His mouth dropped open slightly, an expression of profound surprise. She felt a twinge of satisfaction. Jack wasn’t easy to catch off guard.
“You can’t say that, Jessica. It’s not that simple.” His voice was hard, drawing a line he forbid her to cross.
Then the vehicle swayed and he caught her, his hands finding her waist. His touch had nothing in common with his tone. For once, their contact felt utterly natural, without hidden meanings. She melted into his embrace, softly closing the space between them. He let her nestle there, adjusting his position so she would fit all the better.
“Don’t tell me what I feel,” she replied softly. “My private feelings are the one true thing I have in this world of spies.”
He took a shaking breath—a sure sign of emotion in a vampire. Slowly, his fingers began to trace a pattern up and down her back in a slow, gentle caress. Lark didn’t speak. For once, she’d said the right thing at the right time and she wasn’t going to ruin it.
She tipped her chin to look at his face. His expression—or what she could see of it—was thoughtful. The shades had to go. Sliding upward, she pulled off his sunglasses and kissed him.
The effect was instant. His fingers tangled in her hair, drawing her close. Lark’s pulse began to pound, a giddy pleasure tingling through her body. The warm electricity coursing in her veins found a home low in her belly at the same time his fingers slid beneath her shirt, seeking out the lacy edges of her bra. Her fingers curled in the soft cotton of his shirt, gathering bunches of the fabric as she leaned in, savoring his flavor.
“Can we ever stop being agents?” he asked suddenly. “Truly?”
She froze, her lips millimeters from his. “Why not?”
“I never know what’s real with you.”
“Does it feel as if I’m seducing you for nefarious reasons?”
“You’ve done it before.” The lines beside his mouth were unbending. “Are you here to get something else from me?”
The words burned her worse than any fire. “No.”
He kissed her brow, lips soft against her skin, but the gesture was faintly mocking. “Are you sure?”
He was silent as she eased back to her side of the car. Once she was settled, he slid the sunglasses back on, disappearing behind the mirrored plastic. Regret pooled like something toxic in her gut. “I care about you.”
“We’ve already proved how well that works out between us.”
She stifled a sigh. “I think one day you’re going to have to forgive me, Jack. For your own sake.”
He didn’t speak. With those sunglasses on, she couldn’t even tell if he was looking her way.
She leaned back in her own corner of the car, folding her arms across her stomach. “My head hurts. I’m going to get some sleep.”
* * *
As Lark closed her eyes, Jack stretched out his legs as best he could and leaned back against the door. The vibrations were like a massage to his shoulders, and he should have relaxed, but that wasn’t in the cards. Not after that conversation.
He’d not been kind and he knew it—but sometimes questions had to be asked. And—it had to be said—he was used to the idea that Lark was in the wrong. He’d grieved for her, but she had done the unthinkable. Being the wounded party had given him power over the pain she’d dealt him.
And yet...here she was. The Lark who had come back to him was different. She seemed subdued, even restrained, like someone who’d been through a lot. That made sense—but perhaps recovering from the atelier fire wasn’t the only reason for the change. Might his memory of her be flawed? Anger and distrust had a way of distorting the past. He might be remembering a wily seductress who’d never actually existed.
Or am I willing to overlook the truth because I want to make love to her? Because he did—her presence, just an arm’s length away, burned like heat thrown from a flame. The softness in her glance said his touch would be welcome. His reluctance alone kept them apart. And yet...she had seen what was inside him. Logic said she should run away.
So why was she still here? He didn’t know. With most women, a knife to the gut meant goodbye.
Closing his eyes felt good. Vampires weren’t meant to be awake during the day. Daylight acted on him like a monstrous hangover and made it hard to think clearly. Direct sunlight wasn’t fatal, but it could deliver a nasty burn.
The bump and lurch of the heavy tires was oddly soothing, like a rocking cradle. Or maybe it felt like home. Although he’d been born in what was now Marcari, Jack had been a traveler almost as soon as he could sit a horse.
Exhaustion and regret swamped him like the stuffy air inside the Land Rover. His last fading wish was for a dreamless sleep. He didn’t get one.
* * *
Jack stood on the battlefield somewhere in the Holy Land, the sun beating down on carnage straight from hell. His mare was dead, flies already buzzing though her foam-flecked sides had barely stilled. More horses—big destriers as well as light-boned Arabs—were crumpled in the dust like broken toys, with arrows in their flanks. The stink was like a wall of corruption.
And for every horse there were three men: peasants, priests and mercenaries all there for their own reasons. Some came for faith. Most were there for money. Jack had been sent because he was one son too many and had to make his own way in the world.
The dead were everywhere he looked. Jack fell to his knees, his legs suddenly unstrung. He wasn’t sure how he’d made it through the battle, but sun and thirst were going to kill him. The thought was distant, edged with a remote panic that couldn’t claw its way in through the fatigue.
His helmet was baking hot, the narrow eye slit no relief. He raised his hands to remove it, but his arms were trembling with exhaustion. When he finally fumbled the thing off, he sucked in a rasping breath of air that tasted of sand and death.
