by Lucy Leroux
Sweat beading on her lip, she tried to force her hands apart to loosen the rope tying them together. The coarsely woven line bit into the flesh, burning her skin as she desperately attempted to work herself free.
The carriage rumbled to a sudden stop. Isobel was thrown to the floor as the door flew open. The larger of the count's two servants climbed inside and hauled her up with both hands. His fingers dug into her flesh as he dragged her from the carriage.
Taking a deep breath she prepared to scream as loudly as she could, but it died in her throat as she took in the sight before her. The Conte and his other servant were waiting in front of a thatched tenant cottage at the far edge of the Montgomery property.
She had passed it in the early days of her employment when she made it her purpose to familiarize herself with the area around her. Back then it had been in a bad state of disrepair, but she knew from the other servants that repairs had commenced hurriedly earlier this month in order to finish before winter truly set in.
But it wasn't the sight of the Conte or the cottage that froze her in stupefied shock. No, it was Clarence Montgomery pacing at the edge of the lantern light.
“Sir Clarence!” she gasped as she was hauled in front of the men in her thin nightgown, the large servant holding her in front of him.
Her employer turned to her, anger and a little disgust clearly etched on his face.
“She was supposed to be blindfolded and gagged!” he hissed at the count, his breath steaming in the cold night air.
The Conte shot his servants an angry glance before schooling his features. He turned to Sir Clarence. “It hardly matters,” he said coldly in his coarsely accented English.
Another blast of icy fear blew through her as the count gestured imperiously and the hulking servant began to drag her to the door.
“No, you can't do this!” she screamed. “I can't just disappear like the others! Everyone is talking about those missing girls. But I'm not an unreliable housemaid or a poor baker's daughter! My father was a gentleman just like you! If I disappear in the middle of the night out of my bed, everyone will suspect you!”
Sir Clarence covered his face with his hands before dropping them to glare at the count. “She already knows!” he said nervously. “And if she does then the whole staff does, or will soon.”
“It has to be her. He's fixated. Now stop dragging your feet. It's already too late,” the Conte said, his eyes flat and cold as he looked down at Sir Clarence.
The servant resumed dragging her to the closed door of the cottage. She tried to dig in her heels, but her bare feet grazed the ground as she was hauled unceremoniously to the entrance.
“My lord, think of the children!” she yelled back over her shoulder as the other servant threw open the door.
The dimly lit interior of the cottage seemed more ominous than the mouth of hell. Struggling with what remained of her strength, she twisted her head back in time to see Sir Clarence turning his back on her.
The count, however, followed them inside.
The servant behind the Conte entered with the lantern. He hurried inside and set the lantern on a rough wooden table to her left. The light cast the interior of the single room in stark relief.
Little furniture occupied the space. In addition to the table, there was a chair and a fireplace in the process of being retiled. Against the far wall, a mattress lay on the floor. A large and terribly still figure slumped down over it.
It was Matteo, unconscious, with his hands bound behind him.
Chapter 6
Isobel was too surprised to move, even as she was forced to sit in the lone chair in the room. The man began to tie her wrists to the chair's arms while the other servant faced Matteo and hesitated.
“What is happening?” Isobel asked in a horrified whisper.
This wasn't what she had been expecting at all. Why would Matteo be tied up as well?
The Conte ignored her. “Don't dawdle. Untie him,” he ordered, before turning to the other guard. “No one opens this door till morning.”
Both servants nodded before the shorter one rushed to the bound man. He loosened the ropes until he was able to slip them off. Hurriedly, he adjusted Matteo's arms to a more comfortable position. The movement disturbed the unconscious man and he began to stir.
The sound that came from Matteo as he regained consciousness chilled her to the bone. It was somewhere between a growl and something similar to a cat's purr—an extremely large and dangerous cat like the lion she had heard once at the Edinburgh zoo with her father.
