Chapter 5

London, England

Six months ago

 

Val pushed the door open with her bottom, holding the suitcases tightly, knowing that if she put them down, she’d be too tired to pick them up again.

Twenty six hours ago she’d been in San Francisco and now she was in London. The awe, enthusiasm and amazement was becoming buried under a fierce desire to shower and nap. London had been around for hundreds of years, and she figured it’d be there after her nap too.

The hallway was dingy and bare except for a piece of paper taped on the wall. It said ‘Hampstead pub crawl tonight at 8pm’ and was written in red pen.

A pub crawl. That sounded youthful. Nothing said London like a pub crawl! She hoped it was as simple as she thought it was: Go to pub, have drink, repeat until intoxicated, crawl home.

Her room was on the second floor. There were bathrooms at both ends of the hall and a communal kitchen. The walls were shamefully thin but the room was large and had huge windows that opened up to a nice courtyard below.

Val unpacked and took a long nap which forced her to hurry or be late. Somehow she managed to show up at the kitchen at eight o’ clock on the dot. The natural look was in, right?

There were twenty other kids there already. Kids. She was twenty one. Yikes. Maybe she was too old to be living in a dorm after all. She was going to graduate school and the woman in Admissions had sworn that there would be others her age here, working on their degrees as well. Hmmm.

To say the kitchen had seen better days was inaccurate. It might have been newer, but it had never been anything beyond functional in the cheapest sense of the word. This was a kitchen used to students, which meant everything was dented or slightly broken. Some of the cabinets were hanging askew, like they'd been ripped off and screwed back on by a drunken repairman.

The toaster had what was hopefully butter, smeared all over it, and the table looked...sticky.

I’m too old for this. Could she get her money back? Find an apartment somewhere? But it was only a year, right? Did she really want to be on her own, with no one to talk to? She made a tsking noise under her tongue, thinking then looked around her again. Oops.

She'd been staring into the distance, thinking her own thoughts but a young man had been in the way. Now he was watching her, a smile on his face. Oh god. He thought she’d been checking him out.

Val blushed. He was handsome. Light brown hair and blue eyes. His smile was slow and reached his eyes. He smiled a lot, she could tell just by looking at him. He just looked like a happy guy. What a novel idea, she thought, comparing him to Jack's doom-and-gloom-persona. Ooh, he had nice teeth too. That was when it clicked, a feeling of rightness and potential belonging. She was in London. She was young and free, Jack and her father were thousands of miles away and she could be someone different.

They left the dorm and began the walk to Hampstead Village. Purple brick mansions lined the streets, narrow steps leading up to ornate doors with heavy brass knockers. Huge Range Rovers and full-sized American cars were parked on the small streets, towering over their European cousins. Not too shabby for a dorm location.

“You know Rod Stewart lives around here.”

She turned and there he was. The handsome one. “Really? Do you know which one?”

He laughed. “No. It may not even be true. My roommate told me. But he's Northern and you can't trust them an inch.”

“What?” She was perplexed but amused.

“He's from Northern England, near Liverpool. He's nice enough, but they're a very disreputable sort.”

“That's a terrible thing to say!” She laughed anyway.

“And snobbish.” He contributed helpfully. “Class warfare is alive and well in England. There, now you know. We also have good fish and chips. I'm Ian.” He held out his hand to introduce himself.

Val took his hand and noticed he had nice nails too. His palm was smooth and not too warm. They chatted all night. Ian bought her a drink at the Wellington, then bought everyone a round at The Dog and Crook, which resulted in much cheering from her bleary-eyed new friends. By the fifth pub, everything was hilarious. She laughed and danced. Blur came on and they all sang along with abandon. It was so different from America. Liberating somehow.

Ian maneuvered her into a corner and kissed her lightly, waiting to see if his kiss would be rebuffed. He tasted of ale and she knew he’d taste the cider she'd had several pints of. Fermented apple juice was the gateway drink to beer. Who knew?

Ian pulled back. “You taste like apples. I thought girls were supposed to taste like strawberries.” He said it in a James Bond accent that came complete with a raised eyebrow and smug expression.

She actually giggled. “At least it's a fruit. Have you ever kissed someone after they ate a loaf of garlic bread?” That was dumb. But seriously, she was so drunk he was lucky she could say anything, let alone coordinate a kiss.

Smiling, his lips met hers again. Val closed her eyes and leaned into him, feeling her heart pound and a sweet desire unfurl within her. She twined her arms around his neck and he held her lightly, kissing her until she felt a little light-headed. Val pulled away from him. “I'm sorry. You are so cute, and I am so drunk, but we have got to stop. I need a shred of reputation or this will be a really long year. I can't make out with you in public on the very first night of school.”

Ian squeezed her hips lightly. “Maybe you don't need your reputation. Maybe we are perfect for each other and it's a grand passion. Uncontrollable. Forever.” Her brain was hazy but that was wrong. Forever was wrong, reminded her of vampires and the life she’d left behind. The Hell she would! She'd kiss him, make herself think about Ian and not worry about—  

Why is he watching me? Seated at the bar, back to her, was a man. A mirror ran along the length of the bar and patrons could look into it and see the people behind them. He was watching her, burning her with his gaze.

