“You know why I came.”
“To learn something about me.” He stepped closer. “To be seduced.”
“That isn’t—”
“Is it not? You are no milk-blooded miss, you must know my intentions, I have made no secret of them.”
“You care nothing for my virtue then?”
“On the contrary, I care most passionately. I mean to take it for myself. You know that much already. Besides, you yourself have as little care for it as I do.”
“That isn’t true!”
“So you say.” He clasped his hands behind his back, chuckling. “It seems we all have our masks to wear—yours is that of a moiling pietist; and it fits you ill.”
She balled her fists. “I did not come here to have my character whittled away at, and the only way I’ll ever yield my virtue is by force.”
“I have no need to enforce or ensorcel you, Emma.”
“I did not give you leave to use my name, Lord Winterly.”
He disregarded the rebuke and continued. “I have only to be patient, for your desire is equal to my own, you have only to acknowledge it.” There was no hint of conceit, as she might have expected from such a claim, but merely a quiet confidence that irked.
Presumptuous devil! She knew she ought never have come here unchaperoned. Nor should she have returned his kiss earlier or allowed him even half the liberties he had thus far enjoyed from her. Ordinarily, she never would have dared any such indecencies, but he was no ordinary being. There was every possibility he was exerting some dark and compelling force over her. Nothing about his addresses could be deemed romantic or appropriate.
“Now that you have done presuming to tell me why I came out here with you,” she said, stiffening her spine, “I hope you will get to the point of explaining why you sought to bring me here in the first place. You gave me to understand it was an unmasking, not a seduction.”
“The night air,” he replied, his sculpted lips compressed sardonically. “I brought you out to take the night air with me.”
“Many are those that believe the night air carries diseased miasmata—a danger to one’s constitution, you know.” Coupled with the rose analogy of earlier and his desire to corrupt her, she could only assume he’d meant to trick her into a seduction after all. Or maybe he meant to drink her blood. “Shall I catch my death in this night air, d’you think?”
“From malaria?” he scoffed. “No, nothing so bland as that for you.”
“How obliging,” she murmured, rubbing the chill from her arms. What small comfort the moon offered was now and again interrupted by draping clouds.
“There,” he whispered, holding up his hand for her to be still. “I promised you lights…”
There was a dubious comment on the tip of her tongue, but it was swallowed abruptly when before her nose materialized a faint glow. Gradually, she descried tiny green mesmeric lights pulsing to life around her amidst the stygian trees. Hundreds of glowworms, kindled like muted stars, drifting indolently to and fro as she stared, enthralled. She swept her eyes from one verdant light to another until her gaze found its way back to Winterly. “They’re beautiful.”
“You see, not all worms fly about in the night with villainous intent.”
She could not help snorting at that, amused despite that his comments of a moment ago had given her the spleen.
“But,” he added, his voice softening unexpectedly, “I am not such a wyrm...” And then he was gone. She whirled around in search of him, bemused and disquieted, but he seemed to have dematerialized into the shadows themselves. Her sudden erratic movements extinguished all the little viridian lights until she felt quite alone. “Lord Winterly, come out at once!”
Suddenly she felt herself weightless and flying through the air, her breath stolen. She gave a yelp that was abruptly cut short as she was thrust against a tree with a wall of solid, male flesh caging her against it. The bark was gnarled and rough against her back.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
“Is this not what you expected of me?” Winterly seethed, his nose a hairsbreadth from hers.
The scud shifted and the moon came out in full force once more. The mask was gone and he stood before her with unholy eyes—devouring black pits. His flesh was preternaturally pale.
“You mean to drink my blood,” she said, strangely calm in her horror.
“Then you know what I am?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her hands like claws against his chest. “I know.” She swallowed, steeling herself to say the one word that had disturbed her slumber the better part of a sennight. “You’re a vampyre.”
The breath was jerked from her lungs as he brusquely moved away, giving her his back. “I answer to that…and a great many other appellations besides.”
“Like what?”
“Beliel. Hades. Lucifer…the Great Dragon.” He shrugged, glancing back at her. “Take whichever epithet you prefer.”
“I prefer to use the name you were born to.”
“I was not born, as you understand the term. I was created out of nothing, pulled from the ether to serve a destiny that was never my own. A seraph who watched from his throne in the north sky.”
“An angel!” This was indeed a revelation, for he looked nothing of the sort. A dark angel then. Though he was beautiful and stately, she had always imagined angels to be blue-eyed and cherubic, their halos of golden hair framing innocent countenances like those said to be depicted in the frescos stretched athwart the Sistine Chapel. But this creature was the antithesis of all that was angelic—eyes obsidian, hair black as sloe. In fine, he was a libertine.
He gave a bitter laugh and expounded further. “I am He That Stalks In The Darkness—a Fallen.”
“A fallen angel,” she said, her words barely audible. “What was your name?”
“My earthly name is Markus. The name by which I was known ere I fell is of no moment, for you could never pronounce it with your mortal tongue; besides, that being was naught but a servant with a servile name.”