The noise he made sent a shudder through her. And she wasn't alone. The smaller servant straightened up as if Matteo really were a predatory cat that had snapped at him. He backed away quickly. Behind her, the larger servant snickered. Then Matteo opened his eyes and he stopped abruptly.
Isobel took one look at those black soulless orbs and knew she was going to die. Time slowed down for an endless moment, then he blinked and his vision seemed to clear. He looked at her, and for the first time really saw her, bound to the chair not more than ten paces from him.
His face contorted. “No!” His voice was broken—guttural and coarse. “No, not her!”
There was a rush of movement behind her. She didn't have to turn around to know the other men were fleeing. The door slammed shut with the heavy sound a wood thudding against the jamb. It had been barred from the outside, no doubt one of the new “improvements.”
“No,” Matteo whispered, struggling to his feet.
Isobel closed her eyes and cringed in her seat as he ran toward her. But there was only the whipping of air across her face and then nothing. Opening her eyes she craned her neck to look behind her. He was at the door, banging on it with closed fists. He was crying out, the sound animalistic and desperate. His words were clear enough.
In between repeated shouts of 'Not her!' he was begging his father to kill him.
****
Matteo quieted down after a few minutes, but Isobel couldn't see him. The door was directly behind her and try as she might, she was unable to twist her neck back far enough. He hadn't moved, but his hard breathing grated in her ears until it evened out and deepened. She wondered if he had fallen asleep. If he had, maybe she could get free.
The servant who had tied her to the chair had rushed through the business, no doubt in an effort to be done before Matteo woke. She didn't want to dwell on that. If the servants, both large and strong men, feared him then what chance did she have?
Trying desperately not to think of what he was going to do to her, she tested her bonds. Even if Matteo was awake, she was going to have to risk it. She couldn't just sit there waiting for the darkness to consume him.
Struggling not to breathe too loudly, she started to tug and slide her arms down and back up. Her already scraped arms burned like someone was setting fire to them, but she didn't stop. She would surely be raw and bleeding by the time she was free. If she got free.
Nearly an hour later, her prediction proved true. The raw skin seemed to burn in contact with the air and a little blood stained the ropes binding her to the chair. Ignoring the pain she prayed the smell of the blood wouldn't remind Matteo of her presence, she worked her right hand free and loosened the left. Grateful her legs weren't tied, she held her breath and stood up as quietly as possible before turning around.
He wasn't asleep. He was sitting on the floor, his back to the door. He stared straight ahead, his face impassive, nearly expressionless. The darkness that stained his aura had grown, almost as if a halo of black smoke surrounded him.
Oh, my God.
Isobel trembled as she instinctively stepped back. A floorboard underneath her creaked loudly and she bit her tongue to keep from swearing aloud. The noise seemed to fill the world, and to her terror Matteo moved his head slightly to look at her. His eyes bored into hers, freezing her to the spot.
Then he smiled—a beautiful and terrible smile.
For one horrifying second, Isobel felt as if she was falling into a dark well as her sanity started to slip away. Catching herself, she jerked abruptly and flew to the other side of the room, as far from Matteo as she could get.
Isobel scrambled into the corner, her arm stinging from something she struck on the way. Turning to face the room, she was dismayed to see the lantern she'd knocked to the ground lying a few feet away.
“No!” she gasped as the light flickered and began to dim.
The glass hadn't broken, but the oil in the bottom had spilled all over the floor. She didn't want to be locked in here with Matteo in the dark. Throat tight, she scrambled forward before all of the lamp's fuel leaked out.
Her hand had just touched the overturned lamp when a larger darker one took hold of it and lifted it off the ground. Moving like lightning, Isobel crawled back and pressed herself against the wall. Matteo, or the thing that was living inside him, lifted the lamp and turned it down to a low flame.
The light dimmed to a faint glow. Unable to look away, she raised her eyes. His head wreathed in shadows, Matteo loomed over her.
A strange grating and rhythmic sound filled the air. It was her lungs fighting to draw air in short labored pants. But her effort failed as soon as he moved.
It was like a snake striking. One second she was curled in a ball against the wall, and the next she had been hauled off her feet and suspended inches off the ground.
The shadows ceased to matter. His face was just inches away, allowing her to see him clearly. Except it wasn't his face anymore. It was a beautiful shell, one made terrible in its absence of a human soul.
However, it wasn't an empty shell. Something was there looking back at her through his eyes—a dark and demonic force. A tremor ran through her entire body as she took in the expression in those eyes. There was an intelligence there and...hunger.
Isobel recognized that look. Other men had watched her with something similar in their expression. But those were normal human appetites, much paler and weaker than this. She wasn't going to die right away.
“Please don't,” she whispered.
Matteo didn't respond. She couldn't even tell if he was breathing or not. By rights, his respiration should have been as labored as hers. She wasn't a large woman, but no normal man should have been able to hold her like this without showing signs of strain. But he didn't. He just cocked his head at her, the movement eerily reminiscent of a praying mantis.
She was set down on her feet as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. His mouth was open, his tongue out to taste her. Isobel tried to break free, but his grip was like iron. She sobbed aloud as her feet sliding and dragging across the floor in an effort to get away.
Matteo made that odd growling sound again, and he dragged them a few paces to the right. He pulled at her hair until she lost her footing and fell backwards, his heavy body following her down. Isobel landed on the bed in the corner, pressed into the soft mattress by his weight. She screamed, a cry that was cut short when he forced his face to hers and plunged his tongue into her mouth.
Twisting her head aside with a wrenching motion, she struggled against him, pushing and shoving with her arms and legs. When he tried to kiss her again, she bit him. He withdrew his head once more, laughing at her with a strangely flat parody of Matteo's voice.
His hands were everywhere. One stroked her hip while the other pulled up the hem of her nightgown to stroke the bare skin of her calf and thigh. She used all her strength against him, scratching and biting, but the struggle only helped him. Her attempts to kick him only made it easier for him to slip between her flailing legs. She gasped as his iron hard shaft pressed against her most intimate place.
Matteo's shirt was open now, the skin of his chest abrading her breasts through the thin nightgown. To her shame, her body quickened underneath him. Confused and frightened she clawed at his face, but he easily subdued her before she could do any serious damage. He took hold of her arms and moved upwards, rubbing his whole body against her with another of those strange growling purrs.
She should have felt hot, smothered by his heat. Instead Isobel was chilled to the bone, all of her warmth leaching out as it came into contact with the icy exterior of his body.
When he let go of her to tear at the fastenings of his breeches, Isobel put her arms on his chest and pushed—but this time didn't use her arms.
She used her mind.
Acting on instinct alone she reached out with her ability, terrified that the long dormant skill would fail her. But the power came, raw and unfiltered by a spell to give it form or purpose.
She didn't have the words or knowledge to put Matteo to sleep or kill him. All she could do was push her energy in his direction in an effort to force him away from her.
Her hands ached as they made contact with Matteo's chest. Above her, he convulsed, the blackness in his eyes flaring brightly for an instant. His hands reached out to clutch at her. They bit into her skin, and his mouth opened wide in a soundless scream. Horrified, Isobel desperately gathered her energy back to her body to try and strike at him again, but the blackness in his aura followed it, sticking to it like tar.
Panicked that the creature was now trying to invade her soul, she thrust the energy away again with a force she hadn't known she was capable of.
For the first time in her life, the energy that she'd always associated with her ability left her body. The effort blinded her, burning out her vision with a wall of white. It was excruciatingly painful, like being stung by a bee everywhere.
Eventually the moment passed and her awareness returned in fits and starts. She was weak and out of breath, but otherwise unharmed.
