Shadowdance: The Darkest London Series: Book 4

by Kristen Callihan

  With the bearing of a duke’s son, Lane stopped at a pair of massive doors hung on rollers, and pushed one wide.

  Sunlight poured through the glass ceiling and bathed Holly’s dirigible with brilliant white winter light. Standing at the prow, his form just visible behind the wide glass windows, was Jack.

  Mary began to smile, her heart whirring just a bit faster.

  Seeing her, he moved away from the window and emerged a moment later to deftly descend the dirigible’s ladder. Mary barely noticed Inspector Lane stepping away. Her attention was on the man walking toward her.

  And then Jack was there. Neither of them spoke, Mary because he’d struck her dumb. The man who stood before her was the Jack Talent of old, impeccably dressed and groomed, so very stiff with formality, and yet he was also the Jack she’d become close to, large and vibrating with strength and energy. He was utterly gorgeous.

  He wore a charcoal-grey morning suit that hugged the broad strokes of his torso like a second skin. The cutaway coat emphasized his strong thighs and long legs, encased in dove-grey trousers. A smoky-green silk tie was knotted beneath his pristine white collar, the contrasting hues emphasizing the color of his eyes and the golden tone of his skin.

  “Well, look at you,” she finally managed.

  A tinge of color washed over his broad cheeks. “It was past time.” His voice was subdued, almost hesitant, and Mary wondered again what he was about this day.

  Jack took another step, then planted his feet and linked his hands behind him. Such a stiff pose, yet his eyes roamed over her with a kind of hunger that made her flush. Why wouldn’t he embrace her? He stood as though he were afraid of her, but looked at her as if she were the only person in the room. Mary did not know what to make of this change. Nor did she know how to act in the face of it.

  “You are beautiful,” he blurted out, then took a deep breath. “Truly.”

  “Thank you.” It almost came out as a question because she still could not fathom what reason he had to be nervous.

  Gently, as though she might break, he took her hand, engulfing it in his big, warm one. “Come for a ride with me?”

  A flush of pleasure washed through her. “Up? In the air?”

  He grinned, that brilliant, glorious grin that made her knees weak every time she saw it. “That is the idea.” He tugged her forward.

  Excitement mounted as Mary climbed the ladder into the dirigible’s cabin. Smelling of polished wood and motor oil, the cabin gleamed in the sunlight. It was an open space with large windows on three sides. A group of armchairs had been bolted to either side of the cabin floor, each chair facing a window. To the fore, a wall cut the pilot’s booth off from the main cabin, and the door to it lay closed.

  “Do you know how to pilot this thing?” she asked Jack, who stepped in beside her.

  “No need to.” Jack reached out and grabbed a brass cone that came out of the wall. He spun a small lever next to it, and the air crackled with sound. “All set back here, Charlie,” he said into the cone.

  Before she could question, a great shudder ran through the craft as the engines roared to life. The cabin vibrated, and Mary took a step nearer to Jack. Laughing softly, he cradled her close and drew her to the window. “Look,” he whispered. Below, Inspector Lane was now at the control box. He fiddled with the dials and knobs, and a loud clattering followed.

  Mary and Jack craned their necks to see the massive iron chain dangling from the hangar wall start to move. Far above them the glass-paneled roof pulled back.

  Jack’s lips grazed her ear. “Off we go.”

  The craft lurched, and Jack braced them. Mary’s insides dipped. She clutched Jack tighter and looked out.

  “Scared?” he whispered, a note of concern in his eyes.

  “No.” Mary grinned. “Thrilled.”

  They laughed together as the airship rose, up, up, up. London seemed to sink away, falling farther and farther below. A lovely illusion. And beneath her feet, the wondrous ship swayed and surged, a thrilling combination of power and buoyancy.

  “You said you wanted to know how it felt to fly,” Jack said to her as the craft turned east and billowy clouds, pierced by sunbeams, rolled past.

  “Jack…” She cupped his cheek. “It is perfect.”

