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 information. “I don’t know. But I do know you’re a wild card standing next to a crater where my home used to be.”
Lark’s head jerked up. She looked genuinely shocked as she rose to her feet. “I didn’t have any hand in that.” She gestured toward the scene of devastation below. “I swear.”
Jack holstered the gun, if not his suspicions. “The fey lie as easily as they breathe.”
The spark died from her eyes, replaced by anger. Without a word, she took three steps to close the distance between them, her long coat swinging with her strides.
“Don’t,” he warned.
But she kept coming. One moment she was out of reach, and the next her coat was brushing his knees—and he’d let her get so dangerously close because some mad part of him wanted her there.
Her fingers curled into fists and she raised them, poised to strike. He knew from experience she was a more than capable fighter. Quick as lightning, Jack grabbed her wrists. He felt her tense, her fierce fey strength straining against his.
“Don’t what?” she growled, her voice husky with anger.
“Don’t lie to me. Don’t do that to me again. Not now.” For an instant, her very nearness put him off guard. Yearning froze him where he stood and softened the iron strength of his grip.
“I didn’t do this!” She gulped a shattered sob, her anger sliding suddenly back to grief. “You have to trust me that much!”
“No, I don’t. I have no reason to.” Nevertheless, relenting, he released her wrists.
“No.” She shook her head, her eyes tightly closed. Tears stained her cheeks again. “You know me better than that.”
“No, I—”
“Remember this.” Lark slid one warm hand on either side of his face, pulling him down so that her mouth was on his. Jack took a breath to protest, but then she was stealing the air from his lungs and filling him with a painful longing that burned down to his core.
In that scene of death, she tasted like something hot and sweet and golden, and his emotions rocked with the contrast. Desire clawed through him, merciless as a tiger. It had been like this whenever they touched, as if madness could be transmitted by skin-to-skin contact. He jerked her close so roughly her feet left the ground. There was no need to hold back—the fey were almost as indestructible as the undead.
But the undead could be destroyed. They were standing next to their cold ashes. Reason slammed down like a sheet of ice, forcing Jack back to his senses. He released her almost as quickly as they had joined. His sudden move made her skitter back, panting from their kiss.
She opened her eyes, her dark gaze searching his face. Her expression was full of guilt, but there was anger sparking through her sadness, too. “What’s the matter, Jack? Didn’t you like that? You were the one pushing me against a wall just hours ago.”
Heat rose to his face, proving that once in a while vampires could blush. Of course he wanted her. The truth ached in his groin, but that wasn’t his smartest asset. “Don’t ask me to remember what we had. The ending’s not to your advantage.”
Her mouth flattened into a line.
He pushed on. “Now explain what you’re doing in Marcari. Did the Light Court send you? Why did you talk to me tonight of all nights?”
“I wanted to.” She smoothed the front of her coat, her look resentful. He saw the slight guilty tell—a downward shift of the eyes.
“I don’t have time for your games,” he snarled. “Not after that.” He jerked his head toward the ruins.
Slowly, Lark nodded. “Whoever did that needs to be caught. No question.”
“Who did it?”
She gave a slight shrug. Her lip was trembling, as if holding back another bout of tears. He prayed she didn’t start to cry, because as the first shock faded, howling grief was setting up shop in his gut and planning to stay for a good long while.
“It changes everything,” she said. “A move like this has got to be a part of something larger.”
She was right, but it wasn’t enough of an answer to satisfy Jack. Gruffly, he grabbed her by the elbow and began marching her toward the Escalade.
She tried to jerk her arm free without success. “Where are you taking me?”
“Away from this grave. It’s not safe to linger.”
“I can help you.”
“Do you really think so?” He quickened his pace, his long legs making her run. “No, sweetheart, helpful people don’t spy on me. They don’t lie and they don’t stab and they don’t disappear without a trace. How deeply are you involved in all this? Did you help burn down Headquarters, or are you one of the ones out to destroy the bride and groom?”
Lark made a furious hissing noise, much like a scalded cat. It was a fey warning that raised the hair along Jack’s neck.
“Don’t be a fool!” she spat. “Whatever else you may think, you know we have the same enemies. They did their best to kill us both, and now they’re here, killing our friends.”
Jack didn’t answer. He just forced her along the road.
Finally, she dug her heels in, forcing him to stop. “The wedding is almost here. Wake up, Jack. We have to work together.”
Work together. The notion held promise—of time in her company, of an excuse to bury their differences for days on end, of accidental intimacy. He’d been down that treacherous path before, and he’d lived the wreckage. Worst of all, he’d fallen in love with her.
But he knew better now. The past was over and done. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
Lark opened her mouth, but didn’t utter a word. He could see the memory of his demon written all over her finely boned face. Terror just made her more lovely—and the fact that he noticed it sickened him. She was right. He was slipping.
Impatient, he shoved her forward. He was almost back to the car. He could see a sports coupe parked farther down the road—no doubt the vehicle she’d followed him in, complete with spells to hide the tail. More fey deceptions.
“Jack,
