Shadowdance (19 page)

“I do not squirm.” That he knew what she was about annoyed her. That he knew precisely what she wanted to discuss made her want to hit him.

Talent merely stared at her, his brows winging up in that way of his that appeared at once expectant yet reproachful.

“Very well,” she snapped. “You asked me how I found you…” Mary licked her dry lips and pressed her palms closer together. “I should like to know how you saw me.” Pray God the heat in her cheeks did not show.

His body was unmoving, his rough-hewn face expressionless. Only his eyes were alive, glittering with dark intent as his gaze roved. The air about them seemed to still and grow heavy, as they both relived those moments. And though her skin scorched now with that heat and her dress became oppressive, she refused to lower her eyes in deference.

The moment swelled, then he moved. A simple adjustment in his seat, but enough to make her heart stutter. “It appears,” he said in a bland tone, “that this connection you forged works both ways.” Again, his unwavering attention bore into her. “You can see my soul, and I can see yours.”

Mary swallowed thickly before nodding once. “It happens at times.” When the connection was deep, or the ties between persons were binding. She had suspected but didn’t want it to be true. Rubbing a finger along the brocade of her overskirt, Mary aimed for a bit of levity. “So then you knew—”

Talent leaned forward then, the movement of his powerful body setting off little frissons throughout hers. The deep glide of his voice crept along her skin, licking over sensitive spots and making her twitch. “The entire time, Chase.”

God. The admission horrified her. And it twisted something dark and aching deep within her. She fidgeted, her hands running along the hidden throwing knives strapped to her thighs.

“If you knew I was there, then why did you…” Her words died on a flush. Bloody Talent.

“Pleasure myself?” he offered helpfully.

She was not amused, but deserved his teasing. “Yes, that.”

Talent’s green eyes grew darker, wicked. “Because I knew you were there.” The pink tip of his tongue peeked out from between his teeth, taunting her. The gesture was perverse, a little flickering come-hither.

Her heart pounded against her throat, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her disquiet. She set her attention on the wall of windows, and the ghostly reflections of them sitting close wavered back at her. “Fine. Don’t answer me.”

“But I just did.” He sounded so reasonable, save for the laughter tickling the edges of his voice.

Mary pressed her lips together, her grip upon her skirts tightening. “You’re being evasive.”

“And apparently, you are being obtuse.”

“Bother.” Her skirts rustled as she stood.

He struck like an asp, catching her wrist with his long fingers. Instantly she froze. It wasn’t a hard grip, but his warm touch rendered her unable to move.

“Don’t go.” His eyes, framed by thick lashes, looked up at her. Talent’s calm voice coiled along her body. “I confess, I don’t understand you at times, Chase.” The blunt tip of his thumb brushed her sensitive skin, and the contact licked over her flesh. “You open a line of conversation, then become angry with me when I oblige by answering truthfully.”

“I admit,” she said, “it baffles me that you didn’t fly into a rage the moment you realized I was there. You were unclothed, for pity’s sake.” Fierce heat filled her cheeks. She needed to stop talking altogether.

Talent’s mouth trembled at the corner, his eyes alight with utter glee. “Chase, the idea of a woman watching is in no way a deterrent for a man. It adds a level of excitement.”

She would die now. Surely fate could be kind to her for once.

He looked her over, shaking his head as if in disgust. “And to think you lived with Lucien Stone, debaucher of innocents, and didn’t know as much.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint?” His voice turned smoky then, surrounding and obscuring her mental clarity. “On the contrary, I find myself wholly enlightened. I hadn’t thought you’d be so virtuous.” The soft touch of his thumb returned, agitating and seductive. “In the future, I shall endeavor to subdue my frankness.”

Mary tensed, her gaze searching his and finding no hint of guile. Gods, he
was
being truthful. Which meant he’d been having a laugh at her when he took himself in hand. The smarmy, rutting bastard. She couldn’t speak past the lump of rage gathering in her throat. When she looked away, his thumb swept across her inner arm once again, so whisper-quick and soft she wondered if he was aware of doing it. More curious still, regardless of her ire, she didn’t want him to stop.

“What is it, then?” he asked. “What’s got your skirts in a twist?” A smile lightened his eyes. “Other than my usual charm, that is.”

I want to kill you. I want you to pull me down into your lap so that I might feel those long hard muscles I’ve seen flex and thrust
. “You have yet to ask me the most damning question, Master Talent.” Gods, but this was rash. Stupid to wave a red flag in front of a bull, but she needed the distance between them to return. If only for her sanity. She leaned in, close enough to feel his rumbling energy. “Why was I spying on you?”

