When she chanced to open her eyes again, she was being gently placed in an armchair beside the fire in her bedchamber. She was alone with Nicholas. It was he that had rescued her!
He positioned his chair close to Milli’s and bent his gaze intently over her wrist, his brow drawn low over those striking blue eyes. “Shall I fetch you a glass of sherry?”
She shook her head vigorously. The thought of him leaving her even for a moment was unbearable. “What…what was that thing?” She could barely get the words past her ragged throat.
“Thing? You didn’t see it?”
The turbulent shudder of her limbs might have served as a negative, but still she said, “No, it was too dark.”
His look was long and measured. At last he gave a sigh. “One of the hounds, I’m afraid.”
“A hound?!” She gaped at him and slumped back against her chair. “Is such a hound to be allowed license to roam the estate? I might have been killed!”
His lips tightened. “You were warned not to venture out at night.”
She opened her mouth to retort but quickly snapped her teeth shut. He was right, of course, but that did not mean his words did not rankle. He ought to be lavishing her with apologies and sweet words, not scolding her. Perhaps it was just as well she did not admit to being warned a second time by that Skinner creature. “You warned of bogs not dogs, or I’d not have dared go outside.” She felt the hot upsurge of fresh tears and glanced down at her scarred wrist. What a mangled mess that damned beast had made of her poor flesh. She would have to wear long sleeves for the rest of her life now. Wretched beast! “I…I know I ought not have followed you outside, it was naughty of me. I am sorry for it.” She truly was, for her punishment was to wear these scars forevermore.
The rose will not long bear such pretty petals. Milli gasped. Was this what that old fortuneteller had meant? Her flesh indelibly scarred? How strange! And to think, she had paid a penny to learn something so useless—hardly forewarning when the time and place was not divulged as well.
Nicholas raised his head to look a question at her. “Your finger is bleeding.”
“A thorn,” she replied.
He considered this lesser injury and said, almost to himself, “The blood. A predator cannot resist the scent of blood…nor the lure of fleeing prey.”
She gave a shudder. “Well, the thought of staying to pit myself against your beast was not all that appealing at the time.”
His nostrils flared suddenly. “You have masked your scent tonight, it will have confused the animal.”
“I have done no such thing.”
His lips curled in distaste and dubiety, but he lifted one shoulder and changed the subject. “Why did you follow me outside?”
Lord! Had she really admitted that? She could feel the heat rushing back into her cheeks. They must have been bloodless until now. Would that he had found a safer subject. What he really wanted to know was why she had abandoned all proprieties. And what exactly might she have done or said if she’d encountered him or that devil, Grimm, instead of his vicious hound, she was sure she had no idea. She’d not thought that far ahead. Instead, she turned the question around on him. “Why were you out on”—what had Skinner called it?—“a black moon?”
He raised a stern brow. “To rescue a wayward woman from her folly.”
Milli shrank further into the chair when no viable excuse presented itself.
Thankfully, he was gracious enough to let the matter drop. His attention returned to the wound, and once again his face tightened with worry.
Fearful of his manifest unease, she peered down at her wrist. “Will it putrefy?” Dear God, was she in danger of losing her arm?! “Will I die?!”
Nicholas stood abruptly and schooled his features. “Becalm yourself, you are in no danger of dying. Leastwise not tonight.” His dark jest was at least a little reassuring, if unwonted.
Milli dropped her eyes and watched from beneath her lashes as he left the room with a curt promise of returning with medicaments and a bandage.
She threw herself back against the chair, dejected. Now Nicholas was wroth with her for being recalcitrant and would doubtless take to treating her like a child instead of the grown woman she was. “They all think I’m a silly child.” More tears spilled over her cheeks, but she was not left long to wallow in dolor.
Nicholas soon returned with a glass of sherry and strips of clean linen. He wore that grim look again.
“I truly am sorry to have caused you such trouble, Mr. Valko.”
He handed her the sherry, his gaze unreadable.
Milli took the glass from him. “And I hope you do not esteem it so great a trouble as warrants my sister being told. In fact, I do not see that anyone outside this room should know of my…”
“Indiscretion?”
She set her teeth. “My injury.”
Nicholas knelt down beside her and availed himself of her injured arm. “I shan’t tell your sister.” He seemed to want to say more. Instead, he removed a vial of some clear liquid, poured it over a scrap of linen, and thereupon began cleaning and mending the wound.
It stung like the devil and it was all Milli could do to keep still and silent as her would-be physician exacted his ministrations with lamentable rigor.
