She ran her hand up the swell of his chest, her thumb brushing the collar of his jacket. He swayed slightly under her touch, but it was she who stretched up to take his mouth. His mouth was hard on hers—stiff for a moment but then greedy with a hunger that made her reel. Lark gasped, her senses overwhelmed as Jack’s strong arms pulled her close once more, her feet barely skimming the ground.
It would have been so good to bury her face in his shoulder and weep for everything—for them, for the Company, for all the friends she’d lost and the secrets she kept. But he wasn’t there to give her comfort, even though his mouth was on hers again, brushing over her eyes, her brow, her lips and throat as his hands studied her form as carefully as if he meant to sculpt it. Desire rushed through her, and with it vivid remembrance of the times they’d shared. He was angry and despised her and was—let’s face it—at least partially a demon, but she also knew the beauty of his heart.
Ironically, he had been the one who made her believe in her work as an agent. He was the one who had argued that a fey could be trusted in the field. That was the Jack she would always believe in. Tears leaked beneath her lids. There was so much regret between them.
She reached out with her sixth sense, searching for the pattern of Jack’s essence. It wasn’t easy to find, muddled with her own yearning and the raging hunger of the vampire. But he was there, that unique core of power that each being possessed.
Blood pounded in Lark’s ears. After so long apart they were close, too close. She could feel the brush of his extended fangs against her skin, tantalizing with the promise of erotic pain. A shudder took Lark, her skin suddenly too sensitive as Jack’s lips trailed beneath the arch of her jaw.
And as part of her surrendered to him, he yielded up the pattern of his essence to her. Gently, so gently, Lark pulled away, wishing they were lovers again. But that wasn’t the bargain they’d made.
Lark would help Jack find the vile creatures who had attacked the Company because that was the right thing to do. But explanations were another matter. Secrets were how the fey did business, and Lark’s business was her own.
She kissed him again, just because she could, and just because she might never get the chance again. A heady rush made her head swim as her spell took them both. In a blink, they disappeared from sight.
“Don’t let go,” Lark whispered in Jack’s ear, although there was no one there to see them. Their kiss had left her in an intimate mood she couldn’t bear to break.
“Why not?” Jack’s fingers traveled lightly down her arms, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake.
It was oddly erotic, to be touched by invisible hands, to experience a man only by his voice and the heat of his flesh. Lark leaned into him, spinning out the moment a little longer. “The glamour will break if we are not skin to skin. It does not need to be much. Holding hands will do.”
By way of reply, Jack gripped the handcuff that still dangled from her wrist. She heard a metallic snick. He’d chained his wrist to hers.
“Why did you do that?” she demanded, tugging on the cuff because the primal part of her demanded she struggle.
“Now we’re bound together,” he said with more than a tinge of sarcasm. “Just so we don’t lose one another.”
Invisible or not, she had a good enough sense of where he was to deliver a sharp kick to his shin. He grunted, but it didn’t satisfy her as much as it should have.
“If you trust me so little, why am I helping you?” she said in a low, angry voice.
“I wish I knew.” His fingers laced firmly through hers. “But given our history, I don’t know what’s real between us and what’s just business.”
There was nothing Lark could say to that. She wished it wasn’t true.
Cursing silently, she followed him toward the distant palace. Visiting the king hadn’t been in her plans, although they were heading in the right general direction for her next appointment. She would slip Jack’s leash when the time came to finish tonight’s mission. After all, she’d already proved she could get out of the cuffs.
The walk to the gates was a good half hour. It had been years since Lark had held a glamour on more than just herself for that long. By the time they approached the palace, she was starting to get a headache.
A silver limousine pulled up the moment before they arrived, and when the huge, wrought iron gates swung open, Lark and Jack followed the vehicle through. There were no wards in place against the supernatural, so Lark’s magic tripped no alarms. That might have seemed a ridiculous gap in security, but the Night World was a secret known only to the royals and their trusted circle. Most humans had no idea magic was real, and the vampires and werewolves who guarded the king weren’t about to install a security system against themselves.
Of course, getting past the gate was only the beginning. They had to make it across the grounds, where the overflow of wedding guests wandered the flower gardens and fountain plazas in search of a little fresh air. Dodging people who couldn’t see her wasn’t as simple as it sounded—not when she had to be utterly silent. Not with Jack’s fingers wrapped around hers as if he’d never let her go.
As good at sneaking around as he was, Jack wasn’t used to being invisible. He had an alpha male’s way of owning the sidewalk, and she was forced to hip-check him off the path just as an elegantly dressed couple appeared from behind a hedge.
“Sorry,” Jack whispered in her ear, sounding more annoyed than thankful.
“Pay attention,” she muttered and then froze as one of the passersby turned around, looking curiously in their direction. Lark’s heart beat double time—she recognized him as the son of the Italian ambassador. He was a bright young man, and the type to be suspicious. The moment passed, and the man turned around and walked away, his pretty companion leaning on his arm in a way that said their night was far from over.
They made it inside the palace doors without more trouble. “The king’s suite is to the left,” Jack said in a low voice, his lips close enough to tickle her ear.
“All right,” she whispered back.
Anyone else’s footsteps would have rung out loudly beneath the high, gilt ceilings and vast sweeping staircases, but they trod quietly as shadows, Jack’s cool hand still enfolding hers. Lark’s mouth ran dry, her blood tingling with memories of what those fingers could do against naked skin. The image of Jack, rumpled and naked, slid through her mind with the warm sweetness of melting syrup. Heat settled low in her core.
She almost groaned with relief when she saw the double doors to His Majesty’s rooms. Soon she could put an end to this torturous closeness and attend to her mission.
As if reading her thoughts, Jack stopped, pulling her against the wall. Lark shivered, feeling the hard curves of his muscles against her side. His hand was still laced through hers in an unyielding grip.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he said.
She heard a scrape of metal and, in seconds, he had removed the invisible cuffs without breaking the glamour. “Impressive dexterity,” she murmured, “but next time use the furry ones. Those chafe.”
She heard the clink of metal as he put the cuffs away. His answer came soft and low. “If memory serves, you like a bit of chafing.”
That sounded like the old Jack, her Jack. A bittersweet pang ached in her throat. “Only for a good cause.”
The leather of his jacket rustled and his grip tightened. “Let’s get going.”
There were royal guardsmen outside the king’s chambers, but Jack simply barged past, Lark in tow. By the time