by Emma Hamm
The food settled into a pit at the bottom of his stomach. Was she still frightened of him? Had he slipped so far from knowing what humanity was that he didn’t recognize the scent of fear?
Leaving his food, he stalked out of the dining room and paused at the base of the stairs. There it was again. The static feeling of eyes on him.
Slowly, he turned his head to stare up the grand staircase of tortured souls to see her pressed against the balusters with her fists wrapped around the rails. She was curled in a ball on the landing, and her eyes burned.
“You’re still here, I see.” He called out to her.
“As if I could go anywhere else.”
“You are well enough to walk around and leave traps for me.”
He watched her swallow hard. “What did you do to me?”
“I gave you a magical creature to share your body.”
“Then why can’t I hear it?” she murmured so quietly he almost didn’t hear the pain in the question.
“It’s the way she desires it,” Pitch said through the spike of angst in his chest. “I believe she gave you her magic but not her soul.”
“That seems cruel.”
He wanted to tell her she did not know the meaning of cruel. Only once she had everything ripped away from her and replaced with emptiness would she be able to comprehend true cruelty. But he refrained from stooping that low. Instead, he stiffened his spine.
“Have you made yourself at home?” he asked formally.
“This is not a home. This is a prison.”
“I have endeavored to provide everything you might need.”
“That does not make me any less a captive, nor you less a captor. A prisoner might be provided fare to stay alive. And they still might wither away behind their locked doors.”
He glanced up at her hiding spot and saw how pale she was. Her face had drawn gaunt in the long days since he saw her. Her bleached hair did not help her complexion, which appeared more grey than he remembered.
And her lips were ashen too.
“You have not been eating,” he commented. “You need to keep your strength.”
Her eyes widened. “I will take care of myself the way I want to, thank you very much. You have no control over my body.”
“That is where you are wrong.”
“You’ve been gone for over a month,” her words made a shiver dance down his spine. “This house has provided for me, and I can see it is enchanted. Still, that means very little when I can’t even walk out the door.”
His patience was wearing thin. Brows drawn into a frown, he placed a foot on the stairs. “You have no knowledge of where I go or what I do-”
She feared him? He hesitated when she drew away from the banister and receded into the shadows. Sticky tendrils of darkness drew her toward them when they should have responded to him.
Since when had his shadows not behaved as he wanted them to?
Sighing, he dragged a hand through his hair. “My apologies.”
He backed away from the stairwell of screaming souls. She followed him as though a short string was attached between the two of them. Her face appeared between the slats of the banister once more. Shadows cast slashes across her face, and light reflected from the dark pools of her eyes.
“I want to go home,” she told him.
“You will remain here.”
“Then you should bring me to a hospital. I am not well.”
He shook his head. “Your body will accept the magic or it won’t. Neither hospital nor healer will do you any good.”
Her gasp echoed in his mind. “Then why do this to me?”
There was no answer to her question. He wanted her safe, or he wanted the magic inside her that tasted so familiar to remain safe. It was the same in the end. He had to keep her alive. And he would.
That meant getting close to her. He was not capable of that when twilight ran through his veins.
“I will be in my office if you need me,” he finally said. Scaring her any further would only result in angering him. He needed her to trust him.
He turned on his heels to make his way back to the office which likely overflowed with paperwork from Leo and his team. He had to sign everything, and the shipments of Juice were going to be affected by his disappearance. There was much to think about besides the little mouse hiding upstairs.
Her voice scraped nails down his spine as she called out, “You mean the office where I found the wire?”
So she did have some fight left in her. And he had been assuming she didn’t have a spine.
Pitch glanced over his shoulder. “I am certain I will find some things missing.”
“Who has wire lying around in their office?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
He wasn’t going to tell her the answer to that. He saw the darkness flit in her eyes when she asked the question. She already thought he used the wire to tie up victims, likely thinking he enjoyed the sight of it biting into their skin.
He didn’t have it in him to say she was correct. “Go back to your room, darling. It’s safer there.”
“I don’t think there’s a room in this house where I’m safe from you.”
“Then perhaps you should leave your light on when you go to sleep.”
The clipping sound of his boots striking the hardwood floors created a screen from the words she must be shouting at him. Surely she wouldn’t let him get away with such callous words. Pitch listened carefully to hear what she might spit at him, but silence stung his ears.
Perhaps he was too harsh with her. He was a careless man. Sil had changed that for a time, but she was not here. He returned to his natural state in the long years since he saw her.
The door to his office creaked open. Frowning, he silently chided the house for not appropriately taking care of itself.
Never had he desired to be the soft man Sil wanted him to be, he mused as he walked past rows of priceless ancient leather bound journals. They filled bookshelves stretching twice his height to the ceiling.
They were both the beginning and the end of all time. Each tome contained unlimited knowledge, and unlimited power. He planned to read for the remainder of the night.
