Shadowdance (34 page)

“Then I shall offer him free use of my blood,” Jack said.

His freedom.

“I see no other recourse,” Augustus answered sedately.

No
! It was a shout in Mary’s mind.
Never
. She would not let Jack become Amaros’s blood whore. She would not see him go back to that dark place of hell and despair. Offering himself to the being who’d held and tortured him.

As if hearing her very thoughts, Augustus glanced at Mary.
Then you know what must be done
.

Jack ran a tired hand over his face and turned away to stare out over the city. “Then I shall do what I must.”

To protect those he loved, Jack would do anything. And so would Mary.

“Two squared is four. Three squared is nine. Four squared is sixteen.” Holly hugged herself tight, rocking slightly as she continued to count. The words burned against her throat. “Five squared is five-and-twenty…” Numbers. Sensible, reliable numbers. They would not harm her.

Her accommodations had changed. No more laboratory. Only the icy, dank hole of her cell. There were others here, rows of black cells that held the damned. She could not see them, but she could hear them. Moans, curses, weeping.

She could almost bear the sounds of their misery. But not those of the demon who occupied the cell with her.

A violent wave of nausea ran through her when she glanced to his side of the space. Lying upon a hard pallet and still strapped down by chains of gold, he shook along the whole of his lean body as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. His teeth were clenched and bared, and white fangs cut into his bottom lip until blood rolled along his chin and pooled at his neck. Holly doubted that he was aware. He simply shook as if nothing would ever again warm him.

His muscled torso shone pale, nearly luminous in the dimness, an uncomfortable contrast to the purple bruises mottling his chest and the ugly, ragged scar that ran down his sternum. Thick, awkward stitches held his skin closed, puckering his once-smooth flesh and sticking up like thorns in a briar patch.

The memory of witnessing his heart being ripped from his chest to be replaced with a clockwork one would haunt Holly for the rest of her days. She couldn’t stand to look at him now. Nor could she stand to look away. If she looked away he might die. Alone. She couldn’t allow that. Not when it was her invention clicking away in his chest.

Holly pressed her knees harder into her breast and let the numbers flow through her mind.
Six squared is six-and-thirty. Seven squared is nine-and-forty
.

A long, agonized groan tore from her cellmate’s lips, and his body bowed off of the pallet, restrained from falling by the chain across his shoulders and thighs. As if hit, he slammed back down and began to thrash and groan.

A childish urge to cover her ears had her arms twitching. But she crawled to his side.

“It’s…” She extended a hand to touch him, then stopped when he bucked again. “It’s all right.” Feeble words. He didn’t hear them anyway. Unfocused eyes stared wide. His mouth hung open as if locked in a scream, but no sound came. Sweat rolled down his temples and pebbled on his torso.

Would he die? Was his body rejecting the heart? She could not tell. But something was changing. From the edges of his wound, little rivers of shining platinum began to creep along his skin. No, not along, but
through
his skin.

“Oh, no.” Her platinum heart was a failure after all. Holly watched in horror as the gleaming metal rapidly
spread outward like the root system of a tree. Up over his chest and down his side it went. And all the while he thrashed, as if it was agony.

Heedless of the danger, she reached out and touched his shoulder. So cold and clammy with sweat and shaking violently. But she smoothed her hand down his arm in a slow, gentle caress. Strangely, the metal’s progress stopped. But not on the other side. Platinum twined and writhed down his left arm and twisted along his fingers. The demon clenched his fist and sobbed. A trickle of blood leaked from the corner of one eye.

The sight sent a ripple of disgust along her skin. She hailed from a family of logical inventors, yet some deep-seated part of them maintained a vigilant Irish suspicion of blood drinkers.
Dearg-due, Abhartach
. Reviled creatures who lusted for blood. Ungodly fiends. As soon as the thought entered her head, shame chased it out.

Holly touched his cheek, and he leaned into it with a whimper.

“There now, big man,” she whispered, as she covered him with her blanket. “You’re not alone.” With a hand that shook, she ran her fingers over his brow and through his damp hair. The white strands clung to her hand like spider silk but the demon calmed. No, his name was Thorne. He was not some nameless demon. But Thorne.

His eyes were closed now, long bronze lashes lying against unnaturally pale cheeks.

“You are not alone, Mr. Thorne.”

At the sound of his name, his eyes flew open. No longer simply black as onyx, a starburst pattern of luminous platinum radiated around his pupils. His head turned toward her, but not a flicker of recognition or sense lay in his strangely beautiful eyes.

