Shadowdance(121)

Again the joy within him peeked out, but his voice was low and somber when he spoke. “That is because you own me heart and soul, Mary mine. You always have.”

Her own heart felt like a thing made not of metal but of spun glass, fragile and light. Her thumb traced the corner of his mouth, noting the way it stretched upward, despite his disquiet, as if her touch made him happy.

“I love you, Jack.”

He did not blink, not even when she kissed his mouth with infinite care. But she felt the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She kissed him again, tenderly because she knew he was unhinged just then. “I love you heart and soul.”

He was pale when he settled back, his eyes wide and searching. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” It was an easy thing to say. Keeping it back would have been harder, for she felt it with her whole being.

His hands wrapped around her forearms, and he dragged her up, laying her over his wide chest, where she could feel his heart pound. “I hear the words,” he said slowly, “only I can’t believe them.”

“Can’t believe that I love you? Or that anyone could?”

His lashes lowered. “They didn’t. My parents. They saw the true me and deemed me unworthy to live.”

Her fingers stroked along his scalp, then rested on his cheek. Jack leaned into the touch on a sigh.

“They were your childhood,” she said. “But they aren’t your family. You know who your real family is. One day you’ll know how much you are loved. You’ll feel it.”





Chapter Thirty-Two





How the crisp linen envelope with an SOS seal ended up on Jack’s bare chest hours later was a mystery. One he could not do anything about, for whoever had left it was long gone by the time Jack woke and found the thing. Easing out of bed, he left a sleeping Mary, fragrant and warm with the intoxicating scent of sex and sleep, to read it.

The message was simple, a time, place, and request that Jack arrive alone scrawled with a fanciful hand. An elaborate A was the only signature. Jack, having learned a thing or two from the men in his life, all of whom loved headstrong women, woke Mary and showed it to her. Last night he’d told her everything he knew of Amaros, and of his being a Nephil, which still unsettled him. Upon hearing that Jack was part angel, Mary had grinned wide. “Your dulcet nature ought to have been the first clue.”

“Ha!” Jack had murmured against her neck; his hands were busy elsewhere. “You are truly hilarious. A comic bard.”

“And to think you call me the angel.” She’d chuckled, a warm, contented sound that went straight to his heart. Her hands ran over his back. “My winged wonder—Ack!”

Mary Chase, Jack discovered, was ticklish. And they’d said no more for quite some time.

Now, resting on one elbow, Mary read the note. Sunlight shone in her hair, picking up glints of gold, bronze, and amber. “I do not like it,” she said when she’d finished.

“Nor I,” he said. “But I think I ought to go.”

“I am going to follow,” she said.

Jack smiled and leaned forward to kiss her soft lips. Happiness was a strange sensation. It filled him up until his body was tender yet strong. Fancy that. God, he’d had it so very wrong when he accused Ian of being weak with love. At this moment he felt infinite and invincible. And he felt afraid. For the world would not go away simply because they wanted it to. His hand smoothed down the satin dip of her waist before holding fast. “I did not doubt that for a moment.”

And so they went, Mary’s spirit drifting above him like a guardian angel. When they reached St. Paul’s, she disappeared, taking another route up so that he might arrive utterly alone. But he knew she’d be close. And it was a comfort he had not expected.

Trouble, Mary thought as she followed Jack up to the Golden Gallery, a viewing platform at the top of St. Paul’s dome. Though she was currently without a body, apprehension weighed her spirit down. The city sprawled out beneath her. It reminded her of a flea circus with tiny little figures darting to and fro, miniature wagons and carriages rolling here and there. There were times when Mary could watch the city for hours. Not think, not feel, just watch the world move on. Today was not one of those days.

The wind whistled, and beside her Jack hunched in his coat as he glanced about.

The air stirred again and became heavy with a presence. Whatever it was had power. Immense power.

On a snarl Jack spun around and faced whatever had arrived. Mary hovered above him, not able to help, which annoyed her greatly. More so when the strange presence showed himself.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Jack demanded.