But first, he had to check the damage. He trailed long fingers over smooth mahogany as he carefully walked around his desk. There was a wire strung from the wall and hammered into the expensive wood. A crack spread from around the nail down to the floor.
“Menace,” he muttered as his magic fixed the issue.
The wire had been sitting atop his desk although he knew there were far more dangerous things she could have found. He carefully slid open a drawer to ensure that his battle orbs were where they should be.
Thankfully, they were. He scoffed as he eased the drawer shut. Would she use them against him? From the burning anger in her eyes, he thought she might have gleefully watched him writhe in pain.
The next drawer down had been tampered with. Her fingerprints were all over it, even if he couldn’t see the magical signature that sparkled like silver dust. She had no idea she was using the power, he suspected.
Opening the drawer, he grinned. A single letter opener was missing.
“Touche.”
It was such a small thing he might not have noticed it gone if he were not such a meticulous man. She obviously learned how to be sneaky from someone. He admired her for that.
He might have even dwelled upon the new personality traits he had learned if the books were not calling to him. Nay, singing. They fairly vibrated with magic that told him it was now time for him to learn more.
With calculated strides, he found himself staring down a red leather bound book. There were no words upon its spine, only numbers that read MMDXI.
It would be a very long night of reading, he suspected. But she was too curious to stay away for too long. He would wait until he heard the creaking of steps and then he would speak with her again. For certainly she could not stay away.
He
was wrong.
Days passed. He asked the house for menial things such as food and water, but he was growing tired of her stubbornness. Was she really going to live in this house and pretend he was not here with her?
All his paperwork was signed and sent back to the club. He’d told Leo to take control over the shipments until his return. And no, he did not know when he was going to return.
There was much to do with his captive. Namely, convincing her she was who he said she was. She had to learn to harness her powers in the allotted amount of time. Otherwise, they would fall off of the carefully written timeline and all hell would break loose.
He couldn’t let Sil down like that. But he was going to fail if she did not speak to him.
Finally, a soft knock on his door suggested she was here. He straightened his coat jacket. Smoothed the velvet so it would not seem crushed. His fingers tangled in his hair so he could at least look as though he hadn’t been sleeping at his desk, which he had, before he stumbled toward the door.
Stumbled? Pitch paused and shook himself. He was no teenaged boy excited for a date with the girl down the street. He was a damned powerful creature who could rip this world from the very timeline of dimensions.
He was not excited she was here. He was focused, purposeful that he could now take the next step in his plans.
With his nerves quelled, he clenched the glass doorknob in his fist, and pulled the door open.
“Oh,” he growled. “It’s you.”
Leo grinned back at him. His fangs glinted in the dim light. “Sorry, is this a bad time?”
“I thought you were someone else.”
“Oh, I’m sure you did. Why is there a woman laying on top of your piano?”
Pitch stopped breathing. “What?”
“I came to make sure you’re still alive and saw her. She didn’t acknowledge me at all. Thought you might like to know before I start scolding you for not telling us what was happening.”
“You don’t get to scold me,” Pitch told him as he strode past. Anger simmered low beneath his skin. “Damned woman is up to something.”
“I didn’t know you had taken a new lover!”
“Lovers are a waste of time.”
“Family then?” Leo jogged to keep up with him. "No that's not possible, you don't have family. And you don't have any friends. Is it a marriage of convenience?”
“I’m not married.”
“Interesting. Then if my deduction skills are up to par, which they usually are, I’d say you probably kidnapped her.”
Pitch clenched his fists to prevent the swell of shadows rising like a wave. They whispered dark thoughts in his ears as he rounded the corner at the end of the hallway. “Why do people keep saying that?”
“Did she ask to come here? Does she know where she is?”
“Doubtful.”
Leo tsked. “Then you kidnapped her.”
“It was required.”
“Probably shouldn’t tell people that. Makes you sound crazy.”
They both skidded to a stop when they reached the central area of the house. Pitch couldn’t believe his eyes, but Leo was correct. The woman was lying across his piano as though she had died. Her arms folded across her chest, legs ramrod straight. It didn’t look comfortable.
And yet there she was. Pitch blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.
“What are you on about?” he asked.
She didn’t turn her head. “Oh, you’re still here.”
“I live here.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Pitch’s eyebrows raised so high they disappeared into his hairline. “Are you insane?”
Laughter burst so loud next to his ear that Pitch ducked backward. Leo held onto his sides as great peels of shouting laughter echoed in the hall. That, at least, seemed to get a reaction out of Pitch’s strange captive. She sat straight up and looked at them with wide eyes.
The Cat Shifter wiped tears from his eyes as more chuckles erupted. “You are a blessing. Who is this lovely creature, Pitch?”
Pitch watched as her eyes narrowed.
“Is this some kind of trick?” she hissed.
“No trick,” Pitch gestured at the still laughing Cat. “This is Leo, my buffoon of an employee. Leo this is-”
He paused as he realized he did not have a clue what she was called. Had he ever asked for her name? Pitch wracked his memory but could not for the life of him come up with a name for the mouse huddled on top of his piano.
