home silently—and that meant on foot. With his insides slowly turning to ice, he changed his mind and drew the gun, advancing toward the Company’s main gates in perfect silence. The ashy stink grew stronger with every step, as did the gut-churning smell of charred flesh—human, vampire and other. Nausea worked its way up Jack’s throat. The path made another turn, angling down to the left where the Company’s compound nestled, almost hidden in a shallow valley.
A white piece of paper had drifted to the base of a tree, the page so bright it had to be new. Jack snatched it up. It was the printed copy of an email about a meeting that night, all agents to attend. It was from a general administrative account, just like the commander had said. Such meetings were far from unusual—the Company had its share of bureaucracy. Still, the email made Jack uneasy.
Jack rounded the final corner—and stopped. Where once-thick foliage had concealed the view, he had an unobstructed line of sight between charred and splintered trunks. Clearly there had been an explosion and then a blaze. Forgetting all caution, he abandoned the path, rushing to the lip of the valley with vampire speed. He crouched on the ash-covered loam, looking down on the devastation. At that moment, he hated his long experience with war and violence because he could read what he saw like a book.
Whatever had happened, the Company hadn’t stood a chance.
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
