Shadowdance (Darkest London 4)

Mary’s breath caught. With shaking fingers she touched one of the brackets emphasizing that grin of his. “Ah, now, Jack Talent,” she said with quiet awe, “when you smile, your soul shines through.” Her palm settled on his warm cheek. “And it is utterly beautiful to me.”

His smile wavered, his eyes clouding with something like shock and discomfort. “Christ”—he laughed lightly—“that ought to be my line, Merrily, not yours.”

In a blink she was under him and he was sinking into her with a deep, smooth glide that took her breath, his body warm and loose-limbed from sleep. “Are you sore?” he murmured.

“Yes.” A delicious, decadent ache.

His mouth quirked, but he didn’t stop moving within her. “I’ll be gentle.” He kissed the sensitive spot on her neck. “But thorough.”

Shivers of heat licked up her sides as his hands skimmed along them, up over her br**sts, her arms, until he found her hands. Their fingers linked, and he held them tight. He’d trapped her, leaving her unable to do anything but feel. Jack in her, around her, filling her. Each withdrawal had her whimpering in protest. Each surge back in made her groan. And so slow that she couldn’t stand it.

“Feel good?” he asked, giving her back the words she’d asked him before.

“Yes.” She shuddered. “God, yes. But”—she licked her lips—“I want to move.” Her flesh was on fire, her muscles trembling in protest.

His smile was sweet, and evil. “I know, love.” He kept her pinned, his thick heaviness moving in and out just enough to torment. And the pressure within, the shuddering pleasure, increased. She struggled against it, and he caught her lower lip, suckling it, his slick tongue slipping into her mouth like a tease. She licked back, wanting to feel the hot sleekness of him, but he edged away and gave her a soft, chaste kiss instead. “I know.”

“Jack,” she growled. He was driving her mad. And he knew it, chuckling, his pace never faltering. Mary stretched, having nowhere to go. Her body wasn’t hers. It had become a needy, hot, pulsing thing. “Jack.” She licked the salty smooth skin along his collarbone, loving the way he shivered. It wasn’t enough. She wondered if it ever would be. “God, I want you.”

His smile was lopsided and wry, even as his eyes lit up. “Just so you’re aware, you’re having me.” He moved with a little grunt. “Right now, in fact.”

She laughed softly even as that greedy need grew stronger. “You move, you bloody breathe”—she spread her legs wider, trying to take him deeper—“and I want you more. I want to bite you, do you a violence.”

“Christ, Chase.” He thrust hard and firm, his lips parted on a ragged breath. “Christ. You destroy me.”

That dark, hot feeling surged again, and she turned her head and sank her teeth into the hard swell of his bicep. And he lost himself in her. Just as she wanted him to do.

This time, when she came, it was a quiet shiver that rippled over her body, her cheek pressed against his. They stayed that way for a moment, Jack a heavy, wonderful weight and her arms holding him as close as she could. “You are beautiful, you know,” she said.

He snorted softly. “I’ve always thought you were a bit touched in the head, angel.”

But she could hear the cautious happiness hiding behind his quip.

“That is because you don’t see your true self. But I do.” She smiled. “You cannot hide from me.”

Again the joy within him peeked out, but his voice was low and somber when he spoke. “That is because you own me heart and soul, Mary mine. You always have.”

Her own heart felt like a thing made not of metal but of spun glass, fragile and light. Her thumb traced the corner of his mouth, noting the way it stretched upward, despite his disquiet, as if her touch made him happy.

“I love you, Jack.”

He did not blink, not even when she kissed his mouth with infinite care. But she felt the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She kissed him again, tenderly because she knew he was unhinged just then. “I love you heart and soul.”

He was pale when he settled back, his eyes wide and searching. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” It was an easy thing to say. Keeping it back would have been harder, for she felt it with her whole being.

His hands wrapped around her forearms, and he dragged her up, laying her over his wide chest, where she could feel his heart pound. “I hear the words,” he said slowly, “only I can’t believe them.”