Her heart fell all the way through her body to land on the beer soaked carpet.

Jack!

The look in his eyes sobered her up. Sort of. He threw back the rest of his drink, something dark in a shot glass. Without taking his eyes from hers, he reached into a pocket in his black, cashmere coat. He pulled out an envelope and held it up between two fingers, summoning her to him from across the crowded pub.

 Fucker.

Val made her excuses and went to the bar, Ian letting her go with mild confusion over her sudden departure. All the women were watching Jack either overtly or with sidelong glances.

But oddly, the chairs surrounding him were empty. As though people knew he was dangerous and determined, not someone to trifle with. There was something hard about him. His eyes were cold and flat, reminding her of the famed London fog.

His expression was a mask of boredom with the slightest hint of anger and a dash of disgust. The recipe of Jack. He turned towards her, leaning back so his elbows rested on the bar. A cool and relaxed pose.  

Val smiled. She was drunk, she couldn't help it. And after the last time she'd seen him, three years ago in Berkeley, he deserved this. She was free. So what if he found her? A sober part of her wondered what he wanted and worried that he'd try to take her away.

Placing her hand on his thigh to steady herself, she felt the hard muscle bunch under her fingers. His jaw locked together rigidly in a sign of frustration. It made her smile.

She was a devil when she was drunk.

Val leaned into him so that if he looked down he'd see straight down her top. Her cheek pressed against his and she whispered into his ear breathily, “What brings you to a merry little pub like this? And where were you six hours ago when I was carrying all that stupid luggage? Look at my hand, it's still red and I chipped a nail.” She made sure her voice was a little bit pouty.

She stuck her hand out in front of her so that he could take it and look at her palm. His eyes flicked down but then met her gaze squarely again. He didn't touch her and she had the impression he wouldn't touch her with a ten foot pole. Jesus. After three years he could still rip her open with a look.

“Don't worry I'll get someone else to touch me instead,” she snapped, wanting to hide the hurt he'd made her feel.

“You. I'm here because of you. As always. Your father wanted you to have this. Read it. It's a list of areas to avoid, any intel we have about the scene in England. Safe houses that you can go to if something happens. We are going to Africa. We won't be around for a few months. If you need anything, call Gilbert Arthur. We'll check in with him when we can. Got it?”

“How is Gil?” She asked, partially to irritate Jack and also because she wanted to know. He was a sort of unofficial coordinator for the Hunters.

Jack looked around the bar in boredom, “He’s good. Says Hi.”

She leaned away from him, feeling very sober now. “That’s great,” she said just as insincerely. “And how is dad?”

“Also fine,” Jack waited.

“Also great,” Really? This is our conversation?

Her hands clenched at her side. She should just let him go. But she wanted to see him, even if he was angry and disgusted with her, she wanted to look at him, see the changes of him. His hair was shorter, his skin tanned and dark. She could see a bruise on his jaw and wanted to ask him how he got it. Wanted to touch it. 

“Why are you going to Africa?”

He gave her a look and she knew he wasn't going to tell her.

“So if you guys go missing, I'll start in South Africa and ask who's the big bad vampire until someone tells me, or hears about the dumb American girl who believes in vampires and is looking for them.” She finished in a sing song voice, “I guess we know what will happen...” Val dragged her finger across her throat, imitating her throat being slit.

 He leaned towards her, his face inches from hers. She could feel his breath as he spoke, smell the alcohol and she wanted to kiss him so much that if he'd told her she could have just one taste of him but then she'd have to give up London—  she might have done it.

In that moment, she would have left it all behind.

“That is deeply unamusing. Does it really matter, Val? Why threaten to come after us? You haven't before. You don't want to know what we—screw it. I’m outta here.”

He’s going to leave!

“Jack,” she said, voice stricken. What the hell had happened to make him so antagonistic? His eyes dropped to her lips and his gaze fixed on her mouth. It made her stomach tighten.

“You want fun, not family. You have never chosen us.”

She'd done it; pushed him too far, made him lose control a little and that was even more tempting than anything else. Val had imagined him taking her in a darkened fury more times that she liked to count.

He never touched her but part of her kept hoping he would. That the emotional outburst would turn physical. As though he could read her mind, his lips curved into a half smile that was more sneer than happy.

“You have a good night, Val. We'll let you know when we get back.” He stood and she stepped back. He was a full head taller than her and so imposing it was instinctual to move out of his way.

With quiet despair, she kept her mouth closed. She wouldn't do anything, dammit. Wouldn't wish him well, wouldn't say goodbye and sure as hell wouldn't apologize. All she was doing was living her life. He'd rejected her. What did he have to be pissy about?

But there was another reason she didn't want to say goodbye to him. She didn't want to jinx it. If things were an emotional mess she knew he'd survive. It was a stupid and irrational way to behave. Crap, it was probably just an excuse to not fix things. But she did believe it, at least a little bit. Happy people died. If he had unfinished business and anger, he'd come back to her.

