Читать книгу Possessed by the Fallen - Sharon Ashwood - Страница 12

Chapter 4

The compound had been reduced to dust, as if a giant fist had smashed it. Blackened rubble sketched the outline of buildings. Where there had been gardens, nothing but scorched earth remained. Heat still rose from the devastation, telling him the damage was fresh.

Of course it was. He’d spoken to the commander just that night. Whatever had happened had struck hard and fast, burning out almost at once and leaving nothing but ash behind.

Jack closed his eyes, fighting against the reek of death that rose up like a curse. The email slipped from his fingers, fluttering down the slope and into the ash. All agents to attend. Anyone who’d survived the initial blast had been trapped in a ring of fire. None of them—his friends, his mentors, the young ones he’d nurtured like sons and daughters—could have escaped. Jack’s fists clenched as rage welled in his blood, effervescent in its intensity.

If Lark hadn’t held me up, I would have been here. So why had she picked that moment to show up? Because she’s involved up to her slender, perfect neck. Her presence boded nothing good. Had she betrayed him and the Company again?

A roar of frustration ripped from his throat. Pale blue fire crackled along his fingers, arcing and snapping like something from a Frankenstein film. The urge to destroy rose up like strong liquor in his blood, ballooning inside his skull. Delirium made him feel suddenly weightless, as if he could dissolve into a formless cloud of death and retribution. He rode the sensation, letting it numb the wild pain in his heart.

Revenge would be better than sorrow. Revenge would taste as sweet as living blood on his tongue—and be every bit as addictive. But then Jack clenched his fists, exerting iron control. Once more he dragged the searing energy back into his flesh. The demon wasn’t going to win. Not today of all days. He drew in a shaking breath, more to steady himself than because he needed air.

“What happened here?” Lark asked from behind him.

Her timing couldn’t be worse. Jack whirled, gun at the ready and demon rage fresh in his heart. His senses quested, searching out his prey.

There was no one in sight. “Where are you?”

“Will you shoot me?”

“Probably.” His lips curled back to show fangs. “But my hands around your throat would be more satisfying.”

He’d been too distracted to notice Lark’s approach, but now could sense her. How could he not? His entire being was flooded with desire and rage, and she was at the core of it all. Her presence was like a magnet, drawing him as inexorably as iron—and yet her glamour was good enough to disguise exactly where she stood.

“Put away your gun, Jack.” That soft voice had an edge now. Whatever uncertainty she’d shown in the alley was gone.

“You’re in no position to make demands.” Fresh anger rose, warring with incredulity. He lowered the gun, but didn’t holster it.

Apparently that was good enough. Lark stepped out of the dark forest without warning. Here the moonlight was bright enough to catch her features, showing more than the shadowy murk near the café. For the second time that night, Jack’s dead heart nearly stopped all over again.

“Why did you disappear like that? Where did you go?” he demanded, but the words lacked force. It was hard to growl when he’d lost his breath. And then for a blessed instant he forgot the horror where the compound had been. He forgot everything but her.

Lark was beautiful, like all the fey—tall and slender with pale skin and delicate features. But her coloring, all creamy skin and mahogany hair, radiated warmth and life. It had been that vibrancy that had attracted him, her fey light to his profound darkness.

“I meant to leave,” she said. “But I got curious about what the commander wanted with you. I couldn’t figure out what was so important.”

“And so you kept on following me?”

She didn’t answer, but scanned the devastation below. The night vision of the fey was almost as good as a vampire’s and her eyes widened, her expression mirroring his horror. She crossed to his left, keeping distance between them, and peered down at the ruin. Slowly, she sank down to a crouch, one hand gripping the thin trunk of a sapling. She looked as if she might faint.

“By Oberon,” she gasped. “It’s all gone.”

“And everyone in it. There was an email calling a general meeting tonight. It came from administration. No way to know who actually sent it.” No way to know who had lured all the agents into the trap.

She turned to look up at him, her eyes wide and bright with tears, but her lips clamped in a grim line. “Did the commander have some hint of this?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Is that why he called you?”

“He knew something was up and that it was urgent, but obviously he didn’t know enough. He asked for my help.” Jack kept his voice steady, but his heart raged at the admission. “I should have come straight here.”

“But then you’d be ash, just like them.” Tears slid from her eyes, glittering as they fell. She wiped her cheeks with her fingers. There was no fuss or drama. Lark rarely wept, but when she did it was as graceful as everything else she did. Jack wanted—needed—to hold her, but logic stopped him from dropping his guard. She’d deceived him, abandoned him and spied on him.

And yet here she was again, sharing his tragedy in a way no one else could. The look on her face was identical to the emotion slashed into his soul. At a fundamental level, beneath the deception and anger, they’d always understood one another like twin spirits.

So Jack stood there in fury, cycling through love, desire, distrust and anger one more time. He had no idea what to do with her. He had to trust his head, because his heart was spinning out of control.

“Who did this?” Lark asked.

Fey. But he needed hard evidence, or at least more information. “I don’t know. But I do know you’re a wild card standing next to a crater where my home used to be.”

Lark’s head jerked up. She looked genuinely shocked as she rose to her feet. “I didn’t have any hand in that.” She gestured toward the scene of devastation below. “I swear.”

Jack holstered the gun, if not his suspicions. “The fey lie as easily as they breathe.”

The spark died from her eyes, replaced by anger. Without a word, she took three steps to close the distance between them, her long coat swinging with her strides.

“Don’t,” he warned.