A pulse of tension traveled down his arm and into his
fingers, where they tightened on her wrist. He could snap her bones in a second, yet he immediately lessened his hold, but still did not let go. Hooded dark eyes studied her. “Why were you spying on me, Mistress Chase?”

The evenness of his tone sent a skein of warning over her skin. She ignored it. “Because I do not trust you.”

She might as well have slapped him. His lips parted, soft on a breathy exhalation, even as his brows snapped together. It was a look of hurt, horror, and then growing anger. Only there was a flash of guilt that made her grow colder still.

His words came out clipped and controlled. “And you thought watching me stroke my cock would disabuse you of this distrust?”

Heat flared along her cheeks. “A joke instead of an answer, is it?”

The grip on her wrist tightened. Enough to make her fingers thrum. His jaw bunched, and his gaze burned her.

Answer me. Tell me I am wrong
. Her fingertips throbbed in time with her pumping heart.
Tell me you are innocent
.

But she knew he would never protest his innocence. Even if he was innocent. Jack Talent would never beg for understanding.

“Holly Evernight was abducted outside of headquarters last night,” she said.

His nostrils flared as he took a harsh breath. “You believe I would harm Evernight?”

“No, but there are some who might. And the SOS is beginning to wonder why it has taken you so long to solve this case. Poppy… She is worried about you.”

“So you are to be my watchdog, is that it?”

“If I must.” She tried again to break free of him, but
could not. “You know more than you let on, Talent. But I do not think you so broken that you would hurt one of our own.”

Talent’s green eyes dulled. “Now there is where you are wrong. You would do well not to trust me, Chase. Whatever deeds I have or have not done, the essential truth remains that I
am
broken.”

M
ary ought to be afraid. Or, at the very least, unnerved by what she’d revealed to Talent. Instead her mind acted like a dogcart stuck on a track, constantly driving back around to the image of him coming undone.

Blast him. She did not feel like herself anymore, didn’t recognize this woman she’d become. An invader had taken over her skin. Logic had fled like a frightened spirit. Instead she felt. Everywhere. Everything. Her bones thrummed. She was at once too heavy yet oddly buoyant. Her breasts ached and tingled, as though the flesh there had been asleep and now needed to be rubbed fully back to life. A horrid thought, and yet the very idea of big, rough hands rubbing over her tender flesh… God almighty, she quivered. Intolerable.

It was endless, this
feeling
. When she walked, she felt the length of her own legs and the curve of her bottom, where the fabric of her drawers moved and teased. And she felt her own slickness between her legs, a strange slip-slide that sent little judders of sensation over her, an uncomfortably hot syrup that coated her inside and out.

How was she to live like this? The shift from stasis to this shivering, heated…
bloom
of feeling was most unwelcome.

The worst part was that it was
his
fault. And hers. Hers, because she’d spied on him, watched as he handled that big, hardened length of flesh, and now she could not get past the horrid feeling of want. And his because he’d deliberately done it to taunt her.

She hated him. Lousy, dirty bounder. Devil incarnate. Possible murderer to boot. God above, she was feeling this way for a man who might be guilty of horrendous acts.

“Are you going to brood during the whole of our walk?”

Daisy’s voice snapped Mary out of her
brooding
. Devil take it, she had utterly forgotten the woman was next to her. Shortly after Mary had confessed that she would continue to spy on Talent if necessary, Daisy had waltzed into the room. “Take a walk with me, old girl?” was all she’d said, and Mary had been grateful for the escape.

Now heat flooded her cheeks. Daisy couldn’t read her thoughts, but the mere idea that she’d been having them was bad enough. Because it was a bothersome truth that GIM felt each other’s emotions keenly. Even when they did not want to.

Daisy’s breath floated away in a ghostly puff as it hit the crisp evening air, and she continued as if their walk had just begun. “Such a lovely night. I confess, I quite needed it after that heavy meal.”

“Is that why we’re out here?” Mary had her doubts, crafty as the Ellis sisters were.

“Well, that, and the irritation blasting off you was giving me the twitches.” Daisy looked at her wryly. “I thought you might need some air as well, pet.”

Mary could only muster an inward sigh.

Daisy’s bright blue gaze traveled over her, taking stock of all that Mary sought to hide. “How goes it with Mr. Talent?”

Likely Mary would never meet another soul more astute at ferreting out sexual agitation in others. She tucked her hands farther into her cloak pockets and set her concentration on the road before them. “Do you want to know about the case? Or if we’ve done each other grievous bodily harm?”

Blue eyes looked at her askance. “You aren’t limping, so he hasn’t yet tupped you.” When Mary stumbled, Daisy caught her arm and laughed.

