Talent didn’t move but it suddenly felt as though he’d separated himself from her. “Appearances can be deceiving. There is nothing lovely about Miss Chase. She’d just as soon gut you as look at you, mate.”
If she hadn’t been used to his insults, the pain would have cut. As it was, it merely landed with a dull thud upon her chest.
Sympathy filled Will’s eyes, which irked further. “Jack never did appreciate women as he should.” He tossed a quick grin toward Talent. A true smile returned as he looked back to Mary. “As I doubt my old friend here will perform introductions, allow me.” He touched his hat and bowed. The man’s manner and accent spoke of good breeding, but there was a bit of street rat about him, just as with Talent. He might have been raised in a proper home, but it was doubtful that he still lived a proper life. “Mr. William Thorne at your service, Miss…?”
“Mary Chase,” was all she got out before Talent cut in with a brusque “What do you want, Will?”
Thorne frowned. “You injure me, Jack. Fifteen years since we last spoke and this is the reception I receive?”
Talent’s brows lowered. “What do you want?”
His words were a thick fog in the air. For a moment Mary wondered if Thorne would speak at all, he’d gone so stiff, but then she realized that he was restraining himself, just as Talent was.
Thorne’s sudden response cut through the night like a whip. “Perhaps I am not here for you, Jack.” Eerie blue eyes sought Mary out. “Do you know, Miss Chase, that a shifter doesn’t have a particular scent? But one of many?”
Beside her, Talent went rigid, his shoulder touching her arm as he moved perceptibly closer.
“I’m not sure I follow, Mr. Thorne.” Despite herself, Mary wanted to know more about Talent’s breed. Shifters were rare, and if they were anything like other supernaturals, they must have kept a few secrets close to the bone. “I fear my sense of smell is not developed enough to note a difference in scents.” Talent had always smelled the same to her, and familiar enough now that she’d recognize him in a crowd.
Thorne’s weight shifted, bringing him an inch closer. It was enough to send a low rumble through Talent’s chest, and he glared at Thorne as though he was imagining ripping his throat out. As for Thorne, he appeared relaxed, his long body loose of limb, even as his eyes twinkled with evil intent.
“Perhaps you fail to notice a change because Jack here always feels the same emotion when in your presence. You see, Miss Chase, deep emotion changes a shifter’s basic scent.” His smile was a taunt he lobbed at Talent. “Very subtly, mind you, but each emotion gives it a different taint, hate, fear”—Thorne eyed Mary again—“love—”
“Enough.” Talent took one step in Thorne’s direction, putting his shoulder in front of Mary’s so that she was partially blocked. “Enough games. Talk or we are going.”
Mary did not particularly like the way Talent lumped them together, but she agreed that Thorne was merely baiting him at her expense.
“Games amuse me,” Thorne complained before his demeanor grew serious. “I am here to offer a partnership. Between my organization and yours.”
“The Nex?” Mary snapped.
A touch on her hand stilled Mary. She’d had her baton out and had taken a step in Thorne’s direction without realizing it. Only Talent’s hand upon hers had stopped her.
Thorne’s gaze focused on their hands when he answered. “The very one. But we are not at odds here.” His jaw clenched. “Someone has killed our own.”
Mary let her hand fall away from Talent’s. “The shifters?”
“No. The demons.” Thorne’s gaze moved from Mary to Talent. “They were slaughtered first, were they not? Or has the SOS chosen to forget about them?”
Talent hadn’t spoken in so long that his sharp reply made Mary’s skin twitch. “The SOS forgets little,” he said. “Nor do I.”
“What do you propose, Mr. Thorne?” Mary asked.
“It does not matter,” said Talent, his ire gathering like a storm. “We have nothing to say to the Nex.”
“Call me Will, Miss Chase,” Thorne offered as though Talent hadn’t spoken. “And I merely suggest a mutual exchange of information.”
“No.” Talent was more emphatic now. He grabbed Mary’s elbow as if to pull her away. “We do not work with the Nex.” When Mary hesitated, he turned his wrath on her, leaning down so that they were nose to nose. “Ever.”
It was in her to protest and raise a holy ruckus against his high-handedness. Save for one thing—he was in the right. It was an implacable SOS rule. Wrenching her gaze away from Talent’s, she addressed Thorne, not missing that he’d followed their exchange with ill-concealed delight. “My partner is correct, Mr. Thorne. We do not negotiate with the Nex.”