Shadowdance
Page 10
“Something smells off,” he murmured.
“Could you be more specific, Mr. Talent? Everything smells off in London.”
He glanced at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Don’t be daft, Mistress Chase.” Reminding her yet again that she ought to be calling him Master. “There are familiar foul scents, and there are odd ones.”
“Well then, let us say that my sense of smell is not as developed as yours. Fortunately.” He snorted wryly, and she went on. “What is it that you smell?”
His nose lifted slightly, and his mouth opened to the night. “Don’t precisely know. It smells a bit like oil. Not lamp oil, but the sort you scent down by the factories. Sharp, sulfuric.”
His description tickled the edges of her memory, but she couldn’t catch a hold of the proper recollection. They were silent. Both of them searching the night. Click, click went Mary’s heels. Her breath sounded over-loud in her ears. And then she realized. There were no other sounds. No city sounds, no scurrying of little rodent feet.
Convulsively, she clutched Talent’s arm. “Oil.” A discordant grating sounded in the night.
Talent stopped short. “What the bleeding hell?” Around them shadows darkened, becoming thicker, taking on shapes.
Mary backed up, and her shoulder met his. “It can’t be…” But she rather feared it might. “Shadow crawlers,” Mary whispered, her hand slipping underneath her cloak to her hip, where her weapons belt lay. She grabbed the small bullwhip.
“What?” Talent glanced wildly around. He could see the shadows, that was certain. He just didn’t know what they were.
The grinding of gears, a hiss of steam, and a clank, clank, clank rang out.
Bother. “Mechanical men.” She braced her feet as the shadows surrounded them. “They live in the shadows and draw power from them. I’ve never seen one, but have heard stories. They’re called Adam’s first experiment. A nightmare version of the GIM.”
“Hell.”
Precisely. And then they appeared. Two lurching, hulking men making their way down the street. Vile experiments, partially flesh, mostly metal. Red eyes gleamed in the dark as one of them advanced, a blackened thing oozing oil, with steam billowing from the open iron rib cage in which its black heart pumped. The other crawler was more gold than flesh and appeared vaguely familiar.
“Piss and shit,” Talent uttered with wide eyes.
“Be creative in your shifting, Master Talent!”
Mary leapt back as one lunged, and then let her whip fly. It snapped around the thing’s massive iron leg, and she pulled hard. Gods, but it was heavy. The crawler wobbled. A hard kick to its chest had it toppling. It crashed to the ground. But before she could free herself, it caught hold of the whip and tugged. Mary went flying into it, stopped only by a metal fist smashing into her face. White spots exploded before her eyes as her cheekbone cracked and blood poured into her mouth.
Dimly she heard a roar of fury and saw the blur of Talent launching into the golden crawler. His claws swiped, and sparks flew as he connected with raw metal. But then another hard tug dragged her roughly over the cobbles. The whip had become tangled about her wrist, and the crawler was hauling her back to him. Hands shaking from pain, she got her knife out, sliced through the whip, and fell back. A second later, fire burst hot and bright from the crawler’s mouth. Mary flung her arm up against the blistering heat, but something fell upon her, trapping her against a brick wall. Through a haze, Jack Talent’s eyes, gleaming in fury, stared down at her as flames roared behind him.
He hissed, and she saw them—thick, leathery wings of onyx arched over his head, forming a barrier between them and the crawler’s fire. Before she could say a word, the fire died, and he reared around, his fist smashing into a crawler’s jaw. It barely made an impact, and the crawler lunged forward, punching a hole through one of the strange wings that had sprouted from Talent’s back.
Talent snarled. With whippet-fast speed, he caught hold of the crawler’s arm and simply ripped it off. Metal gears and springs pinged to the ground, and fresh, hot oil splattered. It did little good. The crawlers advanced, pinning her and Talent against the wall.
Another blast of fire hit, leaving Talent barely enough time to cover Mary with his enormous wings. But it wasn’t enough to protect her from the heat and pain of fire nipping through the hole in his wing. She ground her teeth against it as she clutched Talent’s massive shoulders.
Above her he panted, sweat dripping down from his temples.