“I was referring to giving him a swift kick in the bollocks,” Mary muttered, before wrenching away as Daisy merely laughed more.

“However the two of you like to play is entirely your business, Miss Mary.”

The back of Mary’s neck stiffened. “You are unconscionable. Has anyone ever told you?”

“Plenty of times, dearest.” Daisy caught her arm again and huddled close in the way Mary had seen female friends do. The touch, while warm, made Mary’s skin tighten. She wondered if she’d ever get accustomed to contact with others. Daisy, however, did not appear to notice and prattled on. “Look, Jack Talent is an ass. We all know it.” Daisy shrugged. “Why he feels it necessary to be a particular ass to you, I cannot say. But he cares with his whole heart. And his loyalty is not to be matched. For heaven’s sake, he lost an arm defending me.”

“An arm?” Alarm shot down Mary’s spine.

“Mm-hmm, that mad werewolf intent on getting me tore it clean off when Jack tried to stop him. Right from the elbow.” Daisy blanched as if remembering the sight.

“Extraordinary,” Mary murmured.

Daisy winced. “He lost an eye as well. But did he convalesce like he ought? No. He came to sit with me for fear that I’d be distraught.” Her blue eyes went soft and glowing. “He hates to hear it, but I do love that man.”

Mary frowned down at her shoes. “I can hardly imagine him doting.” But she could. He was loyal. And fiercely protective. Mary wondered what sort of defect she had that made him dislike her so.

Daisy’s gentle voice broke the silence. “You must learn to trust him, Mary.”

Accusations rose and clogged in Mary’s throat. Why not tell Daisy the truth? She was a fellow GIM and more of a confidant than Mrs. Lane, who, despite their mutual regard, was her superior. And yet she could not do it. Without true proof of Talent’s guilt, she could not sully his name with suspicion. Not after the trials he’d endured trying to keep those he loved safe. She picked her words carefully. “He is much changed. I fear that what occurred might have altered him irrevocably.”

Daisy’s lively gait slowed, and since she still clutching Mary’s arm, Mary’s did as well. “He’s stopped visiting Ian. Which hurts my husband more than he will admit. I believe Jack merely needs time…” She trailed off with a morose frown.

“If—” Mary pressed her lips together, then tried again. “What would the Ranulf do should Mr. Talent lose himself to darkness?”

Daisy halted and turned to face Mary. The wavering light of a town house lantern sent shadows sliding over Daisy’s plump cheeks, but her eyes glowed with the incandescence of a GIM’s. “What are you saying?” But they both knew. Would Ian be able to put Talent down, should
it come to that? The thought seemed to swirl between them, and they both outwardly shivered.

Mary tried to speak, but a feminine screech cut through the quiet. Another scream followed, this one laden with pain and terror. Cold sweat bloomed along Mary’s skin. Her throat closed, the sensation of a cord wrapping around her neck making her gag. For an instant she was not on the street with Daisy, but in a dank back alley, the broken, wet cobbles grinding into her bare back, and foul male flesh slamming down on her.
You like that, toffer? Listen to her moan. Bet she’s loving it
.

Head spinning, she clutched Daisy’s arm just for a moment before pulling in a draught of cold air. The taste of sulfur and coal grounded her, and she stiffened, her arm snapping down to release the baton hidden up her sleeve. Cool steel filled her palm, and then she ran.

Daisy was at her heels, her parasol clutched in her hand. They both had weapons of preference, and Daisy’s was the small sword tucked into each of her pretty parasols. Miranda had taught Daisy, and Mary could only hope the lessons had stuck as she heard male laughter.

Rounding the corner of an apothecary shop, they clamored into a dark alleyway. Three men crouched over the crumpled form of a woman, her brown dress no more than a stain on the filthy ground. Ice flowed through Mary’s veins. Oh God. It was too similar. Too much. She could not breathe. And yet the sight made her shout.

The men jumped as one and turned. Mary heard their sneers and taunts, but they did not penetrate the fog of rage that had overtaken her. Her baton met with the first man’s head, and he slumped to the pavement. Blows buffeted her, yet she did not feel them. Strike, slash, duck, punish. These were the thoughts that ran through her
head. Vaguely she was aware of Daisy dispatching a man in short order, slicing his forearm and jabbing his thigh. He howled and ran off. One left.

The thug looked at the wild women who had no fear of him and then fled as well. Mary clutched her baton, fighting the urge to chase him down. Panting with rage not yet abated, she stood over the fallen woman until Daisy lightly touched her arm. Mary flinched, her hand half lifting in defense, but the fog cleared, and she let Daisy aside.

