Shadowdance Read Online Free Page A

stubborn will.
    With a sullen pout, Talent dropped his large body into the chair opposite her. She suspected that he sought 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 raising a touch in reproach. She’d been childish in not giving him the proper form of address, but some things burned for her too.
    His quick, irrepressible smirk said he knew as much. “Master,” he reminded her.
    He loved that she had to call him master. In their first year in training, he’d taken every opportunity to make her use the official title for all male regulators. Their gazes held, and heat rose to her cheeks. Thank God she hadn’t the complexion to blush or he’d be all over her. “Master Talent,” she ground out.
    His annoying smirk deepened, and her nails dug deeper into the flesh of her palms. One day…
    “Now that we have our forms of address clear,” cut in Wilde, “might we proceed with the actual investigation? Or shall we continue with this little pissing contest?”
    “Pray continue. If Chase can manage to refrain from straying off track, that is.” Talent adjusted his broad shoulders in the chair and crossed one leg over the other.
    Never react
. She turned her gaze upon the director. “I was ready to hear the facts of the case twenty minutes ago, Director.”
    Talent bristled, and she let a small smile escape. He bristled further, but Director Wilde ploughed ahead.
    “Good.” Setting his hands upon the polished mahogany table, Director Wilde proceeded to give them the facts. Mary had already memorized them, and so she let the director’s words drift over her as she studied Talent. The man was good, his strong, blunt features not revealing any hint that he might have personal knowledge of the Bishop of Charing Cross’s most recent kill.
    One powerful arm rested upon the table, and the fabric of his plain black suit coat bunched along the large swellof his bicep. Talent did not so much as twitch when the director set down a photograph of the last victim.
    “Mr. Keating of Park Place,” said Director Wilde. “As with the other murders, he has been branded with the Bishop’s cross. The sole difference in this victim is that, while the others were demons, this man was a shifter, and by all accounts a law-abiding citizen of London.”
    Mary glanced at the photo, featuring a young man stripped naked. The cross branding his chest was a raw, ugly wound, but it was his eyes, wide and staring, that made her clockwork heart hurt. It was the expression of an innocent man pleading for mercy.
    Talent looked as well. And when he did, she watched him. The ends of his brows lifted a fraction, and she was inclined to believe that he was surprised. Then again, he had always been a fine actor. In the beginning of his association with the SOS, Talent had made a name for himself by successfully tricking a powerful primus demon into believing he was Poppy Lane. Of course being able to shift to look exactly like Poppy had been part of it, but it was his mimicking of her character to the letter that had made the difference between success and catastrophe.
    How could a man who had nearly died defending others be a murderer? But Mary feared she understood all too well. Although he was arrogant, obnoxious, and a general ass, he’d survived an ordeal that would break most men. Was he irrevocably broken?
    “Do you recognize the victim, Master Talent?”
    Wilde’s query had Mary focusing once more.
    Talent’s heavily lidded eyes lifted from the photograph. “Shifters by nature are a solitary lot. No, I did not know Mr. Keating.”