helpless and gasping, giving herself to the wildness of desire—and then so did Jack. Light flared from him, enfolding them both in a corona of energy so powerful, Lark squeezed her eyes shut. Jack, a vampire, blazed like the sun. She had wanted hi
m to give up his iron control—and now he had. As she trusted him, at last he trusted her.

  And what he revealed was magnificent. Heat kissed her face, and she turned to it as instinctively as a flower, knowing it was life and joy and blessing.

  Chapter 35

  “Let me get this straight,” said Kenyon the next day. “You’re a Crusader and a fallen angel blenderized into a supervampire who can sprout wings and wrestle demons from the pit?”

  “Pretty much,” Jack replied.

  “Cool. Is there an action figure?”

  The Horsemen sat in the tiny living room of Jack’s secret apartment in the castle. With four large men, it was very crowded, but nobody cared. It was the first time they’d sat down together since Jack’s supposed death in a fiery car crash.

  “Does that mean you won’t stake me?” Jack said, just a tiny bit worried. “Technically, I’m some kind of demon.”

  “Stake you?” Winspear shrugged, his face solemn as the grave. “Worse. You get to be the new commander.”

  The mood slipped a moment. They had come from a teleconference with the heads of the branches of the Company—Los Angeles, London, Mumbai and Tokyo, among others. All agreed the Company should be restored in Marcari, but newer divisions wanted more freedom to run their own affairs. If Jack became commander, he would be ushering in a new age for La Compagnie des Morts. And in the meantime, there was a funeral to plan for all those who had been lost.

  Ralston slapped Jack on the back, bringing him back to the present. “I’ve kinda let the paperwork slide. You’ll catch up eventually.”

  Paperwork. Ugh. “If you’re threatening me with key performance indicator reports, I think the bromance is dead.”