“Talent.” Blood bubbled through her lips, and agony burst through her shattered cheek. He winced as he looked over her face. With effort she kept speaking. “When I fade, rip out the hearts.” The crawlers would guard them with their lives, but if Mary was successful, they wouldn’t have a chance to. “Watch their eyes. Attack when they dim.”
Talent’s brows snapped together. “Fade?” His voice was a rasp of pain, and he appeared on the cusp of protesting.
They didn’t have time to waste. Surprising herself, she touched his cheek. The contact made them both flinch.
“Do it,” she said. Then left her body.
It was fast. And more forceful than she’d ever attempted. Mary’s spirit shot straight through Talent, and she felt the warm glow of his soul and his lurch of shock as she passed. Then she slammed straight into the golden crawler. Its body was a dense mass of misery, the soul trapped within screaming for release. Pity made her heavy. The crawler fought as she wrapped herself around it and tugged the soul free. Out of the body they went, Mary and the pitiful soul of the crawler.
Below her, Talent whirled about and tore straight into the now-empty shell of the crawler’s body. Teeth bared on a snarl, Talent yanked out the clockwork heart, and the body toppled.
As soon as the body fell, the soul in Mary’s arms eased and stretched up toward the night. Like a shooting star, it trailed across the sky then disappeared.
Bloody, buggering hell. Jack’s teeth ground as the remaining crawler leapt upon his back and its iron fingers tore through his flesh. He smashed a fist into the crawler’s gut but hit a gate of metal ribs for his efforts. Bad hit. Learn from your mistakes, mate. Nearly all of the crawler’s body was metal, a thick shell that withstood Jack’s blows. Over the grinding of gears and the whistle of steam came the ominous whoosh of fires being stoked within the thing’s lungs, and Jack braced for another blast. The massive wings on his back, the ones that had popped out as if by instinct, throbbed in pain, but they could apparently withstand fire. But if the dull ache coming from them meant anything, there was a limit to their strength. And unfortunately the crawler had him by the shoulder, leaving him no way to turn. The fire was going to come at him full on.
Shit and piss, this was going to hurt.
But then a shroud of blessed cold surrounded him, then passed through him. Chase. He’d felt her slide through him before, a second after her eyes went dim and her body fell limp. If he lived a hundred years more, he’d never grow accustomed to the sight of her simply vacating. It unnerved him to the core. But now, when the crawler’s red eyes suddenly went black and its body slackened, he might have kissed Chase in gratitude. Somehow she’d drawn the crawler’s soul out, leaving Jack free to make the kill.
He didn’t waste time. Skin ripped from his knuckles as he punched past the metal rib cage and grasped the clockwork heart. Hot oil and solid iron filled his palm before he tore the device free. The crawler didn’t even flinch as it crashed to the ground with earthshaking force.
For a long moment, Jack panted as blood dripped from various wounds. Then he turned and knelt by Chase’s prone form, close enough to feel the residual warmth of her body and bask in her cinnamon-and-spice scent. “Chase?”
Christ, but her body did not look good. A massive bruise colored her right temple and her eye was swollen shut. Blood crusted her lips. But it was her cheek that worried him. The crawler’s hit had crushed the bone, caving in the side of her face. So delicate, Mary Chase was. Illusions, for she’d heal soon enough. But the thought of someone hitting her, damaging that fragile beauty, made his breath catch.
She came back into her body with a jolt and inhaled sharply, her body stiff as starch. Her wide golden eyes shimmered with pain. And it was bad. Her body twitched, her lips pressed tight as if she held in a cry. Before he could think, he cupped her good cheek with infinite care. He’d never touched her in tenderness. And he cursed himself for doing it now. Even so, his thumb caressed the silk of her skin.
“Hold still.” With his free hand, he dipped his fingers into the open wound on his shoulder. Fingers coated in his blood, he held them up to her soft lips. Understandably, Chase drew back, not harshly, but away from him just the same, and her nostrils pinched as if discovering something foul. He held her steady. The small movement she’d taken had made her wince. Black blood bloomed along her sunken cheek.
“Can you trust me, Chase?” He said it as softly as he could.
Her eyes narrowed. It was clear that she did not want to talk. A shard of helplessness speared his chest. And he sounded gruffer than he wanted as he eased his bloody fingers past her parted lips. “Let me in.”