Thick blood seeped into Daisy’s yellow skirts as she knelt before the woman. Mary’s knees grew weak, and she followed Daisy down.

The woman’s appearance told its own story. Sensible brown homespun dress, clear complexion that was now grey, and wide, unseeing brown eyes that stared up at Mary in supplication. A large pool of dark, glistening blood spread out in front of the woman’s small waist, and yet another at the base of her throat. A gruesome wound that barely trickled now.

Mary swallowed thickly and averted her eyes.

“No pulse,” Daisy murmured, pressing her fingers against the woman’s pale throat. “They gutted her. Poor dear.”

“No!” The silvery form of the woman stood beside them. She glared down in outrage, and her light-blond hair seemed to swirl in the wind. Her dark eyes flashed as she caught them looking. “I cannot be dead. I refuse to go. Not like this. Not from the likes of them.” Again came that flash of ire and need. The need to live.

Daisy glanced at Mary, and hesitation rose high in her eyes. But her voice was calm as she addressed the spirit. “I’m afraid you are dead. I am very sorry we did not arrive sooner.”

The woman fisted her hips. “If I am dead, then how is it that you both see me?” Her eyes narrowed. “And why do you both glow?”

“You are seeing our spirits,” Mary said. “Just as we see yours.” Around them the breeze began to stir, and with it the soft moans of other spirits. They hovered still in the shadows, but soon they would come out for a look. Ghosts were always attracted to a new one. Mary sighed. Although sorrow weighed down her breast, she’d been around death for so long that she was all but numb to the plight of the newly dead. “There is still a chance to move on. You must feel it. I suggest you take it, lest you be stuck here just as they are.” She didn’t need to explain who “they” were. The woman surely felt them creeping in, just as Mary and Daisy did.

Indeed, she looked over her shoulder before rubbing her arms in an agitated fashion. “I feel it. Like someone is plucking on my sleeve.” She shuddered. “I… I can’t! I don’t want to die.”

“Well, who does?” Daisy mused. However, her head tilted as she eyed the spirit thoughtfully. “Would you really rather stay? Even if it meant you never died?”

“Is this a true question?” Her accent, now that Mary turned her attention to it, was flat and hard. An American. Likely fresh off the boat.

“She has spirit,” Daisy said to Mary.

“She’s a strange one.” Most newly dead sobbed or went into hysterics over their destroyed bodies. Mary had. Best not to think about those memories.

The woman quirked a brow at Mary. “Says the woman who rushed in like a crazed banshee and beat down three full-grown men.”

“She’s in shock,” Daisy said to Mary with a smile.

Mary could not help but smile too. “Likely you’re right.”

The strange woman nodded. “I agree. Likely I’ll soon…” She wavered, and her throat bobbed on a swallow. “Can we move on, please?”

Mary could not fault her. The mere fact that she knelt next to a dead body threatened to make her sight go black. She kept her eyes firmly upon Daisy. “We could…”

Daisy’s eyes widened. “We could,” she agreed.

Mary’s gaze snapped to the hovering spirit, who seemed about to attempt jumping back into her old body. “You’d be a slave. For however long he deems.”

The woman blinked. “Who is ‘he’?”

“The man who can give you back your life,” Daisy said simply.

“Will it involve…” The spirit’s nose scrunched up. Being women, none of them had to say more.

“No,” said Mary emphatically. “You will have to find other willing spirits for him.”

“For what reason?”

“Well, there is the rub,” said Daisy a bit sadly. “Only he knows. Some he allows to return to their bodies and live life out as we are now. Others he takes with him. Though he promises no harm will come to them, no one here knows what happens to those souls.” Her blue eyes grew solemn. “You will not know until it is your turn.”

It was a devil’s bargain to be sure. Yet Mary had never regretted her decision. She supposed that was the unifying factor for all GIM: they simply loved life too much to lose theirs, even if their circumstances were less than pleasant. Did it make them selfish? Wrong somehow? She wondered every time another was offered the choice, every time she speculated on where the others went.

“Fine.” The spirit drew herself up and set her hands upon her hips once more. “I accept.”

No hesitation. Mary had to admit, the woman had more will to live than most. Adam would love that about her. Which would also put the woman in a dubious position.

“Well, then,” said Daisy. Yet her hand fluttered in the vicinity of her heart, not quite able to press it there.

Mary understood and rested a hand on Daisy’s limp one. “You know how?”

“Of course.” Daisy grimaced. “You sure?” she asked the spirit.

The woman’s form gained strength, glowing bright in the darkened alley. She wouldn’t look at her body, but only at Daisy and Mary. “Ought we not hurry?”