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 the sentries reacted to the doors opening by themselves, she and Jack were in the room. The large, high-ceilinged space was done in greens and yellows, gold leaf decorating every other surface. King Renault of Marcari was alone. He stood at the window, framed by a vista of city lights and the distant harbor. At the guards’ cries, he turned with alarm flashing in his dark eyes.
Jack let go of Lark’s hand, and the glamour vanished.
At the sight of them, the king gave a shout of astonishment. The air filled with the thunder of the guards’ feet. Lark’s hand twitched toward her Smith & Wesson before she remembered Jack had taken it.
But the twitch was enough to alarm the help. Hands grabbed her, forcing her to her knees. She went down hard, the carpet barely cushioning the impact. The guard wrenched her arm behind her. Lark gave an involuntary yelp as pain shot up her shoulder.
“Don’t touch her!” Jack commanded.
Just as quickly, she was free again. Through the curtain of her hair, Lark saw Jack lifting her attacker—one hand hauling him into the air by the front of his jacket, the other wrapped around the man’s throat. Lark gasped, relieved and afraid at once. The look in Jack’s eyes was feral, the pale blue of the iris disappearing as his pupils enlarged. He snarled, lips drawing back. Predator eyes and predator fangs. Not quite the demon she’d seen that night she’d betrayed him, but close enough. Fear froze her lungs.
There was the unmistakable clatter of weapons getting ready to fire, but the king held up a hand. “Wait.”
Time stopped, filled only with the rasping breath of the guards. Lark remained perfectly still, knowing better than to come between a beast and its prey. “Jack,” she said softly. “Put down the human. He’s only doing his job.”
Jack let the guard go without ceremony. The man stumbled awkwardly, giving the vampire a filthy look. Jack turned his back, dismissing him, and immediately bent down to help Lark back to her feet. His eyes resumed their normal arctic shade.
“Are you hurt?” he asked. For a moment, concern softened his expression—and then it was gone, vanished like a trick of the light.
Her stomach twisted, wanting that softness for a moment more. “I’m fine.”
He gave a slow blink and bent until his lips nearly brushed her cheek. “No one else handles you.”
His words, the brush of his breath, raised the fine hairs along her neck. She wasn’t sure if it was a threat or a promise. “How flattering.”
Jack made a noise that might have been a laugh, and dropped her hand. Then he turned and bowed to the king, his manner instantly somber and respectful. “Your Majesty, I have dire news to report.”
Catching his mood, the king’s face darkened. He waved to his guards. “Leave us and say nothing of our visitors.”
Obediently, the royal guardsmen bowed and withdrew without a word. As soon as the door was shut, King Renault folded his arms. “What is this, Jack? And who is your companion?”
Jack spread a hand toward Lark. “Your Majesty, this is Jessica Lark, an agent of the Company. She also designed Princess Amelie’s wedding gown.”
As introductions went, it could have been much more damning. Perhaps the double-agent part would come later. Counting her blessings, Lark sank into a deep curtsy.
“Ah, I thought you had perished in a fire, madam,” the king said drily. “The agents of the Company seem to have a phoenix-like talent for resurrection.”
Lark rose from her curtsy, reading curiosity in King Renault’s expression. Though in his middle years, he was extremely handsome with his neatly trimmed beard streaked with gray.
“Your Majesty,” she said. “Forgive the intrusion, but as Jack says, we have dire news.”
“Then, speak,” the king said. “Whatever worries both a fey and a vampire has my full attention.” He gestured to a cluster of armchairs, inviting them to sit. It was a gesture of royal favor, and there was little they could do but obey.
Once settled, Jack related what they had seen in the woods. As he spoke, Lark felt her pulse begin to quicken, her body reliving the horror through Jack’s words. She wasn’t the only one affected. The color drained from Renault’s face until he was ashen.
The king immediately rose and picked up the phone sitting on the desk in the corner. Although Lark only heard his side of the call, he was checking the duty roster. All of the Company guards who were scheduled to work at the palace had booked off that night to attend a meeting, leaving the human guardsmen in charge. That fit with the email Jack had found. The king set down the phone, even paler than before.
“We shall find the authors of this outrage,” Renault said as he returned to his seat, rage snapping in his dark eyes. “I will inform the other Company leaders as soon as we are done here. Los Angeles, Paris, Bombay—they should be able to send reinforcements. My loyal agents will not go unavenged. But fine words are nothing without action, and action is useless without intelligence behind it. I have heard your account, Jack. What do you have to add, Ms. Lark?”
Lark’s throat had clogged with aching grief, and she cleared it. “I saw what Jack saw, Your Majesty. There was nothing left of the compound.”
The muscles of Jack’s jaw twitched as he turned to her. “But there are things left to tell us, aren’t there?”
“Such as?”
Lark braced herself, her stomach sinking. His mood had darkened as he’d told his tale, and whatever softness she’d seen in him minutes before was gone. All that remained was the Company agent who’d seen the grave of his friends. “What exactly brought you to Marcari?” he asked.
“I’m here on behalf of the Light Court. The Light is well aware of the