“How old are you?”
“I am not yet thirty.”
“No” —she clucked her tongue— “how long have you existed in the universe.”
“Since time immemorial.” He gave a lift of one impassive shoulder. “What does it really matter?”
“The particulars matter very much!” She pressed her fingers to her temples, lest her mind unravel with all that he had told her. “Before I met you the world made sense. I was only tedious, old Emma Rose and—”
“You were never that,” he said. “You only hide your daimon behind austerity and high necklines. But I see you, Emma.”
“And what do you see?” She was transfixed, warmed by his silky voice and intoxicating words.
“An adventuress in a red dress,” he replied. “One whose desires match my own.”
“You know nothing of my desires, vampyre.”
“An incubus, you called me once. I recall I knew even then what your desires were—still are. Do you remember?”
“My God! You were in my room in London!” Her eyes flew wide with the implication. “You crawled up the wall to my window?”
“I did no such thing,” he said, mouth pursing distastefully. “I am not a bloody spider. I entered by your uncle’s leave, or did you forget that I was invited.”
“Not to my bed, you devil!” And then, with a gasp, another thought occurred to her. “You meant to kill me that first night, in the fog!”
“You mean the night I saved you?”
Had he saved her only to savor her later? “Do you deny you were hunting me?”
“I craved your flesh that night, I won’t deny it. I crave it still.” He took a step closer. “And your blood most of all.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Responsive and Warm
He craved her flesh and blood!
The ball, the waltzing, the harlequins, the costumes, and all the sumptuous splendor—every bit of it a farse! The Idyll
was now well and truly at an end. Winterly’s admission had doused Emma in rippling chills.
She closed her eyes against the preternatural gaze pinning her. “How…how then does the next part of this act play out?”
“That all depends on you.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“And you shan’t.”
Her brow tightened. “I don’t wish to be…like you either.”
“Immortal? That too is your choice, Emma.”
“I have choices, do I?” If she had any power at all it was only by his authority, and well she knew it. And that rankled. It was easier to let it rankle, for the alternative was to admit bloodless dread. On a whim he could snap her neck as easily as pluck a rose from its root. “So I could leave Winterthurse this very minute if I chose? Or am I a prisoner here?” She had to know.
“You are at liberty to do as you please. But unless my senses play me false, I rather believe you’ll stay, if only to appease your own curiosity. After all, it is in your nature to seek and to question.” He brought his lips to the corner of her mouth, and from there brushed them softly along her jawline to her ear.
“What more is there to question?” she said, turning her head, for his lips were hovering over her pulse and it unnerved her. “I know your secret now. There is no need to stay and seek any longer.”
“So you have discovered all, have you?”
“All I wish to know, yes.”
“Liar.” He lifted his head with a chuckle. “There is no fun in running away, lest you wish me to give chase. Admittedly, the chase would give me immense pleasure.”
“Whether or not I wish to run or stay is moot. Not at the expense of my sister’s life shall I stay here a moment longer.” She raised her hands to his chest to push him away. “What will happen to Milli if I stay?”
“Like you, your sister is master of her own fate.”
“I must know if she is in danger here! Give me an answer I can accept.” Emma put some real force behind her hands, but it did her no good. Proof that he controlled the situation, not she.
With an impatient sound he finally gave her the space she desired. “There are limits to my power, Emma. I cannot foretell the future, nor can I rewrite what has already occurred…”
“What does that mean?”
“Your sister allows intemperance to decide her fate. I am not her keeper.”
Emma was on the verge of ripping out her hair. “But is she safe here?”
“She is now.”
“How can I be assured of that?”
“You have my word.”
“But the word of a vampyre holds no water with me.”
“Suit yourself, my rose.”
“I despise that moniker!” More so because she did not wish to be the sick rose that he clearly meant to make of her.
“How prickly you are tonight.” He pulled his watch out and regarded the hour. “And this, the cusp of your birthday.”
He was right, she was being testy. Was she a fool for testing the limit of his beneficence? It was foolhardy to provoke a vampyre, was it not? Warm tears were spilling over her cheeks before she could check them. It was not for fear of her own safety that had so quietly filled her eyes but the unspeakable dread that her sister might be in mortal danger. Her throat constricted with great painful sobs that whelmed up from the bottom of her heart. She was loath to have him witness what she would rather do in private, but the leak had sprung and there was nothing she could do about it now but empty the reservoir.
Through the darkness and watery vision, Winterly looked bemused. Two deep clefts had appeared between his brows at the first sign of her tears. In the midst of her indecorous sniffling, she was surprised to find a piece of lace pressed suddenly into her hand.
“Your tears cut no ice with me, madam.” His voice was gruff. She was coming to find that she was always “madam” when he was vexed with her. “My words may hold no water with you, but I tell you now that I have never lied to you and only time shall prove that. You are in no mortal danger from me. Milli too is safe as long as she remains under my protection. Leave Winterthurse if you wish, I will not stop you, you are free to do as you please and go where you will. You are not my prisoner, Miss Rose.”