Holly opened her mouth to say something, anything that might offer some comfort, but a massive bellow rang out, echoing off the stone walls.

“Evernight!”

She jumped back, her bottom hitting the floor, just as the door to the main cellar smashed open.

Master surged in on a tide of rage. Open sores and great gaping wounds once again held dominion over his flesh. Holly cowered as he strode forward, seething and growling. His wild gaze landed on her, and she knew she was dead.

While Mary went home to reconnect with her body—and Jack had no doubt she was desperate to give him a thorough tongue-lashing—Jack went to Thorne’s house. He’d put his friend at risk for selfish reasons, and though they worked on opposite sides, it did not sit well with his conscience. Thorne needed to know with what they were dealing. A mad fallen was a menace to all. The Nex was insane to think it could control Amaros.

But the moment he stepped up to Thorne’s town house, Jack’s skin prickled along his neck. All appeared quiet, but a thick fug of dark power hung over the air around the place. The broken door lock did not ease his worry. Slowly Jack entered the main hall, taking in the destruction and the carnage of slaughtered help.

Sliding out a knife, more for a sense of security than for actual protection, Jack made his way down to Thorne’s subterranean lair. More destruction. Blood splattered the walls; the furniture was broken down to kindling.

Regret sucked at Jack’s gut as he made his way home to Mary. For Thorne alone he yearned to kill Amaros. So great was his ire that it took him a moment to realize
something was wrong as he entered Mary’s flat. It was too quiet, and her scent was not strong enough. As though she was gone. Then he spied the message written in blood upon the blue-lacquered wall. Jack’s knees hit the floor, his head going light, his limbs ice-cold. And then came the rage, powerful and welcome, and running like lightning through his veins.

If you want her, come and get her.

H
aving her body stolen was certainly a new experience. Mary had returned home only to find it gone. Fortunately, a GIM could always locate her body. Unfortunately, she knew quite well that she would not like where it was. And she was correct. Following the pull of her physical flesh, Mary soon found herself in the cellars beneath Lambeth Palace. Gold torchlight flickered off moldering, damp stones.

She kept to the upper shadows, where the ceiling curved low and rough. She glided over a number of well-armed guards, each of whom wore a Nex tattoo upon his left hand and a tattoo of a chain about his neck—a blood-bonded slave. Mary wondered if any of them wanted to fight their servitude. Mary also wondered exactly how Amaros had discovered her home, until she entered an underground chamber and spied Tottie O’Brien seated at a table covered with food and drink. Tottie, who had claimed to see Jack abduct Holly Evernight. Tottie, who had access to Poppy’s files. Tottie, who would live in a world of regret as soon as Mary got her hands on her.

But for now Mary hovered. Her body lay on a blood-encrusted trolley. Not a pleasant sight. Nor was that of Amaros bending over her. Augustus had been correct, the fallen was rotting again. His robe gaped and revealed his cursed flesh. A faint, almost sweet stench emanated from him. But the power radiating from him belied his decrepit appearance.

Grabbing hold of her bodice, Amaros tore it in two. Mary supposed she ought to feel humiliation upon seeing her body exposed. Anger came instead.

“Quite lovely, no?” he said to no one in particular, but Tottie answered quickly enough.

“If you’re going to shag an empty body, tell me now, and I shall leave you to it.” Her pert nose wrinkled in disgust.

“It will not be empty for long.” With brutal efficiency he reached down and ripped the key to Mary’s heart off her nipple. Blood welled from the torn tip, and Mary gave a mental wince. That would hurt when she came back to herself. And he now had the means to stop her heart.

“I’ll do worse,” Amaros said to the room. “I can last all night.” He turned, and with unerring accuracy focused on her. “Fallen see spirits, Miss Chase. Now get back in this body, before I have at it.”

It was a chilling thing to face him. She knew he’d make her suffer before he was through with her. But she couldn’t hover like a coward. Gathering her courage, she dove into her flesh. It hurt, just as she’d suspected, her breast burning with pain. But she did not let it show as she rose and pulled the ragged edges of her bodice back together.

“So glad you could join us.” Amaros inclined his head with a smirk.

Mary slid a hand along her thigh and felt the throwing knives still strapped there. “The pleasure is all yours.” Curling her legs up on the trolley, she turned to face him and, in the same movement, slipped a hand into the hidden opening of her skirt. Her fingers grasped the knife’s hilt.

Amaros gave her an amused look. “Are you planning to use that weapon on me?”