At last, he ceased his torture and concluded the surgery by wrapping her wrist with the last of the clean linen. He fastened the loose end by tucking it in on itself. Then he stood to his full height, his palm settling warmly beneath hers. “I too am truly sorry.”
“Why should you be sorry? You did nothing wrong.”
“No,” he agreed, “but I am sorry all the same.” He had about him an unspoken look of grave regret that raised the hairs on Milli’s nape. And then he did something altogether unexpected and leaned in to press his lips to her cheek. “Sleep tight, Miss Rose.”
She released the breath she’d been holding in. “I…I rather doubt I shall sleep at all.”
“If that sherry does its office even a little, you shall sleep like the dead.” The smile did not quite reach his eyes, but Milli was far too thrilled to let morbid words and thoughts taint what was to her the very sweetest moment of her life. That goodnight kiss served to banish the ache beneath her bandage. And if this was to be the first of many that might ultimately culminate in matrimony…well, then her blood had not been spilled for nothing.
Chapter Forty
A Madness Of Truth
Dearest Emma,—Have faith and courage. The right words will come in time. When you are ready to unburden your heart, I shall be disposed to listen and believe the words you speak. With love always,
Mary.
“Yes?” Markus stilled. “You mean it?”
“Yes,” Emma replied shyly. “My room…tonight.”
There was a sudden, quiet knock at the library door. Even Winterly appeared to have been caught off guard by it. She tore her eyes from the obliterating black gaze wherein she had nearly drowned and watched as the door latch turned to no avail. Markus had locked the door.
Emma knew she ought to feel the crimson blast of shame upon her cheeks, but no guilt was forthcoming. Neither the thrilling weight of the hand still splayed over her naked thigh nor Milli’s hesitant call from without could summon any shame. But though Emma might not scruple to renounce her virtue, it did not follow that her impressionable sister should bear witness to her fall.
It was late in the afternoon, nearly the dinner hour. Milli had evidently slept the better part of the day away and was likely wondering at Emma’s whereabouts.
Emma tried to sit up, but the vampyre proved himself perversely incommodious. “Are you going to let me up?”
“I had not intended to.” His mouth curled into a devious smile before he moved to stand and plucked her up from the floor. When she was on her feet, her skirts back in place around her ankles, he strode to the door.
The younger Miss Rose glided shyly past the master of Winterthurse, who now stood impenetrably grave. Her ey
es darted askance between Emma and the stately man in whose company Emma had allowed herself to be secluded.
Perhaps the sight of her sister’s knowing looks might finally have elicited a blush from Emma, but, instead, her skin grew cold with dread. The flesh on the side of Milli’s throat was violently red as though some abuse had taken place there. Some excoriation or virulent sucking.
With a cry, Emma rushed forward. “Who has done this to you?”
“Done what?” Milli sidestepped her sister’s searching hands and sank onto the sofa. “Don’t fuss, I am only a little exhausted from the ball.”
“The devil you are!” Emma whirled on the silent vampyre who had not moved from the door. “Explain to me, sir,” said she with deadly calm, “how my sister came by that mark.”
“Mark?” Milli sat up, bemused.
Winterly said nothing at first, his face was like marble as he closed the door. “That savors of accusation, madam.”
Emma had to tilt her head back as he closed the distance between them. “Did you bite her?”
“Nobody’s been bitten, for goodness sake!” Milli’s voice, however, trembled with a lie.
“I am accountable to no one,” said Winterly, “least of all to you.”
Emma gasped, outraged. Without thinking better of it, she struck him hard across the jaw. Had he been of mortal flesh and bone, he might have given some indication that he’d felt the blow. As it was, he maintained his unnatural immutability.
“Emma!” Milli threw her hands up to her mouth, horrified. “No!”
Emma hardly noticed her sister’s shocked outcry, her fulmination was focused on another. In Winterly’s eyes there lurked an ominous glint that warned her not to strike him again. Disregarding the warning, she pulled her hand back to plant another.
He caught her wrist. “The first I tolerated, but do not press your luck again.”
The sibilance with which he spoke could do nothing to breach the haze of fury she had lost herself to. “What luck? Am I to feel lucky that it was Milli’s flesh and not my own thus corrupted?”
“I have not touched your sister.”
Emma ignored Milli’s continued extortions that she becalm herself. “Do you tell me you consider bloodsucking a form of hospitality?!” She struggled in vain to remove her wrist from his iron grasp.
