She’d killed. And though she’d do it again, her soul quaked from the recoil of that violent act.

The rain died, leaving only bitter cold and an icy road beneath her feet as the gallery building loomed over her. Mary trudged onward, barely feeling her limbs move. Vengeance. She understood it. She’d craved it once too. As for his? The image of him crucified to the wall of that hellish room, his blood running in crimson rivers down his body to be collected and used. His broken and bruised body. She been the one to hold him up, desperate to relieve the strain on those iron spikes they’d driven through his flesh. She’d been the one to see his eyes, haunted and agonized, when he’d roused, when he’d realized someone was there with him. In that moment she’d known what they’d done to him, for his eyes reflected the same fear and horror that she’d felt one dark summer night when her innocence was robbed.

Her blood curdled when she remembered what Jack Talent had endured.

A choked sound of defeat and dark humor tore from her breast. He’d die for her, but she would kill for him. For Jack Talent, a bloody bounder, rude, mercurial, amusing, loyal, and hers, whether she wanted him or not.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

Mary gave a start as the very man she’d been thinking of appeared in front of her, as if materializing from the ether.

“Jack.”

He stared down at her, his eyes as cold as the wind, and a shiver of trepidation ran down her spine. His words had finally sunk in. She’d been watching him. He knew. And he was not happy. None of that was responsible for the fear creeping over her skin. It was menace and hate frosting over his expression. She’d never seen hate in Jack’s eyes. Nor heard it flat and lifeless in his voice.

“Jack, I realize this—”

His backhanded blow smashed into her cheek, and she tumbled to the ground, her knees slamming into the rough pavers. Her mouth worked soundlessly, bitter, thick blood welling up over her tongue and between her teeth. Black spots danced before her gaze, her gloved hands trembling as she tried to rise. He’d hit her. He’d hit her.

“Jack.” It was a whisper between blood and despair.

Pain exploded through her as his booted foot connected with her stomach. Mary flew back. Her brain jostled within her skull when she landed. A sob broke from her. She needed to get up. He’d kill her. Yet she could hardly think past the unbearable hurt of his betrayal.

And then he was there, grabbing her roughly by the front of her bodice, his long fingers digging into the flesh of her br**sts. He grinned then, a horrible version of his usual one. “Say good night, Miss Mary.”

He held something in his hand, a baton or club. She could not get a good look. White-hot lightning tore through her, and her body bucked in agony. She screamed just before everything went black.

Think of nothing. Think of nothing. It did not work. Jack’s body convulsed as he remembered the feel of Amaros’s arms wrapped tighter around him, pulling him closer. God, God. But Jack no longer believed in God. Or anything. Not when Amaros’s wet mouth had attached to his neck, sucking out great gulps of Jack’s blood. Not when he had smelled the rot of Amaros’s body and felt the bones along the man’s flank and arm.

Above him the grey rain fell over his cold skin to blend with the tears that leaked out of his burning eyes. He wanted to die.

But he would not. Because she needed to live. Mary. Just thinking her name sent a balm through him. Her gentle smile, that reluctant gesture that needed to be coaxed out to play. And when he saw it, it felt as though he’d received a rare gift. The way she never backed down, not from him, not from anything. Steel and silk, glowing eyes and fragrant hair. Mary. Even if she was never to be his, she was worth the sacrifice.

Amaros’s parting volley haunted him. “It was a pleasure, Jack. If ever you want another go, I’m more than happy to entertain you.”

Jack’s stomach pitched. Mary. Think of Mary. Amaros had what he wanted: Jack’s blood had healed him. It was over now. But even as the square faded from sight, Jack knew it was never going to be over.

The thought had barely registered when a scream crackled through the night. He halted, his skin icing over. He didn’t understand how—he’d never even heard her scream before—but he knew it was Mary.

Terror made him clumsy as he spun around and raced back. At the foot of the fountains Mary convulsed upon the ground, whips of lightning sparking over her as she flopped about. And the form of a man, holding her down.

“No!” Jack shouted.