“No.” It would be useless against him. But against others? In a smooth glide of movement, she pulled the knife free and threw. It hissed through the air and landed with a juicy thud deep within Tottie’s eye socket. Tottie screamed, her body arching against the pain.

“Traitorous bitch,” Mary snapped as Tottie flailed about, and Amaros laughed with delight. Mary ignored him and watched Tottie. While GIM could heal, they could not regrow limbs or eyes. “Think on your deceit every time you look in the mirror.”

“You are a savage little thing,” Amaros said with a wide, insane grin. He snapped his fingers, and a pair of guards took hold of the still-screaming Tottie and dragged her out. When she was gone and her cries had faded, he turned back to Mary. “I do believe we shall get on well, Miss Chase.”

“While we wait for Jack to come to my rescue?” She suffered from no illusion as to why she was here.

“Yes.” All humor left his face, and he bared his teeth in a grimace. “Have you not seen?” He waved a hand over his body, gesturing to the sores. “It appears that I am not healed after all.”

In a violent blur of motion, Amaros grabbed a goblet from the table and flung it against the far wall. The pewter exploded upon impact, sending thick shards of metal
across the room. He kicked a heavy wooden chair over and stalked toward her. “I want my body restored! And that little bastard is going to give his blood to me. I am going to suck on him until he begs for mercy.”

And Jack would let him. Mary knew it to her core. He couldn’t kill Amaros, or he’d be cursed to the same fate. But he’d do it for her. Well, Mary thought, she wasn’t going to let him. There was one game she knew how to play quite well.

“I would like a new gown,” she said calmly.

Amaros visibly paused, frowning at her as if she were touched in the head. But then he gave her a patient smile. “Of course. No need to sit in discomfort.”

“Very kind of you,” she murmured, all the while letting her full GIM nature free. Beguilement, seduction. It swirled in the air and throbbed in her skin. She knew she’d gone luminous, and that her eyes softly glowed.

Interest lit in the fallen’s gaze. As she’d known it would. Good, let him want her. A man led by his cock was a man who did not use his brain.

“Now what are you planning, Miss Chase?” Amaros drawled.

To kill you
. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh?” He loomed over her, his rage a seething mass of dark energy that affected her heart’s rhythm. “Other than a nice long fuck, what can you possibly give me?”

Ignoring the flutter of anxiety within, Mary moved with languid grace to the table to pick up a goblet. Slowly she poured a glass of wine and raised it to her lips, Amaros tracking every move. Holding his gaze with hers, she let the glass play along the curve of her bottom lip, noting the way his own lips parted and his body tightened.

“A better existence.”

He paused, his mouth turning down. “Pardon?”

“One that doesn’t leave you beholden to another’s blood.” She said it calmly, but Mary knew her ploy could turn down a wrong lane in an instant. But it couldn’t be helped. Jack needed her. She glanced at the table. “Might we discuss it?”

Amaros smiled, the very picture of geniality and good breeding. A veritable wolf in sheep’s clothing. “By all means. Please, do have a seat.” His black robes gave his movements a flowing quality as he gestured to an empty chair.

Once Mary sat, he righted his overturned chair and followed suit.

“Jack’s blood heals you,” she said. “But it does not last, nor will it restore your heart.”

Amaros’s eyes narrowed in impatience. “The Evernight girl has made me a new heart. It will work.”

“It will turn you into a shadow crawler, decaying ever still, dependent on blood to stay whole. But I can make you a ghost in the machine. A true GIM, born from magic, pure and restored.”

Suspicion clouded his eyes. “How is this so? Only Adam is known to have such power.”

In an effort to hide her clammy hands, Mary adjusted her skirts. “It was a gift bestowed upon me by Adam.”

“And why would he do such a thing?”

“That is my business.”

Amaros’s nostrils flared before he got his temper under control. “I think you had better prove your claim, Miss Chase, for I remain wary.”

“Before we go any further, if I agree to this pact, then you agree to leave Jack Talent alone. You must swear to never pursue him for blood or harm him in any manner.”

A moue of resistance marred Amaros’s face. It was clear that he did not fancy this part of the bargain. A calculating look came into Amaros’s eye, and Mary decided to nip it in the bud. “This gift can only work of my free will. It cannot be made under duress.” She held his dubious gaze with one of cool authority, as if she weren’t lying through her teeth; she had no idea how the gift worked, or if it even would.

The corner of his eye twitched, and he offered her a tight nod. “Very well. I agree. I shall not pursue Jack Talent for his blood, or seek to harm him. Easily done,” he added, “if you can do what you say you can.”