Vision blurred, Isobel gingerly sat up on the bed. Matteo was sprawled on the floor, knocked back by the force of the blast. Her chest was tight and painful as she tried to get a hold of herself. Still trembling, she dragged herself to the end of the bed farthest from the fallen body until she could stand. With unsteady feet, she stepped over Matteo's legs, stopping short at the sight of the stain on the floor a few feet in front of her.
Isobel tried to step around it. But the strange black stain moved toward her like a creeping shadow. Indeed, part of it seemed to be more of an oily shadow than a physical thing—and it was heading right for her, gaining speed as it went.
Gasping, she scrambled back blindly. She fell over Matteo's body and landed on his chest. He didn't move at all as she sprang back up, reaching for the lamp burning low on the nearby table. Jerking to the left, she forced the shadow to adjust its course. Muscles screaming with tension, she waited until the shadow-stain moved over the spilled lantern oil before hurling down the lamp.
Whispering words she'd learned long ago, Isobel used an old fire-starting spell to help build the flames, willing them to form a circle around the shadow. It was one of the first spells her grandmother had ever taught her, one of the few she still remembered.
A terrible sound like tearing metal filled the air as the ring of fire consumed the darkness from the outside in. Covering her ears and pressing against the wall, Isobel watched the oily shadow bubble and boil before the flames suddenly burned out.
An ominous silence fell. The stain on the floor had deepened and it was smoking under the broken glass of the shattered lamp, making her cough. Still pressed against the wall, she shifted to the left, but the blackness didn't follow her.
For a minute she stayed up against the wall. Heart in her throat, she took a tentative step forward, but the stain still didn't track her movement.
Slumping slightly, Isobel relaxed, until she caught sight of Matteo on the floor a few feet away.
Was he dead now?
Isobel inched toward him until she was close enough to touch him. She reached out to prod him with her foot. He didn't move. Kneeling down, she put two fingers on his neck, feeling for the beat of his heart.
His heartbeat was strong and steady, and he was warm, almost burning hot in the relatively cold
room. She hadn't been imagining that when she'd fallen on top of him. And this close she could feel his breath against her wrist. Had it been the shadow that had made him so cold earlier? Had she destroyed it?
Had she...saved him?
Pushing away that hopeful thought, she stood up. She didn't know what had happened. And all she knew was that the shade inside him wasn't in control now.
What was going to happen when he woke up?
A memory of those hungry and watchful black eyes came, and she squeezed her own shut to blot out the image. The effort failed. Instead, her mind threw up other nightmare scenarios—body after body of all of those women who had preceded her.
Raising a shaky hand to her lip, she glanced at the rumpled bed. There was a pillow lying on it and Matteo was unconscious...completely vulnerable on the floor.
A tremor ran through her and tears began to stream down her face. It was impossible. Not only would she be signing her own death warrant when the Conte opened the door in the morning, but she simply couldn't bring herself to hurt Matteo, despite what he'd been about to do to her. And for all she knew, she had permanently damaged him. He might even be dead by morning.
She tried to tell herself she shouldn't care, but her whole body flooded with remorse.
Stop that.
Isobel needed to worry about herself. Sucking in a deep breath, she spun around, taking stock of the room. It was fairly dark inside the cottage now that the lantern was gone, but she'd always had good vision in the dark. Her grandmother used to tell her it was a practitioner's natural element, a fact she was grateful to now.
Her examination didn't show much. There was little outside of what she'd glimpsed earlier. The furniture was sparse and there were no convenient weapons lying around. The windows were high and small. She could have fit through one, but she had heard the Conte order his servants to guard the door till morning. They would be on her before she hit the ground.
A pile of brown at the far corner of the mattress attracted her attention. Pulling it off, she found it was Matteo's caped greatcoat. Riffling through it, she found the pockets empty. Disappointed, but not surprised, she dropped it on the bed before thinking better of it. The room was cold enough to see her own breath, which meant it would be freezing outside. If she discovered a way out, she would need the protection the coat offered. However, there was little she could do for her bare feet, she thought, looking down in dismay.