  A flush worked across his skin, and his lashes lowered. Strangely bashful, he studied the floor before him. “Your scent,” he said abruptly. “Your voice. Your humor. Your kindness.” He glanced at her, then away. “Your smile.” Taking a short breath, he faced her, his shoulders back and square. “In that order.”

  Mary blinked at him. “I’m sorry?”

  His flush grew. “Damn…” Jack’s mouth firmed. “Those are the things I first fell in love with about you. When we met that night on Lucien’s barge.”

  “Oh… well.” A lovely warmth spread over her skin as she stared up at him.

  “But what captured my heart”—he swallowed quickly, his eyes not quite meeting hers—“what stole my soul, was your mind. That sharp, twisted, utterly lovely mind.”

  He looked at her then, brows raised a bit, his expression soft. “I didn’t want you to think it was merely physical, you see.”

  She did see, and the warmth in her bloomed bright. He opened his mouth to speak but she beat him to it.

  “Am I not allowed to give my list as well?”

  “Oh. Yes. Of course.” Jack shifted his weight, bringing his hands back before him like a pupil facing a headmaster.

  Mary’s lips wanted to twitch, but she kept her expression neutral. “The impeccable cut of your suit. Your gorgeous eyes.” He flushed at that. “Your voice, smooth as cream sherry. Your wit. And your smile, like the sun on the sea.”

  Jack cleared his throat, a gruff male sound that made her smile.

  “But what captured my heart, stole my soul, was the dark, twisted, ridiculously blunt”—he scowled, though humor lit his eyes—“wonderfully loyal man inside that delicious package.”

  “Mary…” He took her hand and led her to a chair. As she sat he made that nervous sound again, his skin ruddy against his white collar. When he sat in the chair opposite her, his spine was stiff. Behind him, framed by the windows, endless blue sky opened up. Large blocks of sunlight drifted across the floor and landed upon his shoulders. Hints of bronze glinted in his dark hair as he bent his head and stared at his hands. “The thing is, we’re not like other people.”

  She nodded, still at sea with this whole strange conversation.

  “We’ll live forever,” he went on, his color high and his voice growing increasingly strained. “Societal laws don’t truly touch us.” Jack’s head jerked to the side as if he found his collar too tight. “You and I… we might go on just as we are now, and be content.”

  Mary’s heart clicked. What was he trying to say? But before she could ask, he was moving. Her breath caught as he knelt before her, taking her hands in his own. His fingers were ice-cold and trembling along with his voice. “The thing is,” he whispered, keeping his eyes on their hands, “while I’ll have you any way you let me, for however long as I can, I want—”

  He took an audible breath and then raised his gaze to hers, and Mary’s throat closed. The whole of his soul was reflected in the green depths of his eyes. Utterly, perfectly beautiful.

  “I want the pomp and circumstance. I want to vow before our friends and family that I shall love and protect you. I want the world to know that you are mine and I am yours. So then…” He licked his lips and quickly hurried on. “Mary Chase, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife? I know that I’m not—”

  She grabbed hold of him and kissed him silent.

  “Yes,” she said against his lips. “Yes to all of it.”

  And he fell into the kiss, his mouth desperate, his tense body letting go with a shudder.

  “Thank God,” he breathed, then kissed her again, quick, loving kisses that had her laughing. But he soon jerked back. “Damn it…” Jack let her go and fumbled abou
t in his coat. “I knew I’d get it wrong.” His ears grew red as he pulled a gold ring from his pocket.

  “Now, I’ve heard that women fancy diamonds, and I’ll go back and get you one if you desire it, but…” He shook his head a little, his brows furrowing as he took her hand in his. “I saw this ring and thought, ‘That is us.’ ”

  Mary bent forward to see, and when she did, a happy laugh broke from her. Coiled around each other to form a ring were two stylized golden snakes, their little heads tucked close to form the ring’s face. Prince Albert had given Queen Victoria something similar. Snakes for immortality and eternal love. “It’s perfect,” she whispered.