Her little gasp and the moist touch of her mouth lit through him. “It will heal you,” he managed. His gut tightened, and he swallowed hard. “My blood.” Shit, shit, shit, what the hell was he doing?
Shock and hesitation were clear in the gleaming depths of her eyes. But her lips parted farther, and he slipped inside. Hell’s bells, he hadn’t thought this out properly. The tentative flick of her tongue at the tip of his finger sent a lick of heat straight down to his cock. It leapt to life with a reflexive jerk, and Jack took a steadying breath.
“Suck it.”
Her eyes widened, and Jack grimaced. “Lick it—damn it.” Heat rose over his face. “I meant, the blood. Take the blood.”
Thankfully she understood and, God help him, her lips closed around his two fingers, and the wet, warm flat of her tongue stroked along the base of them. He barely stayed the groan that wanted to rip free or the way his body yearned to sway closer to hers. Somehow, though, his hand had cupped the back of her head, and he held her close. He didn’t have it in him to draw away. Not yet.
Her lashes lowered, as if looking at him was too much to bear. But the effects of his blood, fresh as it was from his body, were immediate. Healthy color bloomed along her skin, and the bruising around her temple and eyes faded. Her cheek, however, was still crushed, the bones knitting too slowly for his liking. Nor did he fancy the winces of pain she made with each small move.
Breathing through his nose, he pulled his fingers free of the torture that was her mouth. Chase’s plump lips opened to speak, and he laid a finger on the soft bottom curve stained crimson from his blood. “It’s not enough,” he said, and then, because he was part idiot and because he couldn’t stand seeing her like this, he eased her head up to his shoulder.
The warm puff of her breath brushed the bared skin at his shoulder. And Jack shivered. Glancing down, he saw that his wound had already knitted closed. With an impatient sound, he grew a pair of claws and tore it open once more. Pain lanced down his arm, and hot blood pumped from the wound with every hard beat of his heart, but his mind was already on the woman half in his embrace. Warm, soft, fragrant. Holding her was an alien experience with which he had no practice. He did not hold women. Nor offer them his greatest gift and secret. Yet here he was.
She stared at him, quiet and thoughtful, and looking just a bit shocked. He knew she understood what he wanted. Yet he found himself speaking, low and too urgently for his own good. “Take more, Chase.”
Mary knew she’d received a hard hit, but the pain hadn’t truly registered until the fight was over. It consumed her now. Yet the moment she’d taken his blood, relief had flooded her veins. Her cheek tingled and itched as it struggled to mend. Now his solid arm was wrapped around her back, and his hand held her head to him with surprising care. He wanted her to take his blood straight from the wound. A shocking intimacy.
Later, when the pain passed and she could think clearly, Mary could cringe at the memory. But now she stared at the rich, dark blood flowing from his shoulder and acted without thought. His body stiffened at the touch of her tongue to his flesh, and his sharp, indrawn breath had her heart speeding up.
Mary closed her eyes and ignored everything around her. Nothing but his blood. Experience told her it ought to taste metallic and flat. Instead it held the flavor of bittersweet chocolate and fortified wine. Again came the surge of well-being and the sharp tingle as her blood quickened. Her lips closed over hard muscle and warm skin. Talent grunted, his fingers gripping her hair and his heart pounding hard enough for her to hear. Her br**sts pressed against his chest, and her ni**les tightened. Heat flooded her limbs, swirling low in her belly as she lapped at his blood. What was she doing? She ought to be repulsed, yet the flavor of him teased her tongue, delicious, then fading away an instant later. She wanted more. Was this why they’d kept him? Taken his blood, one after the other? The thought slammed into her, cold and sharp. She froze, her lips just touching his skin.
Against her Talent shivered, his hard body tensing as his breathing increased. Agitated. Holding it back by force.
This was wrong. She should not be using him in this way. And yet he’d offered. Mary couldn’t account for it. Regardless, she eased back, her lips brushing his shoulder in a manner that was far too close to a kiss for her comfort. He resisted for a moment, as though he thought she needed more. But then he let her go.
Mary felt no pain as she sat up and lowered her gaze to her lap. No pain, but a thick, hot press of embarrassment. Silence descended between them, smothering and unnerving. Then he cleared his throat, and his deep voice swept over her. “Better?”