Anger socked her in the throat and she reached out her hand to his chest, pushing him back down to the bar stool so that they were the same height. He let her, she knew that. Jack could have stopped her, or even resisted a little, but he wasn’t.

“We are not done. So what? You had a few days off and thought you'd come to see how I was doing? You don't have a Google account?”

“I see how you are doing. Moving a bit fast, aren't we? Helpful tip, hard to get is actually a turn on.”

Val threw her head back and laughed, her heart breaking with each forced sound. “Please! Please, tell me that you are chastising me for flirting with that guy?

“His tongue was down your throat. Maybe I'm a prig, but that's not flirting.”

“You are such a jackass. You are not my father. You just want to keep me in a cocoon. I'm twenty one now. Stop checking on me like this.” Even as she said the words she wanted to take them back. Do check up on me, she wanted to tell him. Or else I know I'll never see you again and I like knowing that you will at some point show up. But she kept her mouth shut.

“Your father worries about you,” Jack's deep voice became husky with sincerity.

“Then where is he? Life is fleeting and where is he?”

Jack shook his head and she could feel his disgust. “He saves people. We save people. You go have a drink and screw your English boy-toy. Christ, Val.” He didn't look back at her, staring resolutely towards the door, and she knew he was dying to get away from her.

Val wanted to slap him. He always made her feel guilty and small. Grabbing the envelope from him, she stalked away.

Ian was waiting for her, clearly with questions about the man she'd talked to at the bar. No more questions. She went back to Ian and grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him in for another kiss. He looked surprised as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him hard. He pulled back a little and gentled the kiss. A brush of lips over hers, instead of the bruising grind she'd greeted him with. Relaxing, she forced each contracted muscle to not tense over Jack. The kiss was slow and had the excitement of newness. When she came up for air, Jack was gone.

************

Jack left the pub, his blood boiling as usual. What a spoiled brat! He walked silently through Hampstead to the Northern Line tube stop. The flight left at six am, back to America. Not soon enough. He'd done what he was supposed to do and given her the information. He'd checked on her and seen her. Val was fine. Shit, she was better than fine: she was going to slut her way through London for the next year. Maybe he'd leave that part out when he saw Nate.

He got to Heathrow at one in the morning. He checked in and sat down in a chair, his back to the wall, so that he could see everyone as they came towards the gate. Closing his eyes, he tried to sleep.

Someone in his line of work could sleep anywhere, under any circumstances. He rested his head back against the chair, crossed his arms, and sprawled his legs. He tried to think of nothing. Clear his mind and sleep but he kept seeing her in his mind. She was gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous. Not in an obvious way. She was probably considered pretty by others, but to him she was like an inferno.

Tonight, she'd worn jeans that looked like they had been painted on they were so tight. Jack remembered the flash of generous cleavage as she'd leaned over him, daring him to look at her. He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, wanting distance from the memory of her body.

Who was he kidding? He was too tired and too lonely to fight his memories tonight anyway. Thoughts of her hand on his thigh. Her breath in his ear, made him hard. More memories came to him unbidden, her straddling him, her-

Christ.

He thought of the night before she left for college.  Just once, he'd wanted to give in to her. After all those years of her looking at him with adoration and lust, while he feigned ignorance.

Why was it so hard to keep her away and not want her? Just last week a vampire had attacked him outside of his home. That was not the life for Valerie. She'd been through enough and worked hard to be on her own.

In a way, maybe he was her weakness too. So he kept himself away from her. Now he saw her as little as possible. It was too painful. Especially after he'd held her, kissed her, felt her shudder in climax against him. God, he wanted her so much. But, he wanted revenge... and they both knew that he wanted revenge just a little bit more than he wanted her.

And yet, in his weaker moments and in his dreams, he'd thought of her thighs over him. Val on top of him, clasping his hands, but gripping him, pulling him up and towards her—  this is not restful. He loved that hair of hers, so thick and rich. A hundred browns. Dark hair that glinted in the sun.

Her eyes drew him too. He could look into those dark eyes forever. See himself reflected in them, chocolate brown with gold flecks. When he looked into her eyes, he knew she loved him back. Or at least she had. She appeared to have no trouble moving on now. What a cluster fuck they were in.

He tried to push these thoughts away, focus on the mission in Africa but instead he dwelled on Val and Nate. The man wouldn't even try with her. He claimed that he didn't want to draw attention to her. Whenever Jack had to go see Val, Nate made sure he was somewhere on the other side of the world drawing attention to himself. Usually, pissing on Lucas's doorstep. Since half the world was his doorstep they had gotten away with it. They planned each attack thoroughly, planned with contingencies and they had succeeded and lived this long because of their caution.

The mere thought of Val trying to do what they did made his blood run cold. She wasn't calm enough or methodical enough to keep herself safe. She acted first and thought later. So why did he always taunt her, want to convince her to stay with them?

With him?

Because he was a selfish bastard and he wanted to know that he meant something to her. He needed to know that if they died someone would think of him and remember him as family or as hers.

He needed another drink. Jack didn't drink very often but he was in the airport and it was almost daylight. He was safe for today. So he'd drink and torture himself with memories of all the times he'd let her go.