by Emma Hamm
The shadows disappeared along with her. The Four must have realized their prey had left. Lydia stood in her place.
She glanced over her shoulder and caught the crestfallen expression upon Pitch’s face.
“My love,” his voice was ragged. “I am so sorry.”
There was so much weight in his words. He apologized for his siblings being unable to accept his love. He apologized for not being able to protect Sil. Lydia was also certain there was more to it — that he apologized for existing.
It broke her heart. He was a good man and trying to be a better one for the woman he loved. He brought her before all his people, had eyes for no one but her.
And everything had been ripped away by siblings who didn’t care for him. The long angry edges of darkness plucked at his clothing. His arms jerked side to side as they taunted him.
“I’m sorry, Pitch,” Lydia whispered. “I’m sorry this is your history. I’m sorry you lost her and I’m sorry that you got me instead.”
There was so much more she wanted to say to him. So many more broken pieces she wanted to fit together. But this was a memory, and Pitch could not see her.
Lydia had heard the rumors Pitch now dealt in secrets and drugs. She understood why. The man was made of more things than just flesh and blood.
Her vision grew blurry. Lydia reached inside herself, the golden light of the past grew thin and weak. There was nothing left to hold onto.
Rather than see the torture, Lydia let go of the past and thrust herself back into the uncertain present.
Chapter 8
“Did you have an enlightening journey?”
His smooth voice made her shiver. Her heart rate spiked as she set the book down onto her lap.
“Busted,” Lydia replied.
“Yes. Busted.”
She looked at the doorway of his study. Pitch leaned against the frame, his arms crossed firmly over his chest. The black silk shirt he wore was unbuttoned and tucked at his waist, leaving almost his entire chest open to her view. Dusty gray slacks hugged tight to his well-shaped thighs. Tonight, he wore a sparkling silver earring that caught her eye.
“You’re dressed up,” she observed. “A special occasion?”
“Which book did you read?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I picked anything I could reach.”
His eyes lifted to the top shelf where a book was clearly missing. “I believe you capable of many things, Lydia, but the wheelchair limits your height.”
“I have my ways.”
He arched an eyebrow and strode toward her. His powerful legs ate up the distance between them and he plucked the book from her grasp. “Ah yes, your ways. Does one of those ways happen to be named Louis?”
Lydia would not give him up that easily. She could still use the man who called himself maid. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“You don’t?”
“No. I’d love to meet them though.”
“Funny, he had only glowing things to say about you.”
She wanted to curse the cat man. “He must have seen me while I was sleeping then.”
“He had glowing things to say about your voice.”
“Damn it,” she growled, “that cat needs to learn how to still his tongue.”
Pitch slid the book into its place with a firm snap, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “I believe you will find Louis cannot do that.”
His laughter was infectious. Lydia chuckled, “Yes, he seems to enjoy hearing himself speak. He’s not at all like his father. Or at least, not like the man I remember.”
“You had the pleasure of meeting Leo at his best.” Pitch propped an arm against the bookshelf. “There are many women who would likely disagree with you. He was an absolute lady’s man in his prime and always loved to talk.”
“I could see that.”
His hands flexed, but other than that small movement, Pitch was still as stone. His eyes danced over her features, missing nothing. They were twin stones of obsidian tonight. Secrets swirled in their depths, but she had no clue what he was thinking.
She moved her hands from her lap to rest delicately against the arms of the wheelchair. “You never told me what you are dressed up for.”
“I believe that’s called ‘evasion’.”
“And you’re doing it again.”
“There are many reasons for a man to be dressed up.”
“Such as?”
He scoffed. “I have heard there is an old human tradition they call prom. Teenagers go dancing together and likely get into trouble.”
Lydia gasped and clasped her hands to her chest in mock happiness. “You’re taking me to prom? Why, Pitch, that’s always been my dream!”
The smile stretching across his lips made her wince. He was too perfect, too beautiful, and too cold at the same time. It did strange things to her insides when he smiled like that.
He knew. The smile quickly turned into something predatory. He pushed away from the bookshelf and stalked toward her.
Her eyes widened as she watched him lope like a lion stalking its prey. No, not a lion, Lydia decided. He was too lethal for that. There was no creature on earth that could have made her heart quicken as it did when this weapon of a man with intent in his eyes.
But he did not grab her. Instead, he swept past her to take hold of her chair.
The breeze from his passing smelled like the sweet scent of cigar and some other strange smell she had never associated with him before. Lydia inhaled as he pushed her chair from the room.
“Is that… chocolate?” she asked him.
“Hm?”
“You smell like chocolate.”
“When was the last time you had chocolate, Lydia?”
She could hear the amusement in his voice. “Well I suppose the truthful answer would be ‘years’.”
“I think we should remedy that tonight, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t complain.”
Streaks of red painted walls rushed past her as he pushed her faster. The paintings of Revelations became little more than blurs of color. She felt his breath stirring her hair a while the rush of movement made her breathless.