  Slowly, and with a bit of difficulty, for his hands shook, Jack slipped the ring onto her finger. The light caught it, and the tiny emerald and topaz stones that made up the respective snakes’ eyes flared. Another wave of giddy laughter surged through Mary, and she wrapped her arms around Jack.

  He pulled her close, rising and then settling back on the chair with her in his lap. The cabin dipped and swayed as the airship changed course. And Mary’s heart felt buoyant. Together they watched London roll away, all dark shadows and hard angles. Ahead of them lay an expanse of green with the blue sliver of the English Channel just beyond.

  “It’s all right, then?” Jack asked after a moment.

  Still worried. Dear man. She glanced down at the little gold snakes on her finger. Cold-blooded creatures whom most thought unable to love. And yet there they were, coiled about each other in perfect contentment. Stronger together than apart.

  “It is us, Jack. To a T.” Mary cupped his cheeks. “I love you.” She kissed his nose. His chin. “I love you, John Michael Talent.” She kissed his mouth. “I love you, Jack.”

  He let go of a long breath. “Don’t ever stop.” He kissed her back, softly lingering.

  “Never.”

  Jack’s hands slid to her shoulder blades, holding her against him. “Don’t ever stop telling me,” he demanded softly against her mouth. “Tell me today, and tomorrow, and all the days after.”

  She sighed into him, taking his breath, giving him hers. “You’ll grow weary of hearing it.”

  His hand eased down her back. “You’ll have to test the theory and see.” Then he flipped her, so quickly and easily that she could only squeak before she was on the chair and he was blanketing her with his body. She loved the size of him and that he could move her about as he willed.

  “And what of me?” she asked, wrapping herself around him. “Am I not to receive such verbal admiration?”

  Smiling, he kissed her. “That and more. I’ll tell you until you think it your name.” His lips found her neck. “And every look I give you will say the same: I love you. Wholly. Utterly. Completely.”

  She chuckled, nuzzling closer. “But those words mean the same thing.”

  “Precisely. That I love you.” He raised his head to glare at her, though not very effectively. “Stop trying to distract me, Chase. I have an objective here.”

  “Which is?” A silly question. She could feel his objective rather insistently nudging her thigh.

  A low, pleased growl rumbled in his throat as she shifted her leg, and he nipped her shoulder. “Demonstrative proof.”

  Epilogue

  He died. He remembered that clearly. Died in pain and degradation, his body taken and torn asunder. He remembered the pain, how the jagged blade had carved into his chest, and how they’d ripped his heart out and replaced it with one of metal. Strange that the pain hadn’t left him. He’d fancied that once dead, one would feel no pain. Apparently that was not to be. You’re in it now, mate. Unending agony that he couldn’t get away from, couldn’t catch his breath between.

  Should he be able to breathe if he was dead? He stopped to think about this and realized he didn’t know his name. Didn’t know who he was or what he’d been. Panic surged, and he tried to focus. But there was only that heart, so heavy and unwelcome, clicking and whirring within his breast. And blackness. All-encompassing. Black. Pitch. Tar. Raven. Wings…

  Words bounced about in his mind like water over a rocky path. Focus. He would remember. And when he did, the one who had hurt him would pay.

  Jet. Sable. Ebony. Night…

  His eyes snapped open. “Evernight.”

  Also by Kristen Callihan

  Firelight

  Ember (short story)

  Moonglow

  Winterblaze

  Entwined (novella)

  Praise for the

  Darkest London Series

  Winterblaze

  “Top Pick! 4½ stars! Like all good things, Callihan just keeps getting better and better. The third installment in the Darkest London series is not only a gripping novel, but also one that elevates the genre with its depth of emotion, passion, and mesmerizing storytelling. Callihan doesn’t just create worlds, she moves readers into them with unforgettable characters and stunning revelations. Once begun, it’s impossible to put down WINTERBLAZE.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Pulse-pounding… Callihan masterfully toggles between Winston and Poppy’s meeting in Victoria Station in 1873 and their present day in 1883, building an intricate world and solid romantic tension. An epilogue will whet reader appetites for future installments.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Dark, dangerous, and totally enthralling, this latest edition to Callihan’s Darkest London series treats fans to a heart-tugging, satisfying romance, fills in a few series blanks with well-handled flashbacks, and nicely sets the stage for stories that are sure to come.”