“Can’t believe that I love you? Or that anyone could?”

His lashes lowered. “They didn’t. My parents. They saw the true me and deemed me unworthy to live.”

Her fingers stroked along his scalp, then rested on his cheek. Jack leaned into the touch on a sigh.

“They were your childhood,” she said. “But they aren’t your family. You know who your real family is. One day you’ll know how much you are loved. You’ll feel it.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

How the crisp linen envelope with an SOS seal ended up on Jack’s bare chest hours later was a mystery. One he could not do anything about, for whoever had left it was long gone by the time Jack woke and found the thing. Easing out of bed, he left a sleeping Mary, fragrant and warm with the intoxicating scent of sex and sleep, to read it.

The message was simple, a time, place, and request that Jack arrive alone scrawled with a fanciful hand. An elaborate A was the only signature. Jack, having learned a thing or two from the men in his life, all of whom loved headstrong women, woke Mary and showed it to her. Last night he’d told her everything he knew of Amaros, and of his being a Nephil, which still unsettled him. Upon hearing that Jack was part angel, Mary had grinned wide. “Your dulcet nature ought to have been the first clue.”

“Ha!” Jack had murmured against her neck; his hands were busy elsewhere. “You are truly hilarious. A comic bard.”

“And to think you call me the angel.” She’d chuckled, a warm, contented sound that went straight to his heart. Her hands ran over his back. “My winged wonder—Ack!”

Mary Chase, Jack discovered, was ticklish. And they’d said no more for quite some time.

Now, resting on one elbow, Mary read the note. Sunlight shone in her hair, picking up glints of gold, bronze, and amber. “I do not like it,” she said when she’d finished.

“Nor I,” he said. “But I think I ought to go.”

“I am going to follow,” she said.

Jack smiled and leaned forward to kiss her soft lips. Happiness was a strange sensation. It filled him up until his body was tender yet strong. Fancy that. God, he’d had it so very wrong when he accused Ian of being weak with love. At this moment he felt infinite and invincible. And he felt afraid. For the world would not go away simply because they wanted it to. His hand smoothed down the satin dip of her waist before holding fast. “I did not doubt that for a moment.”

And so they went, Mary’s spirit drifting above him like a guardian angel. When they reached St. Paul’s, she disappeared, taking another route up so that he might arrive utterly alone. But he knew she’d be close. And it was a comfort he had not expected.

Trouble, Mary thought as she followed Jack up to the Golden Gallery, a viewing platform at the top of St. Paul’s dome. Though she was currently without a body, apprehension weighed her spirit down. The city sprawled out beneath her. It reminded her of a flea circus with tiny little figures darting to and fro, miniature wagons and carriages rolling here and there. There were times when Mary could watch the city for hours. Not think, not feel, just watch the world move on. Today was not one of those days.

The wind whistled, and beside her Jack hunched in his coat as he glanced about.

The air stirred again and became heavy with a presence. Whatever it was had power. Immense power.

On a snarl Jack spun around and faced whatever had arrived. Mary hovered above him, not able to help, which annoyed her greatly. More so when the strange presence showed himself.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Jack demanded.

The man who stood before them was of a similar height and build to Jack, his features stamped with the strong lines of a Roman coin. But that was where all trace of humanity ended. His skin was silver-white, translucent yet not, as if he were made of cut crystal. Even his hair, which curled about his temples, was brilliant silver. Most unnerving of all were the shimmering white wings that made two graceful arcs from behind his broad shoulders. The man let them look their fill, then smiled. A genuine gesture that seemed almost fond. “Master Talent.” His crystalline gaze shot to Mary. “Mistress Chase.” It was a voice so rich in timber that it shivered with power. “I am Augustus.”

“Doesn’t quite help me out, mate,” Jack snapped, his fists clenching. Mary knew him well enough now to understand that his protective instincts had been roused the moment Augustus spotted her.

