Shadowdance(95)

That the fallen seemed to believe his offer would negate all that had been done to Jack caused a bone-deep rage to rise to the surface. He bit down hard on his battered lip, and blood filled his mouth with a metallic flavor. And though a small, cold part of him shouted not to do it, Jack spit the blood into the fallen’s face. “That’s all you’ll get from me.”

It pebbled over Amaros’s raw cheeks and dripped off the tip of his nose. Far from being annoyed, he closed his eyes and inhaled, his nostrils flaring. “Then we are at an impasse. Or perhaps not.” Amaros’s teeth flashed in a sick grin. “Mary Chase.”

Jack did not let a single muscle on his face move. Amaros would make him pay for Mary. And it would hurt. Jack’s heart thundered hard enough to feel in his throat. “You can’t touch her, and I’ll cut my own throat and bleed out before I let you get one drop.” His chest heaved, the movement tearing his flesh, and warm blood trickled over his skin. An all-too-familiar sensation.

The fallen was silent, watching him with cool eyes. “You saw what I did to those GIM.” He glanced at his cohorts. Jack had forgotten they were there. The two robed figures stepped closer. “It took only a moment to kill every last one of them.”

Jack strained against the spikes, wanting to lash out, but they held fast and he sagged.

“Let him down,” Amaros said.

Being pulled off the iron was as bad as being impaled. Jack slumped to the floor, his blood pumping out of him even as his flesh closed. Amaros stood over him. “Choose, John Michael. Your blood, or the safety of every GIM in London.” The GIM, not only Mary but Daisy, and by extension everyone Jack loved.

With a swirl of his black cloak, Amaros turned to go. “Trafalgar Square. One hour. Otherwise I’ll start with Mary Chase.”





Chapter Twenty-Five





Dread. It had been his companion for years. Constancy did not diminish its power. No, it merely made it grow. How strange then, that on the eve of seeing all his fears come to fruition, dread had lost its power over him. Jack was numb—no, not numb—he merely ached so badly that it blocked all other feeling out and made his limbs thick and heavy.

Mary. Her name bloomed in his mind without his permission. And a thick twist of discomfort went through his chest. He’d never believed in love. Never allowed himself to truly feel it. Not for his family—though he cared for them with a protectiveness that was fierce. And to have someone to call his own? Someone who claimed him as hers? Never had he believed in that. Because if he couldn’t love himself, how could he expect another to love him in return?

Ah, but the folly in trying to curb one’s emotions. It couldn’t be done. It was a joke, a lesson in futility. No matter how many mind games one played, emotion, need, love had an insidious way of seeping in. And while Jack did not know how to love, he knew with painful clarity how it felt to be in love. Agonizing.

He did not know what to do about that, but knew where he had to go.

The butler let Jack into the library and closed the door. Jack stopped at the threshold as the two men within turned in unison to look at him. What a sight they made, each man occupying a deep leather armchair set up before the cheery fire. The light set an orange-gold cast to everything, turning one set of eyes aqua blue and the other to pale ice. And sprawling upon the chest of the blond man, like a lumpy sack of potatoes, lay the youngest male in the room, his tuft of baby hair a lick of flame against his father’s fine tweed coat, now covered in drool.

“Don’t you two make the cozy couple,” Jack murmured.

Ian Ranulf grinned, his canines gleaming bright. But his voice came out whisper-soft. “If you wake this child, Jack Talent, I shall have your hide.”

Jack moved on quiet feet to claim a spot on the ottoman just between the two men. “I wouldn’t dare,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I’ve heard the little pisser screech too many times.” Ellis Lane was as vocal, if not more so, as his mum and aunts. A right charming devil, he was.

Winston Lane let out a small sigh as his head rested against the high back of his chair. “I do not even remember what an entire night’s sleep feels like anymore.”

With infinite care Jack reached out and laid his fingers on the curve of Ellis’s nappy-padded bum.

You want to know, want to belong somewhere.

Something inside him warmed and eased. Not enough, but it felt all right. “I take it Poppy is resting now?” Slowly he gave Ellis a tender stroke, all the while aware of Ian’s attention and the hopefulness of it. Jack’s iced-over heart gave a kick of regret.