She wiped the last of the moisture from her eyes before she retuned his monogrammed hanky to him. It was then she noticed the curious quirk of his mouth as he beheld her, his eyes once more…human. His expression was almost gentle. “Why do you look at me in that way?”
“Because you fascinate me. I find it intriguing that you have borne my revelations with such equanimity and such show of mettle.”
“Hardly equanimous to be caught in a weep.”
“Well, you are only human,” he allowed. “But doughty all the same. Any other maid would have swooned dead away. Your novels have taught me that much.”
“I suppose I bear it as I have because I still question my sanity. Perhaps I shall awaken in Bedlam tomorrow and discover that you are nothing but a phantom in a dream.”
“I am no phantom, Miss Rose. I could prove as much, if you’d allow it.”
Allow it? Only insofar as he allowed her to allow anything. Emma lifted her hands warily to her neck, suspicious of how he might go about proving his corporeality.
“Ay,” he said, chuckling darkly, “I could very well demonstrate it that way, but I won’t. There is a code of ethics, you understand.” Then, under his breath, “Though I am not above breaking cardinal laws.”
She gave a snort. “I understand only that you require blood to survive.”
“I do, but you are not the only blood source in England, dear girl.”
The thought of him siphoning off some poor wretched soul’s lifeblood sickened her. “You are vile.”
“Enough,” he said, nose flaring. “Do not presume to understand my habits.”
“As you presume to understand me?”
“At least I come to you with an open mind, madam, but you are determined to act the bigot.”
She gasped as though he’d slapped her. Was she truly having this argument with a vampyre about ethics and morals—and he, the killer, calling her a bigot! “Who killed those women in London?”
With a growl he turned his back. “Why ask that question when you have already decided that it was I?”
“Do you deny that you kill for blood.”
“I do not.”
With a shudder she held up her hand. “Save the remainder of your divulgences for another time, I beg of you.”
“A time of day, you mean?” He was impenetrably watchful.
The night was thick and the advantage all his own; this was neither the place nor the time for him to…enlighten her. The rest could wait until the world was no longer blighted by darkness. “Yes, I require that you wait until morning to continue.” Once the sun was up to fortify her courage she would feel more herself again. Only then would she be equal to bear witness to whatever else he meant to show her.
“Then oblige me,” said he, “with an uncolored mind when you are ready to know more.”
Was she really being as opinionated and intolerant as he affirmed? Surely she was right to hold him in suspicion? Now that she knew what he was, how was she to proceed without preconceived notions and aversions?
Ana had warned her to be on her guard around these Winterlys and Emma would be a fool not to heed that warning, for that seemed the safest recourse. But how had Ana known about him? And would she, Emma, be endangering Ana’s life by asking Winterly about the De Grigoris? Likely. All these uncertainties made one thing very certain: Emma would need to tread carefully if she and Milli were to survive. She couldn’t very well pin all her trust and hopes of survival on Winterly’s magnanimity. Just as a cat had no business trusting a hungry wolf.
First thing tomorrow morning she would try to convince Milli it was time to leave. While Winterly still maintained his guise of benevolence; at any moment he might assume the role of mad butcher of London. They ought to
have left the first day she suspected him of being a fiend. Although, suspecting someone of vampirism was nothing to actually hearing and seeing that suspicion confirmed. She could be forgiven the sense of gothic excitement she’d felt till now. Reality was far less romantic.
“Miss Rose,” he said, interrupting her chaotic thoughts. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Yes.” And then something awful occurred to her. “You haven’t been sneaking into my room every night, have you?”
Thankfully, his look of insult was manifestly genuine. “To what purpose? Or do you imagine I find pleasure in fondling an unresponsive body like some necrophilic cur?”
“What? No!” Good God, what a hideous thought!
“I have come to you only once and that was when you were quite awake, though you convinced yourself you were dreaming. I prefer my sport responsive and warm.” And before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her once more. Hard. Despite all that had passed between them tonight, she felt herself melt against him. The truth was, as dangerous as his kiss was—as deadly as the teeth behind those lips were—she was never more alive than when his mouth was pressed to hers.
When he pulled away, he gently pulled her mask away with him, having untied it whilst she’d been lost in the kiss. He took her hand in his and she sighed as he guided her out of the grove and away from the black roses.
When they reached the lantern lit courtyard, he stopped to press a heated kiss atop her hand. “Emma,” he whispered against her skin, “shall I come to your room tonight?”
It seemed an eternity before his words registered in her foggy brain. When they finally did she stepped back instantly, drawing her hand away. She shook her head, appalled—appalled because for a precarious moment there she’d been about to say yes.
“Then,” he said with a curt nod, “I bid you good night my prim little rose.”
She nodded and retreated from him, lifting her fingers to the ruby dragon resting below her throat like a crucifix. His smile became almost feral as a long howl disturbed the night. She shivered and hurried into the castle. What manner of hound haunted these shady moors? A veritable Cerberus, no doubt.
Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1) Page 26