The devil hovering over Mary lifted his head. Jack froze. The face that stared back at him was his own. A deep voice, smooth with a slight hitch to it, floated over to him. His own voice. Taunting. “Not very careful of you,” Amaros said, “letting her follow. And who do you suppose she believed killed her?”

A roar ripped out of Jack, tearing at his throat with its intensity. “You promised to leave her alone.”

“I lied.” Amaros, now healed and strong on Jack’s blood, took his true form and a pair of black feathered wings sprouted from his back. “Come and get me then.”

Jack flew over the pavers, his feet pounding hard as Amaros simply waited. White teeth gleamed in a ghoulish grin that had Jack leaping the last few feet. He slammed into the fiend with everything he had.

The impact reverberated through his bones and rattled his skull. Both men smashed into the base of the fountain, and then Jack smashed his fist into that grinning face. Amaros laughed, blood running between his teeth, and then he attacked.

Blows rained down. White pain took hold of Jack. Blood blurred his vision. Jack’s counterattack was just as vicious. The bones in his hand snapped from the force of his punches.

The devil got his foot under Jack and kicked him off. Jack flew back before landing on his feet. Claws extended as he snarled. He didn’t know what he’d become, only that it equaled his rage. Muscles stretched and swelled, white fur erupted over his skin. The change healing him, giving him strength.

Amaros was changing too. His body morphed into a wolf. A were.

Jack glanced at Mary’s prone form. She wasn’t moving. Her heart wasn’t pumping. Terror lit through him like a fuse. This needed to end now. Jack did not fully shift. Not yet. He charged as a man. Claws raked his side. Amaros grinned in victory. Bollocks to that. He grunted and then shifted in a burst of anger.

Amaros’s eyes widened as Jack loomed over him in the form of a polar bear. Good enough for Jack. His roar echoed through the square. One swat of his massive paw had Amaros flying through the air and landing with a splash in the fountain. Jack followed, his bulk fine with the wet. His massive jaws clamped onto Amaros’s neck, ready to shake the life from him. But he met with air. Growling, he swung his head, searching for his prey, but Amaros had become shadows and fog, escaping on the wind.

Jack took one lumbering step to follow, but halted. Mary. In an instant he was himself again, na**d and scrambling out of the fountain.

She lay as pale as death, and so bloody still. He bit his trembling lips hard as his shaking hands traveled over her body. Nothing. Aside from the bruises on her face, there was no grievous injury, no massive blood loss. Cursing, he pressed an ear to her chest. Not a sound.

Water dripped from his hair and splattered onto her face. Viciously he tore at his skin, and when the blood welled, he pressed his gaping wrist against her mouth. She did not move. Whatever had been done to her, his blood could not fix it. She’d left him.

“Merrily.” It was a sob. He sucked in a breath, touched her hair. No, he was not bloody losing her. He hauled her up and held on tight. He needed help. And there was only one man who could provide it.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Too long. Jack did not want to think about how much time had passed since Mary’s heart had last pumped. Shit, piss, and f**k. How long could a GIM survive this way? Panic surged. His muscles burned from running and now from paddling the small skiff he’d nicked from an irate wharfman. Mary lolled about in the bottom of the little boat, unmoving, not breathing.

“Shit!” He plunged the oars in as fast as he could.

Lucien’s barge loomed up before him.

“Oy!” he shouted toward it. “Stone! Get out here now.”

The skiff slammed into the side of the barge just as Lucien’s scowling face appeared over the rail. His expression swiftly changed to alarm. “Her heart isn’t running,” Lucien accused. “What the devil did you do to her?”

Jack didn’t pause to explain, nor did he give a pig’s shit when Lucien raised a brow at his nakedness as he threw Mary over his shoulder and hurried up the rickety rope ladder hanging on the side of the barge.

“Fix her.” He practically threw Mary into Lucien’s arms, making the GIM stagger. “Now!”

Lucien took off, Jack following on limbs that wobbled.

“How long?” Lucien barked, kicking open the door to his cabin.

Jack did not want to think of the time it had taken for him to run along the Victoria Embankment with Mary in his arms, nor the hellish race across the Thames.

“Too bloody long. Hell. Nearly half an hour.” His vision blurred. Impossible to come back from that.