And that was when he saw the man standing a few yards away, his eyes blazing like twin stars. The stranger was dressed in the light robes the Saracens wore, the breeze plucking at the thin fabric. Folds of cloth covered his face, shielding it from the sun and sand and leaving only a slit for those unearthly eyes. He held out a leather-covered bottle. “Drink.”
At that, fear kicked in, full colors flying. Jack staggered to his feet, his survival instinct dredging up fresh strength. “No! I know who you are.”
“So?” the man asked.
“I know what you are,” he whispered. “Demon.”
The man put a hand to his chest, mockery in his star-bright eyes. “You wound me.”
Jack took a staggering step back, putting distance between himself and the water skin that held cool, refreshing, damning relief. “Wound you? I wish I knew how to kill you.”
The man laughed, but the sound held an edge of impatience. Suddenly the figure looking back at Jack wore his own visage, dressed in modern jeans and T-shirt. “Liar. You look in the mirror every day and see my eyes looking back at you. You and I have become one.”
Terror speared Jack worse than any battlefield wound. He flinched back another step. “That’s never going to happen.”
“It happened.”
“I’ve kept you bound, Asteriel.”
“Don’t be an imbecile. You don’t even exist anymore. All you are is a handful of memories and a good jawline, human. The rest of you is me.”
“I’m not one of the Fallen. You are.”
“You keep saying that like it’s going to change something. You’re me. We’re one.” Jack’s twin swept a hand around the ancient scene. “You’re nine centuries too late to go home.”
“Are you sure about that?” Jack drew his sword.
His demon self rolled his eyes. “We have a bargain. One you’re going to need very soon.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t you figured it out, Jack? There ar
e two things we have in common besides your physical body. One is that we both think your fairy is hotter than a dragon barbecue. Stop vacillating like a nervous schoolboy.”
“About what?”
The demon’s teeth—Jack’s teeth—flashed white and sharp. “You ache to throw her onto your bed and possess her, body and blood.”
Jack felt the burn of shame rising to his face. “She betrayed me.”
The demon snorted. “Don’t judge a soul by one mistake. You of all people should know better than that.”
Jack ground his teeth. “I don’t take relationship advice from demons.”
Said demon folded his arms. “Judgment has a curious way of slicing the hand that wields it.”
Jack bowed his head. Anything that came out of the demon’s mouth was suspect, but there was the ring of truth in those last words.
He ground his palms against his eyes, blinded by the sun and rippling heat that sucked every scrap of moisture from the air. All he wanted was escape from the dream, but experience said it wouldn’t end until the vile creature had finished talking. And the conversation, as far as he could tell, had gone seriously off track.
“And what else do you and I have in common?” Jack asked.
“You know me. Think about it.”
His jaw was beginning to ache from clenching his teeth. “I don’t like guessing games.”
“You saw that hole in the ground where your headquarters used to be.”
“That was Dark Fey magic.”
The demon waved his hand in dismissal. “Around the edges. Do you really think the Blackthorns have that much power?”
Jack didn’t reply for a long moment. They were finally getting to some sort of point, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. “I don’t know their limits.”
The demon gave a derisive chuckle. “You’re going to need me before this is over. Prepare to embrace your dark side, my knightly friend.”
“Explain yourself!” Jack demanded.
“Nighty-night, knight.” And the dream was over.
Chapter 14
“Phones are back up,” Faran Kenyon said, arching his back until it cracked. “Either we’re far enough away from the magical interference or it’s died down.”
Lark was rummaging in a plastic storage box full of snacks. Whoever had stashed it in the Land Rover really liked granola bars but not chocolate, which seemed utterly perverse. Jack was still asleep in the back.
“Good,” she said. “I need you to phone your girlfriend.”
“Why?” Kenyon asked uneasily.
Lark turned to look out over the foothills. It was midafternoon and they had stopped at a lookout to change drivers. There was a reason this spot was marked on all the tourist maps. With the tall peaks looming ahead and the silver ribbon of the river below, it looked like the cover of a fantasy novel. All it needed was a flock of dragons. “I’ve been searching for Therrien Haven, but he’s gone missing, and we need blood from one of the Haven clan to work the spell.”
“I thought we wanted to keep the gates shut,” Kenyon said uneasily.
“We may need to open or close the gates, depending on how this mission unfolds. Lexie’s blood won’t be as potent as her father’s because she’s half human, but it will probably work.”
A stubborn look came over the werewolf’s face. “I’m not asking Lexie to come here.”
“No, I think she should stay as far away as possible, but she’s with Mark Winspear. He’s a doctor. He could draw a vial of her blood and bring it when he comes.”
Their plan was to rendezvous with the other two Horsemen ahead. There was one crossroad where the winding mountain highway—using the term loosely—connected with a road going east toward Italy. The Company members out on training still had choppers. Most would go back to help Valois guard the palace, but Sam Ralston was an experienced pilot who could navigate the mountain peaks. It was their best chance of getting ahead of the Blackthorns. Of course, their plans depended on getting a cell signal through the mountains. It was a good thing the Company carried the best possible equipment.
