Shadowdance(49)

She stilled. Was he? Rocks gouged her from head to foot. A particularly sharp one had her shoulder blade screeching for relief. Nothing was comfortable about the situation. And yet where his hips ground against hers had grown unbearably hot. She wanted to move, if only to grind back. Her cheeks flared with the knowledge.

Good God, would those blasted men ever leave? She could not breathe anymore. She needed out. Her chest sawed as she tried to get more air. But there was only Talent, surrounding her, making her think things she shouldn’t.

He did not miss her distress. A ragged sound broke from his lips, and he adjusted his position, the action making her squeak.

“Toss it, I’m going to shift,” he said against her skin. “It will be sudden, and hopefully it will knock the car clear of those chatterboxes.” His breath tickled her ear. “The moment I do, run. Don’t look back. Run all the way home.”

“I am not going to run away. I can help you.” She wanted to run, but she couldn’t leave him.

She felt him smile against her. “I am going to be quite nude when I shift back.” He paused. A beat that pulsed through her. “Do you truly want to be around when that occurs?” He was laughing at himself.

But she couldn’t. Not when the very image filled her with disquiet. How horrible, when he couldn’t even look at her. “No,” she admitted. “I’ll go.”

“Good thinking. Besides, I’m running too. I will see you again tomorrow, little fritter.”

Something soft brushed her cheek. His lips. It was so light and fleeting she couldn’t be sure if he’d truly kissed her or simply moved his head. And then she couldn’t think at all.

A violent swirl of energy and movement licked over her, disturbing the air. A hard limb struck her elbow, another her knee, and Talent was a blur above her. Then the freight car was flying to the side. Cool air hit her face as men shouted. Mary leapt to her feet, running despite the screaming pain in her limbs from the sudden action. She dashed over the tracks as cries rang out. Only when she was nearly clear did she look back. And a laugh burst from her as she saw one man faint and a great black horse race across the yard.





Chapter Thirteen





Darkness greeted Jack when he returned home. He lived alone now. Ian, that thickheaded, stubborn Scot, had insisted that Jack was his heir apparent. As such, Jack was entitled to a third of the vast Ranulf fortune. When Jack had tried to return the funds, Ian flatly told him to “either take it or throw it into the Thames, but give another word of protest and I’ll stuff it down your bloody throat.”

So Jack bought himself a modest home and let Ian’s man of business take care of the rest.

He had more than enough money to employ a full staff, but it felt wrong. He wasn’t a lord, or even upper-crust gentry. Acting the part wouldn’t make it so. He had a housekeeper come round to clean and launder, and see that his pantry was stocked, but that was the extent of it. Hell, he’d been a valet long enough to look after his own wardrobe, and he could cook when needed.

He was grateful for the solitude as he stood in the cold, dim hallway with the memory of his discussion in the rail yard playing in his head, and with it came temptation. To find his tormentors. To end it all.

Bare-arsed naked and shivering from the cold, he made his way up the stairs and into his room. But just at the threshold, he tensed and paused. Every muscle in his body quivered as he inched his way in, claws extended and at the ready. Stupid that he’d come this far into his home without taking proper precautions. And fucking miserable that he still worried about being ambushed.

Nothing stirred. No scent of something off. He was safe. Relatively.

Jack bolted the door to his room, then made his way to the bathing chamber. Heedless of the cold porcelain, he sat his bare arse in the tub and let the water fill up around him. The rush of water and the still hollowness of the bathing room calmed him as he stared up at the medallion on the ceiling. He’d lit one lamp, and a golden halo of light kept the shadows at bay. But it was too quiet. He used to love silence. Now it only allowed thoughts to creep in.

Hot water lapped at his chest, stroking his skin like a tongue. Jack’s throat constricted on a gag, and he lurched up, grabbed the soap, and scrubbed it over his flesh. Lather foamed, his skin stinging as he used his nails. And still a sticky film of muck seemed to cover his skin, sinking into his guts and churning them.

They were out there. And Jack could have their names. If he wanted them.

“No. Let it go.” It was too dangerous to go out now. And he’d have to face her. With blood on his hands. He rocked in the tub, need and vengeance crawling through him. “Let it go.”