Shadowdance(47)
The man chuckled slowly. “Blood for information.”
“No.”
The man shrugged. “Then you don’t get your revenge.”
A cold wind blew down the tracks, swirling the thick fog and lifting the ends of the man’s hair.
Impotent rage held Jack in place, but he knew it could also send him over the line into true damnation. “You’re copying the Bishop’s kills. Why?”
“Your kills, you mean.”
It took all Jack had not to flinch. This man knew far too much about him.
“Needed to get your attention,” the man said when Jack remained silent and waiting.
Jack let out a harsh sound of annoyance. “A knock on my door would have done the trick, mate.”
“Yes,” the man agreed with a laugh. “But it also got the attention of the SOS. And one cannot forget the nice supply of delicious shifter blood.”
Jack could smell it on him now, the shifter blood running through the fiend’s veins.
“If you have shifter blood, then you don’t need mine.”
“But yours isn’t quite like theirs. Is it, Jack Talent?”
Jack growled low. One leap and he could tear out the bastard’s throat, rip his heart free. But if he missed, he’d be no closer to the end of this. Did the man really have the list?
Another hot wash of shame coated his skin at that desperate thought. “Are you the one responsible for making those crawlers?”
“You killed my pets.” The accusation was petulant. “They were merely trying to bring you to me.”
Jack snorted. “Then they ought to have been more polite about it. Instead of trying to burn me and my partner to a bloody crisp.”
A cold sigh escaped the man. “It was a failure. The shifter blood I have is unfortunately weak. Didn’t control the change properly. But yours? ‘Whoso eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life.’ ”
More Bible verses. Lovely.
Fangs showed when the man smiled. “And I want a taste.”
Jack laughed without humor. “You think I’ll give you mine after a statement like that?”
A calculating gleam filled the man’s eyes. “I think you want revenge so badly, your teeth ache.”
Piss and shit. Jack should not listen. He strained against the words. But that dark, haunted place that lived and breathed within his shattered soul soaked it in and cried out for more. To feel peace. Could it ever happen? The man had the list.
Swallowing against temptation, Jack took a step back. “Not interested.”
“Liar.”
Again came the nearly vibrating need to hunt. “I won’t give you my blood.”
“Oh, I think you will.” So very assured. A slow smile spread over the man’s face, and a glimmer of fangs appeared behind his lips. “It would be a pity if your secrets came out in the open, would it not?”
Hell. Bloody, bloody hell.
“I suggest you think hard on that before you refuse me. I’m quite comfortable continuing on, exposing your underbelly as I go. I’ll have that blood. One vial. In return, you can have the list of names.”
“That’s all you want?” Jack did not believe that for a moment.
“One hour,” was the answer. “Paddington Station. Look behind the Pears baby, and you’ll have your names.” He stared at Jack with something akin to mad pride. A strange look that had Jack turning cold.
Jack gritted his teeth. “If you think—”
“Talent?” Chase’s worried voice rang out from the other side of the freight car.
Shit. Jack glanced between the man and the direction of Chase’s voice. A mistake.
The crunch of gravel echoed. Everything in him screamed to go to her and draw her close. It was too late. An evil gleam lit the man’s eyes.
“The lovely Miss Chase,” said the man. “Shall we say hello?”
Before Jack could move, the man gave a great push to the side of the freight car. It rocked toward Chase and then started to fall.
It all happened too quickly. Mary had been standing beside the train, walking toward the sound of Talent’s voice, when the whole car came hurtling toward her. Then he was there. She made a grab for Talent, and he for her. Their hands collided, a messy tangle, then he was throwing her down, with the massive freight car following him. Her head cracked into the rough gravel, and his face smashed into hers. An instant later another blow came, so hard and swift that it knocked the air from her lungs. Talent grunted, his breath whooshing too, but then his body, flat against hers, arched and braced, as if forming a human cage around her.
And then it all stopped.
Mary blinked, taking stock of her bruised body and the fact that Talent was lying flush against her, grinding her into the ground. The rough, green-painted boards of the freight car loomed behind him. On him. She tried to catch a breath and failed. The bloody thing was on top of them.