Lucien’s lips pinched. “Christ.”

Jack blinked hard as Lucien set Mary on a massive bed and began to tear at her clothes. The bodice ripped down the middle, and with it her underclothes and corset. Honey-tipped br**sts bobbled at the rough movement. Jack sucked in a sharp breath. Countless times he’d imagined what she looked like beneath her clothes. He didn’t want to find out this way. Something twisted inside him, fear, helplessness, and rage. He tamped it down and focused. Between those perfect br**sts were interlocking teeth of gold that formed a sort of track the length of a handspan. The entrance to her clockwork heart.

Jack hated her vulnerability. Hated that Lucien looked upon her too.

But when the GIM began to feel along Mary’s long neck and then her belly with thorough hands, Jack snarled. He grabbed Lucien’s arm. “What the f**k do you think you’re doing?”

Lucien wrenched free with surprising ease. “I don’t have time for tantrums, shifter.” He bared his teeth as he glared. “I need to find her key.”

“Key? What bloody key?” Mary’s torso was smooth, too pale, and showed no trace of wearing a key.

“To restart her heart. She’s no longer under my command so I don’t have it anymore.” With that, Lucien went back to touching Mary, tracing the neat little half-moon that was her navel as he muttered. “It ought to be here. We all wear it close.”

Jack gnashed his teeth at the sight of Stone touching her with impunity. The desire to throw him across the room made Jack’s muscles quiver. But he could not. Mary needed the f**king GIM. Jack ran his hands through his shorn hair and locked his fingers behind his head to quell the temptation to strike.

Lucien paused for a moment, then laughed. His fingers went to the tawny peaks of her ni**les, and Jack nearly howled. But the bastard stopped with a grin. “Cheeky girl,” he said fondly to Mary before turning back to Jack. “Got it.”

Jack stilled. “What? It’s on her…” Heat coursed through his body as, with a gentle curl of his finger, the GIM lifted something from the tip of Mary’s left nipple. A crystal key glinted in the lamplight. Hanging from a piercing. Like that, Jack’s c**k leapt to attention.

“Shit,” he muttered, realizing that he was naked.

Lucien gave him a quick look and sneered. “Christ, man, get some clothes out of my bureau before I am ill.”

Face burning, Jack did as bidden, keeping an eye on Stone while throwing on a too-small shirt and trousers.

More precious seconds were wasted as Lucien struggled to free the tiny key from the nearly invisible hoop that attached it to Mary’s nipple. Once it was free, Lucien ran his fingertips along the golden path between Mary’s br**sts. He stopped at a small section and slipped the key into a tiny keyhole.

“You might not want to look,” Lucien murmured.

Bollocks to that. Jack moved forward and grabbed Mary’s hand. It was ice-cold and corpse-stiff.

Lucien turned the key. Immediately a series of clicks went off, sounding over-loud in the room. The golden tracks separated, parting Mary’s flesh as well. Blood welled, and then an ivory length of bone appeared.

Jack had seen a number of things in his time. Had even helped Ian repair the inspector after Lane had fought the soul thief Isley. They had not prepared him for this sight. His head went light.

Mary’s sternum creaked, and then, as if they were merely gates, her ribs began to open.

“Christ almighty.” Jack swallowed hard. Through the blood and gore lay her heart, a miracle that appeared much like a human heart in shape, save it was made of gold. Thick valves attached to the arteries were of gold as well. A glass window dominated the center of the heart, showing the inside where cogs and gears sat unmoving. Just above the window was another keyhole. Lucien slid in Mary’s crystal key and turned it counterclockwise. Blue-white light flashed from the key and traveled in cracking licks of electric current along the arteries surrounding her heart.

Slowly the cogs and gears began to move. A whirling tick-tock filled the silence. The most gorgeous sound in the world. The light increased, the currents zapping outward.

Mary’s body jolted, her back bowing. Lucien moved to hold her shoulders down, but Jack was quicker. He grasped her as gently as he could but had to firm his grip as she writhed.

Lucien leaned on her hips, holding her in place as her ribs closed.

“The key,” Jack protested.

Lucien’s gaze remained on Mary. “Patience.”