For a wild, reeling second, his heart pounded, kicked by blood and passion back to a semblance of life. The giddy sensation forced Jack to gulp in air, and he reeled like a drunkard, balanced on the knife’s edge of pain and pleasure. Lark was sprawled beneath him in a loose-limbed daze of satisfaction, her hair tumbling like waves over her breasts.
Taking her hand, he kissed it gently and pressed her palm to his chest, where the beat of his pulse was already slowing back to nothing. He cleared his throat, the speech center of his brain balking like an ancient computer. “Never doubt that I want you. You’re life itself.”
Chapter 19
Lark listened with wonder to the last beats of Jack’s heart as it returned to its silent resting state. “I’ve never felt that before. Why—”
He cut her off, putting one finger to her lips. “It is a peculiarity of what I am.”
In other words, something about the demon made him more alive than a vampire should be. Passion had let its power slip free.
“Why haven’t I felt that before?” she asked again.
His mouth curved in a look of pure male possession. “Maybe I wanted you more than ever.”
Or maybe it was one more sign that he was losing control of the demon. Yet what had passed between them was as exquisitely blended as fine liquor, everything in balance. She was beginning to understand the complex creature Jack was, with his human reason navigating impulses no mortal could understand. Small wonder he was stubborn. He needed that strength of will.
Lark swallowed back a lump of complicated emotions, caught unawares by the sudden insight. It seemed to demand words, something profound, but nothing she could find measured up. Helplessly, she ran her hands down Jack’s chest, letting her fingers trace the swell and dip of his muscles.
“I missed you,” she said, devastated by her lack of eloquence.
“Hey,” he said, brushing at her cheek with his thumb.
Lark touched her face and realized she was crying, all her pent-up emotion finally finding release. “I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed by the tears.
“Hush.” Jack kissed her, his lips lingering on the tracks of her tears and teasing her mouth until she returned his smile. If he meant to banish her sadness with affection, it was working. Despite the dangers that lurked ahead, she felt a flicker of hope.
When he finally let her go, she could feel his mood changing, his gentleness turning to hard purpose. “It’s dusk,” he said. “We should get moving.”
By the time she dressed and picked up her pack, the light had faded to a purplish hue, washing the reds and yellows of the landscape to gray. The first stars pricked the sky between the branches overhead. Jack pulled her into the circle of his arms, kissing her forehead. It was a fond gesture, but his body was strung tight as a bow, ready for battle. Even so, he took her hand as they set out.
With little conversation, they found the path and pushed through the forest toward the mountain. It was a hard slog on rising ground, and Lark’s muscles protested. Now that they were closer to their destination, a pall of gloom seemed to hang in the air. Beneath that, energy buzzed in a soft, sinister murmur.
Jack stopped, the cliff face only a dozen yards ahead. They studied the rock face in the growing darkness. “See any secret tunnels?”
“Where should I be looking?”
Jack pointed northwest. “The Derrondine Pass is on the other side of this mountain. The gates to the Dark Fey kingdom are in the lake. That puts the Blackthorns’ hangout dead ahead.”
Lark bit her thumbnail. “Give me a minute. I’m sensing something nearby, but I’m having trouble getting a fix on it.”
“Go for it.”
Lark cast her senses outward, trying to get some sense of where the buzzing was coming from. The pull of the magic was definitely to the north. “That way,” she said, pointing.
Jack put a hand on her arm, stopping her before she could move. “Should we be trying to avoid the source of this magic? What’s your read on it?”
Lark shook her head. “Recon only, but if that’s where the party is, we need to know who’s dancing. I don’t think it’s just Dark Fey. There’s a taste of other energies, too.”
Faster than her eye could follow, Jack dropped his hand and drew his weapon. “Other energies?”
“Shifter, maybe sorcery. It’s...unusual.”
They moved silently through the woods side by side, and kept the mountain to their left. Lark saw the light first. It seeped through an inch-wide crack that outlined a rounded doorway at least twenty feet high. In daylight, they would have missed it. The door itself was made of the same material as the face of the rock and there was no handle or knob.
She stopped, crouching in the shadows next to the rock. Jack took a position next to her, his shoulder brushing hers. “Speak friend and enter?” he suggested.
“You do know the fey regard Tolkien the way vampires do Stoker, right?”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t suppose they’d open the door if we knocked politely?”
Lark was silent, thinking hard. Her brain almost clicked as a plan suddenly presented itself. It was a horrible, awful, dangerous and idiotic plan, but those very qualities meant it might just work. She turned to Jack. “Did you bring any explosives?”
Despite being a vampire, Jack paled.
* * *
“The more suicidal a plan is, the better you like it,” Jack grumbled half an hour later, dusting dirt from his fingers. He’d spent half his time looking for surveillance systems and hidden cameras. The man didn’t trust even the toadstools.
“You’re the one who won’t leave the house without a brick of plastic explosives somewhere on your person,” Lark retorted.
“And aren’t you glad I have interesting hobbies?” Jack pushed a button on his remote detonator and a large patch of brush, rocks and dirt flew into the air with a hearty rumble.
Lark loved working with Jack. He knew how to do everything.