Bubbles of laughter escaped her mouth as she cried out, “What are you doing?”
“Making you laugh!”
He was certainly succeeding. She couldn’t contain that mirth spilling over her tongue and into the air. She hadn’t laughed like this in… years. Nearly a hundred if she was adding the time together right.
Somehow, time hadn’t made her laughter any different. It was still a coughing sort of sound as though she didn’t know how to laugh. But it was high pitched and happy. That had to count for something.
It didn’t dawn on her, as they careened through the halls of his nightmarish house, that this was the man who kidnapped her. She didn’t think about her friends or the life she had left behind. She didn’t think about the immense amount of power damaging her body. All she thought about was the way the wind tickled her hair, and how his soft chuckle was the sweetest sound she had ever heard.
He slowed them down just before the dining room. The door opened without a hand having to touch it.
The room was decadent with lavish decorations and expensive artwork. A black table dominated the space with legs carved with demons crawling up from the floor. It was covered by a blood red table cloth glimmering with fine gold lacing.
Every food imaginable piled upon the table. A full turkey, bowls of unnamed vegetables, mounds of bread and fruit.
“This is a banquet fit for a king,” she stuttered.
“Or a queen.”
“Coy,” she told him as he wheeled her to one side of the massive table. “Is this yours?”
“Everything here is mine.”
“The table?”
“Everything.”
Lydia reached out and trail her fingers along the edge while he locked her in place. “Why is everything so frightening here?”
He leaned past her
for the break underneath her wheel, murmuring in her ear, “Are you frightened?”
“Not usually.”
“Then is it truly frightening?”
He sat down in the chair next to hers. Lydia glanced at him, surprised that he wouldn’t place himself across from her.
“Yes,” she replied. “I would think demons and screaming people carved into all your furniture would be considered scary to most people.”
“It’s an intimidation tactic.”
“Really? Does it work?”
A rattling sound down the hall halted their conversation, followed by Louis cursing. Pitch held his breath for a moment before shaking his head. “No. No it doesn’t.”
She snorted, then covered her mouth because she was sitting in her pajamas at a black tie event. Pitch was obviously trying to impress her for some strange reason. And ladies did not snort like that!
But once the snorting started, it didn’t stop. She could cover it all she wanted but she couldn’t stop the sounds that burst forth. Laughter, like the wild abandon of their hallway run, pushed out of her chest until it was echoing in the room.
Pitch stared at her in stunned silence before bursting into laughter. He sounded like the echoing boom of cannons but even that didn’t snap her out of her hilarity. She giggled until there was no more breath in her lungs.
When they finally calmed down, he shook his head again and glanced at her. “It is ironic that I am considered the most frightening person in this city, but those who know me do not consider me to be a threat at all.”
“Oh I wouldn’t go that far,” she pointed imperiously at what she assumed was a pitcher of water. “Give please.”
He obliged with no complaints. “You consider me a threat?”
“I’d be an idiot if I didn’t think you were a threat,” her hands shook as she took the pitcher from him. “Good lord. What did you put in here, cement?”
He arched an eyebrow and poured her a glass with ease. She could only tsk. The crystal in her hand turned cold although there was no ice in the water.
“You’re a smart woman then,” he told her as he poured himself a drink.
“I like to think so.”
“You ended up here. You haven’t panicked or tried to stab me through the heart with a butter knife. I consider that smart.”
She fingered the butter knife next to her plate. “There’s still time.”
“And you’ll notice I wore no armor in hopes that you would trust me.”
Lydia could hear the teasing tone in his voice. He spoke like this frequently to her, but she had always considered it to be condescending. It wasn’t at all. He had a very dry sense of humor.
The food was all too far away from her to reach. She leaned forward in the wheelchair but huffed out a breath when her fingers didn’t quite touch the grapes she wanted. Wrinkling her brow, she turned to him.
“Did you do this on purpose?” she demanded.
“Perhaps.”
“Why?”
He leaned and grabbed the grapes for her. His hands lingered over each bunch until he found the one he deemed worthy. “Where I come from, honored guests did not fetch food for themselves.”
“Louis lives here now, I’m certain he wouldn’t mind assisting.”
“I prefer to feed you myself.”
“Why?”
He pondered the question, his eyes searching hers, before he shrugged. “If I feed you from my own hand, I know you will not be poisoned.”
She was tongue tied. Did he really think she would be poisoned by something here? She might accidentally mouth a stray plant in the hallway while she was whizzing by in her chair, but poison?
“Do you-” she stammered, “do you have many poisoning accidents in this house?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then why are you worried about me being poisoned?”
“I don’t know.”
He seemed just as confused by the sentiment as Lydia. His brow wrinkled and for a moment she watched him disappear behind the shadows of his eyes. The sight was utterly terrifying. Pitch’s expressions were always difficult to read, but his eyes were expressive. Now they were nothing more than darkness.
