Heedless of the danger, she reached out and touched his shoulder. So cold and clammy with sweat and shaking violently. But she smoothed her hand down his arm in a slow, gentle caress. Strangely, the metal’s progress stopped. But not on the other side. Platinum twined and writhed down his left arm and twisted along his fingers. The demon clenched his fist and sobbed. A trickle of blood leaked from the corner of one eye.
The sight sent a ripple of disgust along her skin. She hailed from a family of logical inventors, yet some deep-seated part of them maintained a vigilant Irish suspicion of blood drinkers. Dearg-due, Abhartach. Reviled creatures who lusted for blood. Ungodly fiends. As soon as the thought entered her head, shame chased it out.
Holly touched his cheek, and he leaned into it with a whimper.
“There now, big man,” she whispered, as she covered him with her blanket. “You’re not alone.” With a hand that shook, she ran her fingers over his brow and through his damp hair. The white strands clung to her hand like spider silk but the demon calmed. No, his name was Thorne. He was not some nameless demon. But Thorne.
His eyes were closed now, long bronze lashes lying against unnaturally pale cheeks.
“You are not alone, Mr. Thorne.”
At the sound of his name, his eyes flew open. No longer simply black as onyx, a starburst pattern of luminous platinum radiated around his pupils. His head turned toward her, but not a flicker of recognition or sense lay in his strangely beautiful eyes.
Holly opened her mouth to say something, anything that might offer some comfort, but a massive bellow rang out, echoing off the stone walls.
“Evernight!”
She jumped back, her bottom hitting the floor, just as the door to the main cellar smashed open.
Master surged in on a tide of rage. Open sores and great gaping wounds once again held dominion over his flesh. Holly cowered as he strode forward, seething and growling. His wild gaze landed on her, and she knew she was dead.
While Mary went home to reconnect with her body—and Jack had no doubt she was desperate to give him a thorough tongue-lashing—Jack went to Thorne’s house. He’d put his friend at risk for selfish reasons, and though they worked on opposite sides, it did not sit well with his conscience. Thorne needed to know with what they were dealing. A mad fallen was a menace to all. The Nex was insane to think it could control Amaros.
But the moment he stepped up to Thorne’s town house, Jack’s skin prickled along his neck. All appeared quiet, but a thick fug of dark power hung over the air around the place. The broken door lock did not ease his worry. Slowly Jack entered the main hall, taking in the destruction and the carnage of slaughtered help.
Sliding out a knife, more for a sense of security than for actual protection, Jack made his way down to Thorne’s subterranean lair. More destruction. Blood splattered the walls; the furniture was broken down to kindling.
Regret sucked at Jack’s gut as he made his way home to Mary. For Thorne alone he yearned to kill Amaros. So great was his ire that it took him a moment to realize something was wrong as he entered Mary’s flat. It was too quiet, and her scent was not strong enough. As though she was gone. Then he spied the message written in blood upon the blue-lacquered wall. Jack’s knees hit the floor, his head going light, his limbs ice-cold. And then came the rage, powerful and welcome, and running like lightning through his veins.
If you want her, come and get her.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Having her body stolen was certainly a new experience. Mary had returned home only to find it gone. Fortunately, a GIM could always locate her body. Unfortunately, she knew quite well that she would not like where it was. And she was correct. Following the pull of her physical flesh, Mary soon found herself in the cellars beneath Lambeth Palace. Gold torchlight flickered off moldering, damp stones.
She kept to the upper shadows, where the ceiling curved low and rough. She glided over a number of well-armed guards, each of whom wore a Nex tattoo upon his left hand and a tattoo of a chain about his neck—a blood-bonded slave. Mary wondered if any of them wanted to fight their servitude. Mary also wondered exactly how Amaros had discovered her home, until she entered an underground chamber and spied Tottie O’Brien seated at a table covered with food and drink. Tottie, who had claimed to see Jack abduct Holly Evernight. Tottie, who had access to Poppy’s files. Tottie, who would live in a world of regret as soon as Mary got her hands on her.
But for now Mary hovered. Her body lay on a blood-encrusted trolley. Not a pleasant sight. Nor was that of Amaros bending over her. Augustus had been correct, the fallen was rotting again. His robe gaped and revealed his cursed flesh. A faint, almost sweet stench emanated from him. But the power radiating from him belied his decrepit appearance.