Exactly fifteen seconds later, the sliver of light around the door grew as the heavy rock slid forward with a loud scraping sound. It didn’t open all the way—just enough to let someone pass through. But that was okay. Lark hadn’t expected anything more.
A half dozen figures in dark clothing crept out, automatic weapons at the ready. They advanced with an efficiency and coordination that spoke of military training. Muzzles swept the trees and shadows, searching for the source of the noise.
“Night World mercenaries,” Jack murmured. “Shifter or fey?”
Lark studied their faces, picking out what details she could in the darkness. There were plenty of lone wolves, half fey and other unaligned creatures willing to sell their services to the highest bidder. The Company butted heads with them on a regular basis.
“A mix,” she returned, taking a firm grip on his forearm. “Come on.”
With that, she cast a glamour on them both, rendering them invisible just like she had at the palace. Two mountainous guards still stood by the door, weapons at the ready, but there was enough room to creep behind them. Lark waited until a gust of wind stirred the leaves, and then she and Jack slid through the door, the dry rustling hiding the noise of their passage.
Once inside, they found no one. Rather than the network of caves they’d expected, the smooth shaft ran through the rock. Electric lights hung along the walls, providing the illumination she’d seen from the outside. Lark and Jack hurried forward, holding hands and moving as quietly as they could. The place echoed like an empty auditorium.
Lark struggled not to think of the mass of rock overhead. Fey were woodland creatures, not fond of enclosed spaces, and being underground was already working on her nerves. Her only comforts were Jack’s hand around hers and the knowledge that they were cutting miles off their journey with every step.
“Do you th
ink this was built with magic?” Jack asked quietly, a disembodied voice beside her. “No troll or goblin made this. It’s too perfectly done.”
“Magic made parts of it anyway,” she replied. “Though, I’m not sure who has that kind of power. A sorcerer?”
“Hard to say,” Jack replied. “Most of them are crazies sitting around in pajamas and a pointy hat talking to toads all day. I’m thinking bigger.”
His words seemed prophetic when the long tunnel abruptly ended and the passage through the mountain widened into a cavernous room. This looked more like a huge cave, but one that had been outfitted with doors, lockers and—Lark blinked when she saw it—a coffee nook complete with microwave. By the number of doors, corridors and signage in several languages, they were seeing just a tiny sliver of an enormous complex. Soldiers and laboratory workers hurried down the corridors and across gangways like determined ants.
Jack was looking around curiously. “This reminds me of something from one of my dreams.”
“You dreamed of this place?” Lark asked.
“No. It was something Asteriel said... Do you really think the Blackthorns have that much power? Someone helped them blow Company HQ as completely and quietly as they did, and someone built this. It’s not the Dark Queen, because she’s still locked up. They’re working with another ally.”
They pulled aside as a group of black-clad soldiers marched past, wheeling a two-tiered trolley piled with equipment. Lark felt the pressure of Jack’s fingers, and heard his grim whisper in her ear. “This place looks as if it’s ramping up for action. They have a window of opportunity before the Company’s other locations can send reinforcements to Marcari.”
He was right. If the Dark Queen was smart, she’d make her move immediately. They didn’t have much time.
She felt the quick pressure of his fingers again. “Look to your left,” he said.
There was a sign pointing down a long hallway. The legend—in French, English and two dialects of Fey—read Custodial Cells. The prison. Lark’s heart jolted with wild hope and horror in the same beat. If Kenyon, Amelie and Kyle were in this place, that was where they would be held.
“Shall we?” murmured Jack.
Chapter 20
Something felt wrong.
It didn’t feel wrong all at once, or Lark would have protested the detour. She and Jack had turned left, leaving the main path through the mountain and entering a bare, tiled hallway that looked like something out of a second-rate hospital.
As soon as they did, though, her nerves began to hum. There was foul—or, more accurately, fouler—energy here in this part of the complex. The corridors were set around a circular bank of desks and monitors, radiating out like the spokes of a wheel. Lark guessed it was a command center of some kind. Black-clad soldiers crowded the area, marching in groups or hurrying by with computer tablets or armfuls of supplies.
Jack and Lark followed another sign pointing toward the cells, and her misgivings went from caution to high alert. The path grew darker and full of twists and turns. Doors lined either side of the hallway, spaced a dozen steps apart. They were heavy gray steel and had narrow, high windows and keypad locks crackling with spells. Jack swore softly and pulled her aside as two mercenaries wearing heavy weapons belts—shape-shifters, from their massive size—swaggered toward them. Their wide shoulders filled the passageway from edge to edge in a wall of scowling black.
Lark’s heart squeezed with alarm. Her glamour made them invisible and masked their scent, but it wouldn’t survive direct contact. Jack pressed himself into the slight depression made by one of the steel doors, sucking in his breath as the pair drew close. Lark slid off her backpack and held it in one hand as she plastered herself against the tile wall. Clutching Jack with her other hand, she stilled her breathing despite a pounding pulse. If only the guards would hurry up and pass by—but they were deep in conversation.
“He’s in the medical unit, boy. He won’t be going anywhere,” said one guard to the other, gesturing toward the doorway where Jack was standing.