  —Library Journal

  “Page-turner is an understatement in describing WINTERBLAZE. Readers will be hard pressed to put this book down once the opening scene unfolds… Another Perfect 10 by Ms. Callihan, and I very highly recommend reading this entire series.”

  —RomRevtoday.com

  Moonglow

  “Action-packed… This richly textured tale of 19th-century London interweaves intricately imagined and historically accurate scenes with red-hot sensual interludes. Like the first, a deeply compelling and imaginative story.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “4½ stars! Top pick! Darkest London glows with the light of Callihan’s creativity in the second installment of her unforgettable paranormal series. With a strong, sensually charged conflict, intense emotions, chilling suspense and thrilling action, readers will enjoy this haunting tale. Callihan sets the mark for a new style of paranormal historical.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “I really loved this book, very sexy, and tons of adventure.”

  —USA Today’s Happy Ever After blog

  “A smart, intrepid heroine who is unaware of her own gifts, a tormented, deeply conflicted hero, and welcome characters from the previous series title combine with breathtaking sexual tension, seductive dialogue, and poignant tragedy to propel the complex plot to its intriguing conclusion… Dark, violent, and addictively enthralling, this exceptionally steamy tale is a worthy sequel to Callihan’s stunning FIRELIGHT and a perfect lure for WINTERBLAZE, the third sister’s tale.”

  —Library Journal

  “Simply fantastic… beautifully written… A Perfect 10 is rare for a debut author, probably more rare for the second novel, but MOONGLOW more than deserves the accolade.”

  —RomRevToday.com

  Firelight

  “A compelling Victorian paranormal with heart and soul… The compulsively readable tale will leave this new author’s fans eager for her next book.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Beauty and the Beast meets Phantom of the Opera in this gripping, intoxicating story… An exceptional debut and the first of what promises to be a compelling series.”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “4½ stars! Top pick! Seal of Excellence! Like moths to a flame, readers will be drawn to the flickering FIRELIGHT and get entangled in the first of the Darkest London series… Cal
lihan crafts a taut tale filled with sexual tension. This is one of the finest debuts of the season.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “FIRELIGHT draws readers in… Murder, a secret society, and overwhelming desire keep Archer and Miranda on their toes—and keep readers turning pages.”

  —BookPage

  “A perfect 10! FIRELIGHT is a debut novel that will knock your socks off. Readers are not going to be able to casually read this novel. It’s a page turner… The growing passion between Archer and Miranda steams up the pages… Excellent secondary characters and an amazing premise… I can’t wait for the next book.”

  —RomRevToday.com

  “All this reviewer can say is wow! The sexual tension and story suspense is so thick it becomes tangible like the very fog of Victorian London.”

  —TheRomanceReadersConnection.com

  “This is one powerful story… Never read anything quite like it. Could not imagine the ending either. Read it—if you dare.”

  —RomanceReviewsMag.com

  Once the flames are ignited, they will burn for eternity.

  Please turn this page for an excerpt from the first Darkest London novel,

  Firelight

  Firelight

  Getting married was a happy dream that had filled Miranda’s girlhood thoughts and promptly left as she grew older. She well knew the face that looked back from the mirror each morning. She was not foolish enough to pretend that she was without beauty. Vanity may be a sin but so was lying. She was fair of face and form, though she knew many a girl who looked better.

  However, as a woman without fortune or title, she received few offers of marriage. The most consistent offers came in the form of teasing shouts from market vendors when she walked to Covent Garden each Saturday morning. How then, she thought as Daisy pinned white roses in her hair the following morning, had it come to this?