“Could you be more specific, Mr. Talent? Everything smells off in London.”
He glanced at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Don’t be daft, Mistress Chase.” Reminding her yet again that she ought to be calling him Master. “There are familiar foul scents, and there are odd ones.”
“Well then, let us say that my sense of smell is not as developed as yours. Fortunately.” He snorted wryly, and she went on. “What is it that you smell?”
His nose lifted slightly, and his mouth opened to the night. “Don’t precisely know. It smells a bit like oil. Not lamp oil, but the sort you scent down by the factories. Sharp, sulfuric.”
His description tickled the edges of her memory, but she couldn’t catch a hold of the proper recollection. They were silent. Both of them searching the night. Click, click went Mary’s heels. Her breath sounded over-loud in her ears. And then she realized. There were no other sounds. No city sounds, no scurrying of little rodent feet.
Convulsively, she clutched Talent’s arm. “Oil.” A discordant grating sounded in the night.
Talent stopped short. “What the bleeding hell?” Around them shadows darkened, becoming thicker, taking on shapes.
Mary backed up, and her shoulder met his. “It can’t be…” But she rather feared it might. “Shadow crawlers,” Mary whispered, her hand slipping underneath her cloak to her hip, where her weapons belt lay. She grabbed the small bullwhip.
“What?” Talent glanced wildly around. He could see the shadows, that was certain. He just didn’t know what they were.
The grinding of gears, a hiss of steam, and a clank, clank, clank rang out.
Bother. “Mechanical men.” She braced her feet as the shadows surrounded them. “They live in the shadows and draw power from them. I’ve never seen one, but have heard stories. They’re called Adam’s first experiment. A nightmare version of the GIM.”
“Hell.”
Precisely. And then they appeared. Two lurching, hulking men making their way down the street. Vile experiments, partially flesh, mostly metal. Red eyes gleamed in the dark as one of them advanced, a blackened thing oozing oil, with steam billowing from the open iron rib cage in which its black heart pumped. The other crawler was more gold than flesh and appeared vaguely familiar.
“Piss and shit,” Talent uttered with wide eyes.
“Be creative in your shifting, Master Talent!”
Mary leapt back as one lunged, and then let her whip fly. It snapped around the thing’s massive iron leg, and she pulled hard. Gods, but it was heavy. The crawler wobbled. A hard kick to its chest had it toppling. It crashed to the ground. But before she could free herself, it caught hold of the whip and tugged. Mary went flying into it, stopped only by a metal fist smashing into her face. White spots exploded before her eyes as her cheekbone cracked and blood poured into her mouth.
Dimly she heard a roar of fury and saw the blur of Talent launching into the golden crawler. His claws swiped, and sparks flew as he connected with raw metal. But then another hard tug dragged her roughly over the cobbles. The whip had become tangled about her wrist, and the crawler was hauling her back to him. Hands shaking from pain, she got her knife out, sliced through the whip, and fell back. A second later, fire burst hot and bright from the crawler’s mouth. Mary flung her arm up against the blistering heat, but something fell upon her, trapping her against a brick wall. Through a haze, Jack Talent’s eyes, gleaming in fury, stared down at her as flames roared behind him.
He hissed, and she saw them—thick, leathery wings of onyx arched over his head, forming a barrier between them and the crawler’s fire. Before she could say a word, the fire died, and he reared around, his fist smashing into a crawler’s jaw. It barely made an impact, and the crawler lunged forward, punching a hole through one of the strange wings that had sprouted from Talent’s back.
Talent snarled. With whippet-fast speed, he caught hold of the crawler’s arm and simply ripped it off. Metal gears and springs pinged to the ground, and fresh, hot oil splattered. It did little good. The crawlers advanced, pinning her and Talent against the wall.
Another blast of fire hit, leaving Talent barely enough time to cover Mary with his enormous wings. But it wasn’t enough to protect her from the heat and pain of fire nipping through the hole in his wing. She ground her teeth against it as she clutched Talent’s massive shoulders.
Above her he panted, sweat dripping down from his temples.
