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the danger they were in. His name came out soft in her mind. An ache. Her lips feathered over his, tiny kisses along his bottom lip.
Jack’s heart seemed to drop away. He felt her rising fear, but she stuck it out, stood with him, in front of him, protecting him, just as she had in the forest. Somewhere deep inside, that small spark of humanity he had left yawned wider, stretched, and the longing he rarely allowed himself to think about now had a name. Briony .
He breathed her into his mind, inhaled her into his lungs. One arm came up around her, drew her even closer, hand sliding down her spine, although he never opened his eyes. The other hand went between them to the knife at his waist. There was nothing sexual in the way he touched her, he wanted only to comfort her, but somehow the shape and texture of her body still managed to find its way through his fingertips and imprint the memory on his brain.
His hand settled in the wet strands of her hair and he pushed her face against his shoulder, wincing as she came into contact with his wounds. Don’t look. Just stay still. He slowly withdrew the knife from his belt.
Wait . Her fingers curled around his neck. Please, just another moment. He might walk away. She willed the soldier to walk away. A lone guard curious in the middle of the night, not knowing death was only a breath away. There was no doubt in her mind that Jack, as ill as he was, would kill the man. Weak, his body ravaged by fever, he acted on instinct, on his extensive training. He was a killing machine, and anyone in his way was going to die. It had to be such a terrible way to live.
She closed her eyes tight, praying the soldier would shift directions. Please, please, please don’t let Jack have to kill him. For the first time in her life, she deliberately tried to implant a suggestion in another’s brain. She “pushed” at the soldier to return to the street.
She forgot that Jack could read her thoughts until his fingers bunched in her hair. She looked up at him. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to have to feel like that, taking a life.
He opened his eyes to meet her gaze. She had the biggest, softest, most compassionate eyes he’d ever encountered. His expression hardened. He didn’t feel anything anymore.
That was the trouble. Not until now. This moment. Looking down at her too-innocent face.
He was a rough, hard man, capable of great cruelty and unrelenting, swift retaliation. He could shoot a man a mile or more away. He could rise up out of a stream and cut someone down without them ever having known he was near. He was a ghost in the forest or the desert. Some called him death and most avoided him. Here she was, looking up at him with compassion and even caring on her transparent face. He wanted to crush her sinfully sweet mouth under his, and yet, all the while, a part of his brain knew exactly where the soldier was, planned his every move, the step to take him away from Briony and the smooth throw that would end a life.
The soldier abruptly turned and walked back down the narrow alley, leaving them alone in the shadows. For a moment she sagged against him, the relief making her legs rubbery.
“That was so close. Thank God.”
He didn’t tell her that God had left him a long time ago; instead he buried his face in the softness of her neck and inhaled her scent, wishing he could keep her. She fit in his arms and in his mind, but she would never fit into his life. He would hold on too tight, keep her too close, so close she wouldn’t be able to breathe. She couldn’t possibly understand a man like him, his sins so black there was no redemption, his rules his own, and his code one beyond civilization.
“Jack?”
Her voice pulled him out of his semistupor—or maybe it was a dream; he honestly couldn’t tell anymore. He put her away from him and looked up at the window. “I can make it, and I’ll cover you.”
Briony didn’t protest. He’d be lucky to make the leap, let alone
Jack’s heart seemed to drop away. He felt her rising fear, but she stuck it out, stood with him, in front of him, protecting him, just as she had in the forest. Somewhere deep inside, that small spark of humanity he had left yawned wider, stretched, and the longing he rarely allowed himself to think about now had a name. Briony .
He breathed her into his mind, inhaled her into his lungs. One arm came up around her, drew her even closer, hand sliding down her spine, although he never opened his eyes. The other hand went between them to the knife at his waist. There was nothing sexual in the way he touched her, he wanted only to comfort her, but somehow the shape and texture of her body still managed to find its way through his fingertips and imprint the memory on his brain.
His hand settled in the wet strands of her hair and he pushed her face against his shoulder, wincing as she came into contact with his wounds. Don’t look. Just stay still. He slowly withdrew the knife from his belt.
Wait . Her fingers curled around his neck. Please, just another moment. He might walk away. She willed the soldier to walk away. A lone guard curious in the middle of the night, not knowing death was only a breath away. There was no doubt in her mind that Jack, as ill as he was, would kill the man. Weak, his body ravaged by fever, he acted on instinct, on his extensive training. He was a killing machine, and anyone in his way was going to die. It had to be such a terrible way to live.
She closed her eyes tight, praying the soldier would shift directions. Please, please, please don’t let Jack have to kill him. For the first time in her life, she deliberately tried to implant a suggestion in another’s brain. She “pushed” at the soldier to return to the street.
She forgot that Jack could read her thoughts until his fingers bunched in her hair. She looked up at him. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to have to feel like that, taking a life.
He opened his eyes to meet her gaze. She had the biggest, softest, most compassionate eyes he’d ever encountered. His expression hardened. He didn’t feel anything anymore.
That was the trouble. Not until now. This moment. Looking down at her too-innocent face.
He was a rough, hard man, capable of great cruelty and unrelenting, swift retaliation. He could shoot a man a mile or more away. He could rise up out of a stream and cut someone down without them ever having known he was near. He was a ghost in the forest or the desert. Some called him death and most avoided him. Here she was, looking up at him with compassion and even caring on her transparent face. He wanted to crush her sinfully sweet mouth under his, and yet, all the while, a part of his brain knew exactly where the soldier was, planned his every move, the step to take him away from Briony and the smooth throw that would end a life.
The soldier abruptly turned and walked back down the narrow alley, leaving them alone in the shadows. For a moment she sagged against him, the relief making her legs rubbery.
“That was so close. Thank God.”
He didn’t tell her that God had left him a long time ago; instead he buried his face in the softness of her neck and inhaled her scent, wishing he could keep her. She fit in his arms and in his mind, but she would never fit into his life. He would hold on too tight, keep her too close, so close she wouldn’t be able to breathe. She couldn’t possibly understand a man like him, his sins so black there was no redemption, his rules his own, and his code one beyond civilization.
“Jack?”
Her voice pulled him out of his semistupor—or maybe it was a dream; he honestly couldn’t tell anymore. He put her away from him and looked up at the window. “I can make it, and I’ll cover you.”
Briony didn’t protest. He’d be lucky to make the leap, let alone
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