The pair stopped. “Should we check on him?” the second guard asked.
She felt Jack tense, his fingers twitching. She guessed the problem—the guards were too close for him to move away if they went for the door. A bead of sweat trickled down the small of her back as the larger of the two shifted his weight and the baton in his belt brushed her arm. An inch more and he’d realize someone was standing behind him. She barely dared to inhale.
“No point,” the first guard grunted. “The medics have been in and out. Prisoner or not, he’s past needing a guard.”
“Then, why bother coming down here at all? Cells are empty except for the one.”
Jack’s hand tightened around hers, lending her strength. She squeezed back.
The first guard coughed and sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Listen, boy, a mindless wander around these parts is better’n some tasks. Get on the wrong side o’ some folks and, well, who’s going to argue for the likes of us, eh?”
“Get on the wrong side of who?” The second guard shifted nervously, nearly stepping on Lark’s foot.
Lark shrank into herself, desperate not to make a sound. The baton tickled her elbow, teasing her like a prodding finger. She was exquisitely aware of Jack’s tension as he readied to spring to her defense.
The first guard made a rude sound. “Stop asking questions, boy. Asking just gets you more work.”
“That would be a tragedy.”
“Spoken like the green soldier you are. Just wait a few years and you’ll realize that high ground you’re on is a pile of—”
“Yeah, yeah, and you walked miles to school through a troll-infested swamp.”
“Smart-ass. You’re buying the first round tonight.”
The guards moved away, and Lark all but gasped with relief. Cloth rustled, and Jack pulled her into his arms, holding her hard. It was odd, embracing without being able to see him, but she closed her eyes and let her sense of touch fill in the detail. Her fingers explored the leather of his jacket, the soft cotton shirt that fit tight over the swell of his chest. His hair brushed her cheek as she leaned into his arms, her body suddenly alive with the memory of their lovemaking.
The need to touch Jack burned through her with the force of panic. It was an animal demand born of fright, but at least some of it was a rebellion against the wrongness of the place. Her soul needed something sane and right, because this nest of threat beneath the mountain surely wasn’t. Her hand stroked his cheek, finding the nape of his neck where his hair curled as soft as a child’s and pulled him down to her.
Jack’s lips brushed her brow, then worked their way down her face in tiny light kisses. She tilted her face up as she would to a warm spring rain, letting him find her mouth. Perhaps they didn’t have time for this—they were in enemy territory—but the stolen moment seemed all the sweeter, bolstering her courage. She allowed herself a tiny moan of gratitude.
And nearly jumped out of her skin when the lock behind Jack gave a sepulchral clank. They darted aside, fingers still wound together, as the door swung open with a slight whoosh that said the room beyond it was airtight. Lark caught the scent of antiseptic and blood as well as the unmistakable tingle of magic. This had to be the medical unit the guard had mentioned, but it wasn’t ordinary medicine going on in there.
They watched as a tall, thin figure in a gray uniform and white lab coat emerged. He looked like a half fey, with elegant features and long, supple hands. Instead of a computer tablet, he had a slim binder with papers clipped to the front. He frowned and flipped through the pages as he walked away. Lost in thought, he didn’t seem to notice Jack catch the door before it clicked entirely closed.
According to the guard, this was where at least one prisoner was being held. They slipped inside without a sound. The room beyond was dim excep
t for a curious piece of medical apparatus in the center. A visual sweep confirmed they were alone.
“Cameras?” Lark asked softly.
Jack took his time looking. “No. There’s probably too much ambient magic for that kind of tech.”
With a sigh of relief, Lark released Jack’s hand, letting the glamour fade. She needed the rest—all at once, her head was pounding again.
Silently they approached the huge machine that rose at least ten feet from the cold tile floor. Lark circled to her left, trying to make sense of it. There was a large white control unit attached to a tilted platform. Blinking lights and dials were everywhere, but much of the detail was lost in a tangle of wires and tubes. But Lark quickly forgot all that, for she saw a figure strapped to the platform, arms and legs outstretched and strapped with thick leather and iron buckles.
Iron robbed fey of their powers. With a sudden rush of dread, Lark darted forward to get a better look at the prisoner. He was male, wearing only a scrap of towel despite the chill of the room.
It was Therrien Haven. Lark’s heart all but stopped. “By Oberon!”
Instantly she was at his side, feeling for a pulse despite the banks of monitors all around him. She wanted the evidence of her own senses that he was still alive.
Therrien Haven looked about thirty, though he was centuries old. He was one of the red fey, with pale skin, green eyes and hair the fiery color of the sunset. Like all the Light Court, he was handsome. Or had been. Captivity had wasted his flesh and dulled the flame of his brilliant coloring. But as Lark touched him, his eyes flicked open, his expression wary despite whatever drugs he’d been given.
“Fair greetings, Haven,” she said in their own tongue.
Jack quickly moved to the other side of the platform. “Did you say Haven?”
Lark nodded. “We’ve found Therrien Haven.”
Haven gave a slight cough and replied in English. “I probably don’t look much like my driver’s license at the moment.”
Possessed by the Fallen Page 15