“Talent.” Blood bubbled through her lips, and agony burst through her shattered cheek. He winced as he looked over her face. With effort she kept speaking. “When I fade, rip out the hearts.” The crawlers would guard them with their lives, but if Mary was successful, they wouldn’t have a chance to. “Watch their eyes. Attack when they dim.”
Talent’s brows snapped together. “Fade?” His voice was a rasp of pain, and he appeared on the cusp of protesting.
They didn’t have time to waste. Surprising herself, she touched his cheek. The contact made them both flinch.
“Do it,” she said. Then left her body.
It was fast. And more forceful than she’d ever attempted. Mary’s spirit shot straight through Talent, and she felt the warm glow of his soul and his lurch of shock as she passed. Then she slammed straight into the golden crawler. Its body was a dense mass of misery, the soul trapped within screaming for release. Pity made her heavy. The crawler fought as she wrapped herself around it and tugged the soul free. Out of the body they went, Mary and the pitiful soul of the crawler.
Below her, Talent whirled about and tore straight into the now-empty shell of the crawler’s body. Teeth bared on a snarl, Talent yanked out the clockwork heart, and the body toppled.
As soon as the body fell, the soul in Mary’s arms eased and stretched up toward the night. Like a shooting star, it trailed across the sky then disappeared.
Bloody, buggering hell. Jack’s teeth ground as the remaining crawler leapt upon his back and its iron fingers tore through his flesh. He smashed a fist into the crawler’s gut but hit a gate of metal ribs for his efforts. Bad hit. Learn from your mistakes, mate. Nearly all of the crawler’s body was metal, a thick shell that withstood Jack’s blows. Over the grinding of gears and the whistle of steam came the ominous whoosh of fires being stoked within the thing’s lungs, and Jack braced for another blast. The massive wings on his back, the ones that had popped out as if by instinct, throbbed in pain, but they could apparently withstand fire. But if the dull ache coming from them meant anything, there was a limit to their strength. And unfortunately the crawler had him by the shoulder, leaving him no way to turn. The fire was going to come at him full on.
Shit and piss, this was going to hurt.
But then a shroud of blessed cold surrounded him, then passed through him. Chase. He’d felt her slide through him before, a second after her eyes went dim and her body fell limp. If he lived a hundred years more, he’d never grow accustomed to the sight of her simply vacating. It unnerved him to the core. But now, when the crawler’s red eyes suddenly went black and its body slackened, he might have kissed Chase in gratitude. Somehow she’d drawn the crawler’s soul out, leaving Jack free to make the kill.
He didn’t waste time. Skin ripped from his knuckles as he punched past the metal rib cage and grasped the clockwork heart. Hot oil and solid iron filled his palm before he tore the device free. The crawler didn’t even flinch as it crashed to the ground with earthshaking force.
For a long moment, Jack panted as blood dripped from various wounds. Then he turned and knelt by Chase’s prone form, close enough to feel the residual warmth of her body and bask in her cinnamon-and-spice scent. “Chase?”
Christ, but her body did not look good. A massive bruise colored her right temple and her eye was swollen shut. Blood crusted her lips. But it was her cheek that worried him. The crawler’s hit had crushed the bone, caving in the side of her face. So delicate, Mary Chase was. Illusions, for she’d heal soon enough. But the thought of someone hitting her, damaging that fragile beauty, made his breath catch.
She came back into her body with a jolt and inhaled sharply, her body stiff as starch. Her wide golden eyes shimmered with pain. And it was bad. Her body twitched, her lips pressed tight as if she held in a cry. Before he could think, he cupped her good cheek with infinite care. He’d never touched her in tenderness. And he cursed himself for doing it now. Even so, his thumb caressed the silk of her skin.
“Hold still.” With his free hand, he dipped his fingers into the open wound on his shoulder. Fingers coated in his blood, he held them up to her soft lips. Understandably, Chase drew back, not harshly, but away from him just the same, and her nostrils pinched as if discovering something foul. He held her steady. The small movement she’d taken had made her wince. Black blood bloomed along her sunken cheek.
“Can you trust me, Chase?” He said it as softly as he could.
Her eyes narrowed. It was clear that she did not want to talk. A shard of helplessness speared his chest. And he sounded gruffer than he wanted as he eased his bloody fingers past her parted lips. “Let me in.”