However, Augustus’s friendly smile grew. His form shimmered, and he became a dark-haired, dark-eyed man who might have been an Italian. “In one life,” the man went on, “I was known as Marcus Augustus, Roman soldier and reprobate.” He shrugged, looking almost sheepish. “I lost all memory of myself for a while back then. However, I believe you’d best know me as Mr. Augustus Maximus.” That strange, almost beguiling smile returned. “After all, we are both members of the same society.”

“I don’t know any regulator by that name,” Jack said with a scowl.

“No, I don’t suppose you would, as I am not a regulator.” He took a small step forward. “My dear Poppy Lane calls me Father.”

Not Poppy’s father, but Father.

Jack gave a start. “You’re Father?” The enigmatic founder and head of the SOS.

He made a neat bow. “The very one.”

“Where have you been?”

A good question. According to Poppy, he disappeared for long stretches at a time.

“Here and There,” Father said. “There are three main planes of existence for my kind. Here, There, and Nowhere, which is the place your kind calls Hell. I might further explain it to you one day, but for now I’d rather discuss you.”

“And why would you do that?” Jack asked.

“Because we are blood.”

At this Jack straightened. And Mary eased closer. Something deep within said to trust this man. But that wouldn’t stop her from keeping up her guard.

“All angels are what you might consider blood relatives. My true name is Ramiel. Though I’d rather you call me Augustus. It feels fitting somehow when I am Here,” he mused.

Jack gave Mary a quick glance. “A Watcher,” he said. “One of the fallen angels.”

“We did not fall,” said Augustus. “We arrived. To be with man.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “A rather good choice, if you ask me. But it is true that all of the so-called fallen are cursed in one manner or another.”

Though Mary was not in her flesh, a shiver seemed to run through her spirit. She’d thought angels would be something less than human, something terrifying and menacing. Wrath of God and all that. But this man, he was more human than any supernatural Mary had ever come across. Every nuance of emotion expressed itself on his face and shone brightly in his now-dark eyes.

“I know your sire,” he said to Jack in a voice laced with gentleness.

Jack tensed, and Mary knew he loathed to show any hint that he cared. But he did. The child in him would. Even if the man had accepted his past. “I’ve heard that claim before. Forgive me if I do not jump to plead for the answer.”

Augustus shook his head slightly. “From Amaros, the cursed one. He is troubled.”

“An understatement.”

Augustus leaned against the iron balustrade. “For a fallen, it is quite easy to discern who your father is. For there is only one angel who has the gift of true healing. Raphael.”

Jack laughed then, an uncomfortable and incredulous sound. “Raphael? He’s a bloody archangel, not a fallen.”

“Debatable,” said Augustus with a small smile. “Regardless, there are only two beings in existence that possess healing blood. Raphael. And you.”

Jack’s lids lowered, his lashes hiding his eyes. But his shoulders tensed, and Mary rested her hand there. He would only feel the chill of her spirit, but even so he leaned closer as if he needed that contact. “What is he like?” Jack asked softly.

“He is impetuous. Full of life. Creating you was a mistake on Raphael’s part.” Augustus noticed Jack’s scowl and smiled. “A mistake in that he lay with Angela Talent, a woman who had no notion of what he was. He never took into account how fragile her mind might be.”

Augustus looked off, the fine lines around his eyes deepening. “We’ve been around longer than you can imagine. Living so long has not deadened us, but made us susceptible to emotions. Oftentimes we react without thinking things through.” He glanced back, his eyes wry and amused. “In truth, we do not like to think about things too deeply. Not any longer. Nor do we pay attention to this world as we ought.

“At any rate,” Augustus continued, “Raphael is no longer Here—”

“But There?”

“Yes,” Augustus said with a broad smile. “We all have our crosses to bear. Raphael’s is that he can no longer travel Here. My curse is that I can only be Here for a short period of time.” A shadow of sorrow darkened his eyes. “With each passing year, that period of grace grows smaller.”