But she kept coming. One moment she was out of reach, and the next her coat was brushing his knees—and he’d let her get so dangerously close because some mad part of him wanted her there.

Her fingers curled into fists and she raised them, poised to strike. He knew from experience she was a more than capable fighter. Quick as lightning, Jack grabbed her wrists. He felt her tense, her fierce fey strength straining against his.

“Don’t what?” she growled, her voice husky with anger.

“Don’t lie to me. Don’t do that to me again. Not now.” For an instant, her very nearness put him off guard. Yearning froze him where he stood and softened the iron strength of his grip.

“I didn’t do this!” She gulped a shattered sob, her anger sliding suddenly back to grief. “You have to trust me that much!”

“No, I don’t. I have no reason to.” Nevertheless, relenting, he released her wrists.

“No.” She shook her head, her eyes tightly closed. Tears stained her cheeks again. “You know me better than that.”

“No, I—”

“Remember this.” Lark slid one warm hand on either side of his face, pulling him down so that her mouth was on his. Jack took a breath to protest, but then she was stealing the air from his lungs and filling him with a painful longing that burned down to his core.

In that scene of death, she tasted like something hot and sweet and golden, and his emotions rocked with the contrast. Desire clawed through him, merciless as a tiger. It had been like this whenever they touched, as if madness could be transmitted by skin-to-skin contact. He jerked her close so roughly her feet left the ground. There was no need to hold back—the fey were almost as indestructible as the undead.

But the undead could be destroyed. They were standing next to their cold ashes. Reason slammed down like a sheet of ice, forcing Jack back to his senses. He released her almost as quickly as they had joined. His sudden move made her skitter back, panting from their kiss.

She opened her eyes, her dark gaze searching his face. Her expression was full of guilt, but there was anger sparking through her sadness, too. “What’s the matter, Jack? Didn’t you like that? You were the one pushing me against a wall just hours ago.”

Heat rose to his face, proving that once in a while vampires could blush. Of course he wanted her. The truth ached in his groin, but that wasn’t his smartest asset. “Don’t ask me to remember what we had. The ending’s not to your advantage.”

Her mouth flattened into a line.

He pushed on. “Now explain what you’re doing in Marcari. Did the Light Court send you? Why did you talk to me tonight of all nights?”

“I wanted to.” She smoothed the front of her coat, her look resentful. He saw the slight guilty tell—a downward shift of the eyes.

“I don’t have time for your games,” he snarled. “Not after that.” He jerked his head toward the ruins.

Slowly, Lark nodded. “Whoever did that needs to be caught. No question.”

“Who did it?”

She gave a slight shrug. Her lip was trembling, as if holding back another bout of tears. He prayed she didn’t start to cry, because as the first shock faded, howling grief was setting up shop in his gut and planning to stay for a good long while.

“It changes everything,” she said. “A move like this has got to be a part of something larger.”

She was right, but it wasn’t enough of an answer to satisfy Jack. Gruffly, he grabbed her by the elbow and began marching her toward the Escalade.

She tried to jerk her arm free without success. “Where are you taking me?”

“Away from this grave. It’s not safe to linger.”

“I can help you.”

“Do you really think so?” He quickened his pace, his long legs making her run. “No, sweetheart, helpful people don’t spy on me. They don’t lie and they don’t stab and they don’t disappear without a trace. How deeply are you involved in all this? Did you help burn down Headquarters, or are you one of the ones out to destroy the bride and groom?”

Lark made a furious hissing noise, much like a scalded cat. It was a fey warning that raised the hair along Jack’s neck.

“Don’t be a fool!” she spat. “Whatever else you may think, you know we have the same enemies. They did their best to kill us both, and now they’re here, killing our friends.”

Jack didn’t answer. He just forced her along the road.

Finally, she dug her heels in, forcing him to stop. “The wedding is almost here. Wake up, Jack. We have to work together.”

Work together. The notion held promise—of time in her company, of an excuse to bury their differences for days on end, of accidental intimacy. He’d been down that treacherous path before, and he’d lived the wreckage. Worst of all, he’d fallen in love with her.

But he knew better now. The past was over and done. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

Lark opened her mouth, but didn’t utter a word. He could see the memory of his demon written all over her finely boned face. Terror just made her more lovely—and the fact that he noticed it sickened him. She was right. He was slipping.

Impatient, he shoved her forward. He was almost back to the car. He could see a sports coupe parked farther down the road—no doubt the vehicle she’d followed him in, complete with spells to hide the tail. More fey deceptions.

“Jack, I...”

“Save it.” There were few things that could burn a vampire, but Jessica Lark was as deadly and beautiful as the sun.

He pushed her against the Escalade, spreading her feet apart as if she were any suspect. She suddenly seemed to lose heart, and stood quietly as he frisked her for weapons, taking the Smith & Wesson under her coat and the smaller backup in her thigh holster. His mood had gone icy, and it was possibly the first time he’d touched her without pleasure foremost in his mind. Then he grabbed her wrists, hooking them together with handcuffs that seemed huge around her slender bones.

It was the click of steel that finally got a reaction from her. She struggled free of his grip and wheeled around, her eyes wide with panic. In a painful throb, he realized that despite an instinctive fear of his demon side, she hadn’t predicted that he’d take her prisoner. She’d trusted him more than he’d trusted her.

“Jack, you have to listen to me!” she cried.

There were a lot of things he could have said, but it was better not to give the fey words they could turn against you.

So he kept it to one. “No.”