“A blood vow, Amaros. I believe fallen are just as beholden to those as sanguis, yes?” It was said that the fallen had given birth to the sanguis line, hence they both had a taste for blood. Once a vow was made, he could not go back on it or his soul would crack. An irrevocable break that would leave him senseless.

He did not flinch from her demand. “Blood oath it is. Dependent upon your ability to turn me into a GIM.”

“Then we have an agreement.”

Silver flared in his eyes at the words and that slightly off, tilted smile returned. “Not just yet. I’d have assurances as well, Miss Chase.”

Her heart slowed. “Which are?”

“What is to say that you will stay loyal to me? What is to say this isn’t a trap?”

Right. Mary smiled, her eyes glowing with the light of the GIM and all the persuasion it afforded. “Because I love Jack Talent. I would die to protect him.” It was the truth. And if it came to that, then so be it.

“Not good enough.”

A movement by her side gave her only enough time to
steel herself, then a guard was there, holding an electric prod against her side. Mary stilled. She remembered the pain of that prod. “Not very hospitable of you.”

“Apologies,” Amaros said.

“Nor is it a good way to get what you want,” she added.

“I’d rather kill you and risk becoming a crawler than be betrayed, my dear.” His smile was a parody of a kindly gentleman’s.

“Then what do you suggest?” she asked, as if her heart weren’t stalled within her breast.

“I give you my bond, and you give me yours.”

Mary did not like the lascivious look in his eyes, yet her voice came out smooth. “I’m afraid a blood bond won’t work on me.”

“No,” he said, “but a slave bond will.”

Bound to do as he willed. She’d never be able to harm him. Worse, once bound she could not leave her body in spirit form unless he willed it so. Her mouth went dry. She’d be his slave for the entirety of his life or hers. Mary took a steadying breath. She had no other choice. She knew perfectly well that if she backed out he’d kill her anyway. That truth was written in the steadiness of his gaze and the small but smug smile playing around his lips.

She needed to believe that when Jack came for her, he would understand enough to do what was required. Together they were strong enough to defeat the fallen. She knew it within her soul. And it gave her the courage to forge ahead.

“All right,” she said, with a calm she did not feel.

Again came the mad gleam in the fallen’s eyes and the disturbing smile of triumph. “Then let us perform the bond and complete our bargain.”

A knife appeared in his hand, the move so quick she didn’t see it. He sliced through his palm and then hers, the burn of the cut but a blink in her mind before he grasped hands with hers and held tight. As their blood mingled, Amaros gave his bond.

“Now,” he said when he’d finished, “give me yours.”

The words tasted like filth in her mouth. “By this blood, I am your slave.”

Instantly something snaked around her neck, coiling tight and choking off her air. She struggled for a breath, and then the tightness eased, until it felt as though she simply wore a collar. Which she did. Unable to resist, Mary touched her tender neck. It was smooth, but sensation rippled beneath her skin.

Her hand shook as she let it fall.

“Lovely,” Amaros breathed as he fingered the hollow of her neck.

Mary’s skin crawled. More so when he leaned in, his lids lowering with lazy intent.

“Let us see how well this bond truly works.” His tongue ran over the tip of one fang. “Kiss me.”

The demand punched through her like a fist, and she could not stop from leaning forward and putting her lips to his. A sob of despair stuck in her throat.

“Mmm, like you mean it,” he said, as his hand slid inside her torn bodice.

Go numb. Do not think
. Numbness was not so easily achieved as before. As his thick tongue filled her mouth, she felt the humiliation of the act down to her soul.

Jack walked into the ancient crypt alone, his footsteps making a hollow sound against the stone. Not a soul moved out of the shadows to stop him. He was, after all,
expected. To plead for Mary’s life in exchange for his. But Jack was not so naive as to think either of them was walking out of this hell unscathed. Jack would plead, and Amaros would taunt and torture. Their mutual hate was too deeply rooted for any other outcome.

Physical torture Jack could take. Hell, he’d prefer it. But Amaros would know that as well. What Jack could not stand was the thought of Mary being harmed. His love for her crippled him here.

Only hours ago he’d been swimming in her sweet scent, drowning in her tight heat. Hours. The difference between dawn and dusk.

“Piss and shit.” He halted, unable to take another step. How could he be strong and still keep her safe?

He couldn’t. The realization surged through him. He had to rely on her strength to get her through. He had to believe in her. Just as she believed in him.

Following her scent, Jack ended up before a pair of massive metal doors. Iron. Lovely. On either side stood a guard. They did not look at him, but immediately opened the doors.