Until they weren’t. He shrugged.
“That’s the answer you’re giving me?” she asked him as she took the offered grapes. “Just a shrug?”
“There is no other answer.”
“A shrug isn’t an answer.”
“And yet it is the only one you are getting.”
Lydia left the question hanging between them but did not push. She knew men like Pitch. They did not react well to pushing and buried their heels even deeper into the sand. She would only make him hide his secrets further.
It was a shame, she decided, as he filled both of their plates with food. A man like him had such interesting secrets, and she wanted to know them. She wanted to know him.
Apparently, his thoughts were following a similar path.
“Why were you in my club that night?” he asked.
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Excuse me?”
“You do not have the look of someone who frequents my establishments.”
“No I suppose I don’t.”
“And yet, I found you on the highest floor surrounded by people whom I do not believe you likely enjoy being around.”
“You don’t know me all that well.”
The silence blooming between them was a jagged thing. Pointed edges dug at her ribs and heart, but she did not apologize for the barbed words which had spilled from her lips. They were the truth. And although the truth was a painful thing, it was sometimes necessary.
Pitch stilled. His long fingers twitched once, and he continued to cut up everything on his plate into precise segments. “I suppose I do not. But I am trying to.”
She couldn’t fault him for that. She put her fork down on the table and resolved herself to answering his questions before she ate. “It wasn’t my first choice. Or even my last. I honestly didn’t know you or any of your clubs existed before my friends told me about them.”
“Ah yes, the Gorgon and the Wisp.”
“Yes.”
“Unusual for the two of them to be interested in being friends with a Red Blood.”
Lydia gulped a mouthful of water before she nodded. “Yes it is. They didn’t give any other Red Blood the time of day, but me? There was something about me they enjoyed. So they kept me.”
“Kept you? Like a pet?”
“More like a treasured object,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “They were… well I suppose the best of friends anyone could ask for. They took me places. Dressed me up. Laughed at my jokes.”
“A friendship or a game?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. They care about me. Or… they did?” She looked at him for confirmation. The question hid in the words like a blade beneath a loved one’s pillow.
He hesitated, his dark eyes flicking over hers before he slowly nodded.
A great rush of air whooshed from her lungs. Logically, she had known that they wouldn’t have lived this long. They were human. She might be lucky enough to find the creatures again, someday, but she wouldn’t find the human women who had been her friends.
It was a bittersweet thought. Her friends must have had a good life. They wouldn’t have settled for anything less. But she had not been there to experience it with them.
His voice broke through her silence. “But you were in the club that night for a reason, no doubt.”
“Oh,” Lydia blushed bright red. “Well, yes there was a reason. But it’s embarrassing and I’m certain you don’t care to hear it.”
“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
She had the strangest urge to itch at her arms if only to hide the fidgeting of her fingers. Finally, she blurted out, “Juice.”
“Juice?” He pointed at another pitcher.
“No not that kind of juice. It was… Juice. We were looking to buy so
me, and you had it.”
“Ah.”
“It was a drunk thought,” she told him. “We knew it was stupid. But a young man had told Marla that Juice was the next best thing. She experimented in more things than I could count. Gorgons don’t feel the same things we do, not for drugs. Anything that was new was exciting to her. They forget so easily that something ‘fun’ for them can be dangerous for me.”
He wasn’t talking. He was barely even moving, but she could feel his eyes on her like a physical touch. Her hand raised to rub at her forearm.
Her mouth wasn’t done talking. “I didn’t like them to remember that anyway. A Red Blood is already fragile, let alone a Red Blood who is allergic to the world and asthmatic to boot. So, I didn’t say anything when she wanted to go into a dark club where she had to disappear with the bodyguard at the door for a while. I know what she was doing to get us in, but she didn’t complain so neither did I.
“That’s just how it was with her. What Marla wanted, Marla got. There was no question. No hesitation. She just did it. She absorbed life through a straw at every chance she could get. Just because that’s how she lives. Don’t just grab life by the balls, she used to tell me. Rip the balls up and sew it onto yourself so you never forget who wears the pants.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her. Lydia shrugged in response.
“I never said she was entirely sane. She’s a Gorgon.”
Pitch waved a hand for her to continue.
“Anyway, we went up to the highest section of your club to watch everyone. First, we went right up to the bar like they would give us whatever we wanted. And they probably would have, but I had a panic attack. So we got away from the crowds and people watched. That always helps, for some strange reason. It’s people that make me nervous to begin with, but watching them makes me calm down.
“That’s where you found us. I was finally getting ready to go down there and be brave. I was going to try it. Juice. I don’t know why I was so afraid of it. It’s just a little smoke.”
Something changed in the surrounding air. At first, Lydia didn’t see it. It was an ominous feeling pressing down against her shoulders, reaching into her lungs. Then she saw it.