Kenyon was already dialing, taking advantage of the reception before they headed deeper into the range. It took him another ten minutes to reach both the other Horsemen and explain what they wanted. It said something about the team that they asked few questions despite the werewolf’s catastrophic tale. Meanwhile, Lark got behind the wheel and began adjusting the seat and mirrors. It was her turn to drive.
Finally, Kenyon put his head in the window. “If everything lines up, we’ll meet the others in a few hours. The pass is due north. Just follow the road. I’m catching some sleep.”
Lark nodded. There was no telling when the next opportunity for shut-eye was going to come around. No sooner had Kenyon retreated to the back than Jack slid into the passenger seat beside her. It was daylight, but the tinted windshield would keep the sun from doing him any real harm.
“Drive,” Jack said, folding his arms across his chest, his mood no better than before. “I’ve slept long enough.” He was clenching and unclenching his fingers.
She pulled out of the lookout area and turned onto the highway. “Really? I seem to recall times when it was hard to get you out of bed.”
The sunglasses hid his eyes, but one corner of his mouth quirked up in a self-mocking smile. “You know how to keep a good man down.”
“At regular intervals, as I recall.” Lark smiled to herself, taking the curve in the road just a little too fast. The roar of the powerful motor suited her mood. “Do you recall that place in Connecticut?”
It had been a historical manor redone as a hotel fit for royalty. Jack, of course, had booked the best suite. She had a mental image of him stretched out on the dark blue sheets of the canopied bed, pale skin like sculptured marble.
“That place was supposed to have quite the rose garden,” he mused.
“I don’t remember that.”
“We never got around to looking at it.” The quirk of his lips almost made it to a smile. “That didn’t bother me at the time.”
“It would have been nice to go back.” But that would never happen now. She didn’t even know why she’d brought it up.
Unexpectedly, he put a hand on her knee. “I would have liked that, too.”
“Really?”
He didn’t answer. Lark cursed the need to keep her eyes and mind on the road. She could only take a glance at his face, but it gave away nothing. And yet, unless she was very mistaken, it was almost as if he’d made an overture of peace between them. The knot of tension inside her eased a degree.
The conversation paused as she shifted down to navigate the steeper grade of the road that skirted the base of the first real mountain. The melting snows revealed its flanks of piercing green foliage, but scraps of white still clung to the top half of its slopes. Lark turned off the air-conditioning, suddenly chilled.
The river valley was far behind them now, the view ahead a sunlit meadow to the left and a wall of mountains to the right. There was little traffic, which made the surreal beauty of the scene all the more intense. Beautiful, except for one of the tallest peaks to their right. It was bare and black as pitch.
“What’s with that mountain?” she asked.
“They call it Dragon’s Tooth,” Jack said in a flat voice. “It was a battle site of the old wars. A demon destroyed the dwarves that lived beneath it because they would not surrender their gold. Nothing has lived there since. Not even a scrap of moss.”
“And the dwarves?” Lark asked, not sure if she should.
Jack paused a moment before speaking again. “They’re extinct. That’s what demons do. They destroy things utterly.”
The road snaked back and forth along the contours of the rock formations, and both of them were silent for the next hour. The s
trained atmosphere was finally broken when Jack pointed forward, all his focus on a black speck miles ahead. “Look there.”
“Is that the Suburban?” she asked.
Dusk was just starting to gather, lending a purplish hue to the light. Vampires could see well, but this was a stretch even for the undead. Jack pulled a set of field glasses from the pocket of the car door, slipping off his sunglasses long enough to peer through them. “Yes!” he said triumphantly. “I can’t see the whole license plate. The angle’s wrong, but the first part matches what Valois gave me.”
Lark urged the Land Rover to go faster, pushing it until she felt the vehicle lurch on the corners. The motion must have woken Kenyon, because he pounded on the privacy panel. Jack slid it open.
Kenyon’s face appeared in the opening. “What’s going on and do I need a crash helmet?”
“We’ve got eyes on the vehicle,” Jack replied. “It won’t be easy to catch them, but it’s a start.”
He was right. It wasn’t going to be easy because the winding road—while wonderfully scenic—multiplied the distance between the two vehicles. Frustration hunched Lark’s shoulders.
“Sit down and buckle up,” she ordered, slowing the vehicle. “This isn’t a Land Rover for nothing.”
“What are you doing?” Jack asked uneasily.
She waited until the Suburban went around the edge of the next curve and disappeared from sight. That meant, by extension, the Suburban couldn’t see the Rover. If she was going to make a sneaky move without blowing their cover, now was the time.
“There’s some land—I’m roving on it.”
And with that, she bumped off the edge of the road and began cutting across the open meadow, lopping off a meandering section of road that was nothing but a waste of precious time. Fighting the wheel, she gritted her teeth and hoped the vehicle was as good as its reputation. The ruts bounced her into the air a few times, but she gamely pushed the Rover forward, her eyes locked on her destination. Dead ahead, the landscape changed again where the road threaded a narrow gap between two mountains.
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