One of her eyebrows arched. Though she was still pale, somehow she looked both disappointed and unimpressed with him. “Lydia.”
The name scorched through him. Lydia. The name of music, just as her voice sounded like ringing bells. It suited her, he realized. Far too well in his opinion.
He could feel Leo’s eyes upon him, but could not untie his tongue. Thankfully, his loyal Cat was far more prepared than Pitch.
Leo swept into a graceful bow. “M’Lady, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your brilliance outshines all the beautiful artworks in this stately home.”
She snorted. “That isn’t hard. It’s a house made of nightmares and people screaming.”
“Uh-” the Cat stuttered, “I supposed you are correct. But you are a lily in a garden of weeds. Still beautiful if plucked and placed in a vase in the most opulent of homes.”
Pitch watched as Lydia crossed her arms over her chest. “And you have a silver tongue. That does not make me trust you. It does the opposite.”
It was distinctly pleasurable to watch Leo’s face turn beet red. The Cat was not used to women responding like this. Usually, he had them wrapped around one of his clawed fingers with just a few sentences. Pitch's hands fisted as admiration swelled for this strange woman.
Taking pity on his friend, Pitch stepped forward. “Enlighten me, darling. What are you doing?”
“I’m not your darling.”
“The question still stands.”
She swung her legs over the edge of the baby grand. “You said to make myself at home. So I am.”
“That doesn’t look very comfortable.”
“It’s not.”
Pitch took in a deep breath and refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then why partake in such an action?”
She pointed straight above them. “You have a moth problem.”
His eyes followed her direction and lit upon hundreds of moths upon his ceiling. Each a rare and beautiful species, they were an array of grays and whites. Their wings opened and closed to create a wave of movement across his ceiling. So many, they spattered down and fanned across the walls.
He exhaled a soft breath, not catching the sound in the tumultuous emotions holding him in their grasp. It was the final goodbye. Sil’s moths, which had ever provided him her words, returned to him.
He felt the weight of Lydia’s gaze. It was a physical touch which swept along his jaw and down the exposed weakness of his throat. If she had been anyone else, he would worry she would take advantage.
Instead, she captured his attention again as she swung herself down from the piano. “Invest in some moth balls,” she said. “I’ve heard dried lavender and peppermint leaves work wonders if you don’t like chemicals.”
“You are ill.”
“And who made me sick?” She walked away from him.
“Where are you going?” His voice had deepened as shadows curled around his tongue.
“Back to my room.”
“I did not say you could leave.”
“I don’t ask for permission,” it did not escape his notice that her hand trailed along the piano for balance. “It was nice to meet you, Leo.”
The Cat swept down into a low bow. “And you, Lily of the Valley.”
Her spine stiffened, but she paused. “What did you call me?”
“It seemed an appropriate nickname for you. One so pale and delicate deserves a fitting nickname.”
“My name is Lydia. I pref
er you to call me that.”
“I cannot promise,” a wicked grin spread across Leo’s face. “You have given me plenty of entertainment tonight. It's to see Pitch so pathetic around a woman.”
Pitch was ready to cuff the Cat. The assassin needed to keep his mouth shut. Shadows curled in his palm, awaiting his order to fly free and erase the mouth covering fanged teeth.
But then he heard it. Melodic in tone and ringing in his ears, all the breath in his lungs rushed out.
“Pitch,” her tongue tasted his name like the finest of nectars. “It is a strange name.”
His knees weakened. His face flushed though his skin was white as snow. The name she whispered had long been upon many a tongue. But never a tongue so fine as hers.
“It is,” he agreed. “It was the name you chose a long time ago.”
“I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”
Did he mistake hearing the anguish in her voice? Had he not heard the warbling articulation which shook him to his core?
She walked away from him. She walked on her tip toes and her hand never left something to balance her. His eyes refused to move from the painful process. He drank in the sight of her even wounded and weak.
“Was that you, Moonbeam?” he murmured, although he did not know the words he spoke.
Leo shuffled next to him.
Pitch took in a deep breath, reminding himself to focus. Sil had not returned. He knew this. But there were moments when Lydia spoke which reminded him of a time long ago. There were bits of Sil inside of her. Of that, he was certain.
His Cat assassin stared at him and grinned through his protruding fangs.
“What?” Pitch growled.
“You like her.”
“Well she’s here isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Leo gave him a meaningful look. “But you like her. You have no idea how to deal with her, do you? I’ve never seen you so bad at wooing a woman.”
“I’m not attempting to woo her.”
“But you want to.”
Yes, he did. Pitch realized that he very much wanted to “woo” her, as Leo had said. But there were too many factors making it difficult.
He could not touch her with hands stained red from a millennium of blood. Chaos raged in his veins and this was not his Sil. The moonbeam which had stepped from the sky to bring cooling peace to his soul had been one of a kind. Pitch’s captured mouse was not so giving.