“Madam, you are distressing your sister,” he said through gritted fangs. “Compose yourself at once.”
“Or what?” she retorted, pointing to Milli’s neck. “You’ll drain me too?”
Finally, however, Milli’s sobs dispelled her wrath some small degree and she, with a bitter tear-stained glare, flew to her sister’s side. “Up now, Milli, we’re leaving!” She then yanked her sister up from the chair with all the strength her ire supplied. But poor Milli, white as a sheet, instantly sank to the floor in a swoon.
“Look what you’ve done!” Emma dropped to her knees to pat desperately at her sister’s bloodless cheeks, urging her to wake so they might flee this vampiric hell. “Get up, Milli, I beg you!”
When the devil himself leaned down beside her, she shrieked and would not let him near her sister. For his part, Winterly forbore her slaps with patience and inspected the unconscious girl with taciturn efficiency. Then he did something utterly unforeseen and horrific. He lifted the inside of his wrist to his waiting fangs—which had grown impossibly long and hideous—and punctured his own flesh so that the blood welled instantly over the wounds. The flecks at his white cuff were almost black in the shadowed room.
“Are you mad?” She gaped as he lowered his open wrist to Milli’s mouth. “No!” She dug her claws into his forearm. “How dare—”
“Do you want me to help her or not?” he replied impassively, eyes lowering pointedly to her hands. “I tell you my blood will do her no harm.”
After a cold silence she relented, lifting her hands from him in begrudging acceptance of his ministrations (macabre though they were). He allowed just a drop from his vein to fall to Milli’s wan lips. They were parted, her breathing unnatural, but his lifeblood left no stain as it passed cleanly to her tongue and from there, Emma imagined, to work a morbid miracle within.
Oh, she was the devil’s own fool for accepting his help. For staying, despite his nature. A damned fool for nearly falling into his bed. “As soon as my sister wakes we shall leave this place.”
“Think you that I cannot follow wheresoever you run?” He pulled his cuff peremptorily over his wrist, the flesh already knitting to.
She wiped angrily at her damp cheek. “As long as you leave my sister alone, I care not what you do to me.”
“It is not I that has lain claim to your sister, Emma.”
Emma’s eyes flew sharply to his. “What does that mean?”
“Her fate is sealed.”
“Milli is not chattel to be owned or played with! Neither am I!”
To that he made no comment. His gaze dropped suddenly to her sister who was already stirring to life.
Clear, lazurite eyes flickered open. With the help of Markus, Milli sat up. There were wary creases in her brow as she beheld Emma and Markus—who had, up till the point she’d closed her eyes, behaved no better than hateful disputants. Thankfully, though, the vile redness was fading from her neck.
Emma kissed her sister’s temple. “How are you feeling?”
“I already told you, I overexerted myself at the ball, that is all. No more of these hysterics, Em.”
Emma shook her head. “You may restore yourself to health in Little Snoring, we are leaving here at once.”
Milli instantly declared she was doing no such thing. “What madness has come over you?!”
“Mind how you speak to your sister,” said Markus. After receiving a chastened blush from Milli, he betook himself to the fireplace as though to consider some great secret burning in the embers. Both women stared after him, bemused.
It was into this tense scene that Victoria emerged, skirts bustling confidently. “Everything all right, my dears?” she asked, her manner all solicitude and grace.
“No,” said Emma coldly. “Nothing is right, least of all your contrived hospitality.”
“Emma!” Milli looked ready to expire of shame.
Emma, however, was in a marvelous temper and could spare her sister no looks of contrition. “The masquerade ended at dawn, Miss Winterly. I think it’s time you dispense with the facade and tell my sister what you really are. If she is to die in your custody, she might as well know the architect of her demise. Unmasked, if you have the courage.”
Never had Victoria appeared so utterly stunned, and Emma briefly congratulated herself on rendering the creature at a complete loss. Victoria shifted her black gaze to her brother, but he remained like granite before the fire, giving the room his back. However, it was not long before her composure settled back into place, her countenance becoming, once more, as smooth as porcelain. “I see I have somehow offended you, Miss Rose.”
“Not at all, Victoria!” Milli was quick to assure her. “Forgive my sister’s—”
“Bah!” Emma bristled. “They are vampyres, Milli!” She took her sister by the shoulders and shook her pleadingly. “They deceived you! They’ve been feeding from your veins while you sleep! It accounts for your anemia and the mark on your neck. You must believe me.” