Sharon Ashwood - Possessed by the Fallen

Lark again , Jack thought. Her presence was like a glittering thread running through events and binding them together. And yet everything points to the Dark Fey. So why is the Light involved?

Kenyon continued, his tone growing deeper and more growly as his disgust increased, “And then the Dark Queen’s flunkies stole the wedding ring and tried to use it to open the gates to her prison.”

“If you hadn’t gotten it back, the carnage would’ve been staggering,” Jack said. “But they’ll try again. The wedding ceremony has enough magical juice to seal the gates forever. It’s now or never for them.”

“Tick-tock,” Kenyon replied. “If I were Prince Kyle, I’d be packing up my princess and skipping town for Vegas.”

“I wish.”

“Elvis chapel. European royalty. Vampires and werewolves. I dig it.”

It had been way too long since Jack had laughed, and it felt wonderful.

“I’m coming out from undercover, but only on a need-to-know basis,” Jack said as the cell signal crackled again. “Tell Ralston and Winspear. I need them on board ASAP.”

“They still think you’re dead. Deader. Whatever. They’re both out of town anyway. It’ll take some time.” Kenyon fell silent and Jack heard the rattle of dishes. By the sound of it, the werewolf was at a restaurant.

Kenyon’s next words were cool. “Don’t think they won’t kick your ass for holding out on them. I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating. Friends don’t let friends think they got barbecued in a fiery car wreck when they didn’t. You should have trusted them. You barely trusted me, and that’s only because I found out you were lurking around the palace.”

Jack flinched. The werewolf was as much of a son to Jack as a vampire would ever have. Lark’s words came back to him: Will your friends trust you when they find out you’re still alive, Jack?

“It’s not about trust.”

“Are you sure? What aren’t you telling me, Jack?” Kenyon asked, all business now.

That I’m a demon. That it’s getting harder to hide. “Everything I’ve learned undercover. I haven’t been spending my time knitting. I’ll fill you all in as soon as we’re together.”

“Give me a summary I can take to the others. They deserve to know what’s coming around the corner.”

Jack opened his mouth to answer, but the cell signal vanished. Odd. Reception was bad along the route, but it had never disappeared altogether before.

And yet one more bit of bad luck was par for the course tonight. Jack cursed and stepped on the gas, taking his temper out on the accelerator. The Escalade barreled up a rise.

He’d barely reached the crest when a warning ripped through him with razor claws. It was primitive instinct, straight from his lizard brain, but as clear as a siren.

Jack slammed on the brakes. The Escalade slewed on the loose gravel, sending up a spray of dust and stones. Tension corded his muscles, and he gripped the wheel hard enough to make it creak. An eternity passed before the vehicle finally stopped—although that eternity lasted but a human heartbeat.

The next moment passed in perfect stillness. Jack listened past the thrum of the motor, searching for whatever it was that had triggered his instincts. The phone was still dead. He could pick out the night sounds of the forest—an owl’s screech, the rustle of small creatures among the leaves and grass. Vampire hearing was preternaturally acute, allowing him to detect even the distant rush of the Mediterranean Sea, but there was nothing that spoke of danger. It all looked peaceful.

But if he couldn’t hear or see trouble, Jack could smell it. A choking, acid stink clung to the air. There had been a fire—and not just of trees. This was the scent of manufactured things—buildings, fuels and plastics. And ruined flesh. There was the oily scent of death on the wind.

Cautious now, Jack drove the Escalade to the side of the lane and killed the motor. He got out, hand reaching for the grip of the Walther pistol beneath his jacket. But the road to the Company’s main compound was deserted, even though the facility was just a mile up the road. He was the only living—or undead—thing in sight. Slowly his hand slipped away from the gun, fingers twitching as if they wanted to return to the familiar handgrip. Dread crept out of the darkness and into his bones.

If there was a fire, someone from the Company should be here. Cleanup crews. Vehicles. Construction. He knew the routine. He’d spent years working on those very teams. Come to think of it, he should already see the lights from the buildings bright against the inky-black sky. But no glow shone above the canopy of trees.

Jack cursed softly, refusing to follow that logic one inch further. He would approach his old 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.

Chapter 4

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.