Her little gasp and the moist touch of her mouth lit through him. “It will heal you,” he managed. His gut tightened, and he swallowed hard. “My blood.” Shit, shit, shit, what the hell was he doing?
Shock and hesitation were clear in the gleaming depths of her eyes. But her lips parted farther, and he slipped inside. Hell’s bells, he hadn’t thought this out properly. The tentative flick of her tongue at the tip of his finger sent a lick of heat straight down to his cock. It leapt to life with a reflexive jerk, and Jack took a steadying breath.
“Suck it.”
Her eyes widened, and Jack grimaced. “Lick it—damn it.” Heat rose over his face. “I meant, the blood. Take the blood.”
Thankfully she understood and, God help him, her lips closed around his two fingers, and the wet, warm flat of her tongue stroked along the base of them. He barely stayed the groan that wanted to rip free or the way his body yearned to sway closer to hers. Somehow, though, his hand had cupped the back of her head, and he held her close. He didn’t have it in him to draw away. Not yet.
Her lashes lowered, as if looking at him was too much to bear. But the effects of his blood, fresh as it was from his body, were immediate. Healthy color bloomed along her skin, and the bruising around her temple and eyes faded. Her cheek, however, was still crushed, the bones knitting too slowly for his liking. Nor did he fancy the winces of pain she made with each small move.
Breathing through his nose, he pulled his fingers free of the torture that was her mouth. Chase’s plump lips opened to speak, and he laid a finger on the soft bottom curve stained crimson from his blood. “It’s not enough,” he said, and then, because he was part idiot and because he couldn’t stand seeing her like this, he eased her head up to his shoulder.
The warm puff of her breath brushed the bared skin at his shoulder. And Jack shivered. Glancing down, he saw that his wound had already knitted closed. With an impatient sound, he grew a pair of claws and tore it open once more. Pain lanced down his arm, and hot blood pumped from the wound with every hard beat of his heart, but his mind was already on the woman half in his embrace. Warm, soft, fragrant. Holding her was an alien experience with which he had no practice. He did not hold women. Nor offer them his greatest gift and secret. Yet here he was.
She stared at him, quiet and thoughtful, and looking just a bit shocked. He knew she understood what he wanted. Yet he found himself speaking, low and too urgently for his own good. “Take more, Chase.”
Mary knew she’d received a hard hit, but the pain hadn’t truly registered until the fight was over. It consumed her now. Yet the moment she’d taken his blood, relief had flooded her veins. Her cheek tingled and itched as it struggled to mend. Now his solid arm was wrapped around her back, and his hand held her head to him with surprising care. He wanted her to take his blood straight from the wound. A shocking intimacy.
Later, when the pain passed and she could think clearly, Mary could cringe at the memory. But now she stared at the rich, dark blood flowing from his shoulder and acted without thought. His body stiffened at the touch of her tongue to his flesh, and his sharp, indrawn breath had her heart speeding up.
Mary closed her eyes and ignored everything around her. Nothing but his blood. Experience told her it ought to taste metallic and flat. Instead it held the flavor of bittersweet chocolate and fortified wine. Again came the surge of well-being and the sharp tingle as her blood quickened. Her lips closed over hard muscle and warm skin. Talent grunted, his fingers gripping her hair and his heart pounding hard enough for her to hear. Her br**sts pressed against his chest, and her ni**les tightened. Heat flooded her limbs, swirling low in her belly as she lapped at his blood. What was she doing? She ought to be repulsed, yet the flavor of him teased her tongue, delicious, then fading away an instant later. She wanted more. Was this why they’d kept him? Taken his blood, one after the other? The thought slammed into her, cold and sharp. She froze, her lips just touching his skin.
Against her Talent shivered, his hard body tensing as his breathing increased. Agitated. Holding it back by force.
This was wrong. She should not be using him in this way. And yet he’d offered. Mary couldn’t account for it. Regardless, she eased back, her lips brushing his shoulder in a manner that was far too close to a kiss for her comfort. He resisted for a moment, as though he thought she needed more. But then he let her go.
Mary felt no pain as she sat up and lowered her gaze to her lap. No pain, but a thick, hot press of embarrassment. Silence descended between them, smothering and unnerving. Then he cleared his throat, and his deep voice swept over her. “Better?”
