Jack sneered, but at that moment Mary’s eyes snapped open. Her golden gaze focused on him in terror and rage. He opened his mouth to explain, but she lurched forward. Slim hands slapped against his chest. A jolt struck him hard, resounding though his flesh and bones before hooking onto his soul with such ferocity that he felt as though it’d be ripped to shreds. Then the world simply stopped.
Jack hit the floor with a hearty thud and lay there, prone. Mary did not know how long she’d been out, only that her body was sluggish and cold. And it was that bastard’s fault. He’d hit her, hurt her. The memory of white light flashing before her gaze confused her. He’d done something more to her. With a growl she surged forward, wanting to finish him. His soul had been in her hands for one moment before the man sitting beside Mary had separated them. Struggling to move, she realized that the same man now held her back from leaping on Jack and delivering the killing blow.
“Hold, Mary. Hold!”
Lucien. She stopped, looking around with wild fear. Lucien’s room. How?
His breath was on her cheek, the familiar scent of him calming yet confusing her more. Why was she here?
“He’s down,” Lucien said. “Now let him live, for pity’s sake.” There was laughter in his voice, and she wrenched free to glare at him.
She did not expect to see the quiet fear in Lucien’s eyes. “He saved you.” Lucien glanced at Jack on the floor. “Your heart had completely stopped. You would have died if he hadn’t brought you here.”
“He did this to me,” she rasped. A draft shivered over her skin, and she looked down to see her breasts bared. Blushing, she yanked her torn chemise closed. Although Lucien wouldn’t care; he’d never so much as bothered to look at her undressed.
Proving her point, Lucien kept his eyes on her face, studying in his unblinking way, plotting, most likely. “He said you’d believe that.”
“How can I not?” she snapped. “He attacked me.”
A rough, deep voice answered her. “It was not me.”
Mary froze at the sound of Jack’s voice coming from below. A groan rang from his broad chest as he heaved to sit. Rubbing his head and glaring at her in weariness, Jack continued to speak. “You pack a devil of a punch, angel.”
Clutching her chemise tighter, she drew her legs under her, getting farther away from the edge of the bed, and from him. Logically, she could understand that if Jack had brought her to Lucien, he could not be the one who had hurt her. Viscerally, however, her body only remembered the utter betrayal of seeing him grin as he struck her. Jack eyed the movement and snorted. She expected one of his snide comments but he merely looked at her, his body so still that she wondered if she’d addled him with her attack.
With a sigh he leaned back on his hands as if too weak to do anything further. “He took on my appearance.” Jack’s dark brows met. “Likely to unnerve you, and hurt me.”
His expression grew stark, and a tremor racked his frame. “I thought I’d lost…” With a scowl, his mouth snapped shut, and he leapt to his feet. Such a graceful move, and one that had her flinching, despite herself. The scowl grew when he saw her reaction. “What happened?”
Mary glanced at Lucien. “A moment, if you please.”
“But of course, chère.” He gave her a small bow. “See me before you leave, eh?”
Jack sniffed as if something foul had been shoved under his nose, and he eyed Lucien as the man made his way out. As soon as the door clicked shut, he turned his attention back to Mary.
Awkward silence choked the air between them. Mary crossed her arms over her breasts, and Jack’s gaze stayed purposely away from her undressed state. An action that only served to emphasize it. Gathering her strength, she slowly stood, wobbling a bit as sensation rushed back into her legs.
He made an abortive move to help, but she held him off with a warning look. Jack snapped back into his guarded stance, his eyes wary as she made her way to Lucien’s wardrobe and helped herself to a dressing gown. Aware that her familiarity with Lucien’s room and his things only served to exacerbate the long-standing strain between her and Jack, she quickly tied the robe and assumed a professional manner.
“He looked just like you.” Obvious, and it sounded too much like an accusation, but she was struggling to get past the horror that she’d felt when she’d thought Jack had hit her. Part of her wanted to go to him now and simply feel his skin, just to reassure herself. She didn’t need to, though. His eyes, those lovely green eyes that shone like holly in the mellow glow of the room, were proof enough.