Shadowdance(89)

Mary’s skin flushed. “You kissed me and—”

“Only because you didn’t know how.” Tenderness colored his words and heated his breath. Of course he would make mention of that. His lips grazed her jaw. “You’re an exceptionally quick study, however.”

She would not smile. Nor would she yield. Mary turned her head. “I cannot ignore what you’ve done.”

“And I cannot go back to pretending that you aren’t my everything. I don’t want to.”

She pushed at his chest to no avail: he held her fast. She released a breath and spoke into the warm hollow at his throat. “But I don’t want you.”

His broad chest gave an abrupt jerk as if she’d thrust a spike into him. Ye gods, she’d become so very proficient at lying.

“I deserved that,” he muttered, still not letting go. “But I didn’t expect it to hurt so much.”

“This is merely lust talking,” she said sharply. “Leave me be and it will die down.”

A hard, bitter laugh escaped him. “Lust, is it?” He turned his head and pressed his lips against the crest of her cheek. “Mary Chase, I want to tup you. Hard and slow and all week long. I want to so badly that my cods ache and my heart hurts. But considering that I’ve felt the same way for going on four years and have managed to survive, I think it’s bloody well safe to say this isn’t about lust.”

Just down the corridor, a door opened, and Wilde’s voice drifted out. “Yes, Minerva, I understand perfectly. Did she say where Father was?”

Slowly Jack pulled back, and it felt as though he’d taken away her one support. Cold hit her chest, and she struggled to remain standing. His eyes met hers, and the devastation in his gaze slashed like a blade. She faced him head on, refusing to soften. She was not in the wrong. He’d done this to them. As if he heard her thoughts, his expression tightened, and his golden skin faded to pale cream.

Wilde’s voice came again, so normal-sounding compared to the pain that rose between Mary and Jack. “No, I’ll handle it,” he said within his office. “Please let me know when he returns.”

Jack glanced in that direction, then back to her.

“I can’t forgive and forget, Jack,” she whispered.

Dark shadows danced over his pained features. Without another word he turned from her and moved away at the blurring speed of a supernatural in his prime.

A moment later Wilde appeared, his frown concerned. “Was that Talent?”

She could only stare at the now-empty corridor, her body frozen.

Wilde shook his head as if annoyed, then cut to the chase. “There’s been an incident.”

“The Bishop?” she managed.

“I’m not certain.” His gaze dimmed, going cold. “But I think you ought to see it.”





Chapter Twenty-Four





It took a great deal of effort for a supernatural to become foxed, but Jack was going to give it a proper go. Hunched over a table in the coffeehouse where he’d first dined with Mary, he wrapped his hands around a flagon of cheap whisky and took another great swallow. It burned going down and tasted like hell. But the pleasant numbing sensation that followed could not be argued with.

Oblivion was welcome. He’d tried to explain, and she had ignored it. Told her that she was his world. And she hadn’t turned a hair. What else was he to do? A raw curse broke from him, and a few people turned their heads. Jack gave one fellow a good glare. But his attention was diverted as a young lady glided toward him. Her effortless walk reminded him of Mary’s, though it was not as refined. No one eased through a space quite as well as Mary. The ethereal look of the woman, with her crystalline green eyes, announced her as a GIM before he even heard the telltale clicking of her heart. Jack vaguely recognized her as one of the new SOS recruits, though the style in which she wore her hair spoke of a generation five decades past. Odd, how some of the immortals held on to the fashions of their youth.

Her gaze settled over him with all the warmth of winter ice. “Master Talent.” Disdain tainted her low voice. “Getting fuddled, are we?”

“Hitting the benzine, if you want to be precise about it.” He took another fiery drink and ignored the chit. But she did not move on. With a sigh he slammed down his mug. “Mistress Tottie, I presume?”

She gave a little sniff of acknowledgement.

“Well,” he prompted, “what do you want? As you can see, I’m busy.”

“Lucien Stone requests your presence without delay.”

“Does he? I’d best be running along then.” Jack made no move to rise but picked at a nail. Fucking Stone. The day Jack answered his summons…