and her. Light flickered as she walked by. Graceful limbs, flowing hair and swaying skirts. His gut clenched with pain. And yet, like the dark, the fluid way in which she moved soothed him.
So he watched. And she never knew that he was there. Every night, watching for just one brief glimpse before slipping away into the darkness. And she would never know.
Find out what Darkest London has in store for
Mary Chase and Jack Talent…
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Shadowdance
Shadowdance
SOS Headquarters, London 1885
A shifter had been murdered. Thus, it was inevitable that Jack be called into headquarters. As he was one of five—make that four now—known shifters living in London, his expertise on the subject made him the smart choice to head the investigation. He was glad of it. The closer he was to this, the better. No one would suspect when facts were covered up, because he would be the one collecting them. And as he always worked alone, there was no chance of anyone questioning him.
Cool shadows slid over him as he strode down the long, echoing corridor that led from the SOS common rooms to the main meeting area. Evening had fallen, and headquarters was full of regulators updating their intelligence before going out for the night. He did not like being around them, anyone, but the others steered clear of him, their eyes averted, and their bodies tense. Fear, he could handle, hell welcome, but pity?
One younger agent lowered her lashes when he passed, and a growl rumbled in his throat. She started and hurried off. Rightly so. No telling what sort of beast would break free should he lose his temper. Not even he knew. That was the way of a shifter, not owned by a singular monster but possessed by all. He was everything, and he was nothing in particular.
At the end of the black marble hall, a guard stood beside a massive steel door. He saw Jack coming and swiftly opened it.
“Master Talent,” said the guard, “they are waiting for you.”
This irked him. He was precisely on time and the director was already waiting? And what did the guard mean “they”? It ought to be solely him and the director. Who the bloody devil else would—
Her scent slammed into him like a punch. And what little equanimity he’d maintained flew out the door. Oh, no, no, no… They wouldn’t dare. He eyed the inner wood door that blocked him from the meeting room. She was in there.
His muscles clenched tight as he forced himself to enter.
“Ah, Master Talent,” said Director Wilde from the head of the table. “Right on time. Excellent. Let us proceed.” His clipped voice was unusually animated, as if he knew Jack’s displeasure at the unexpected third person in the room and reveled in it. Which wouldn’t be surprising. Wilde loved to unsettle Regulators.
Jack heard every word, but his gaze moved past the director and locked on her. She sat at Wilde’s right, serene and ethereal as ever. Her face was a perfect replica of Botticelli’s Venus, and her body… No, he wouldn’t think about that. It was one rule he refused to break.
Her golden gaze met his with cool assessment, as if nothing he said or did affected her in the least, as if he was as interesting to her as wallpaper. And that irked him even more.
Mary Chase would like to think that, after years of being on the receiving end of Jack Talent’s hateful glare, she’d be immune to it by now. Unfortunately, it still worked through her flesh like a lure, hooking in tight and tugging at something deep within her. One look and she wanted to jump from her chair and hit him. However, knowing that he too found her presence bothersome gave her some small satisfaction.
Talent dropped his large body into the chair opposite her. She suspected that he sought to do so gracelessly in order to convey his displeasure, but the blasted man was too naturally coordinated, and the move ended up appearing effortless. “Director Wilde.”
Talent turned back to Mary again. His rough-hewn features might have been carved from stone. “Mistress Chase.”
Oh, but the way he said her name, all oil and flame, as if it burned him to utter it.
Mary dug a fingernail into her palm and modulated her voice. “Mr. Talent.”
He paused for a moment, his brows rising a touch in reproach. She’d been childish in not giving him the proper address, but some things burned for her too.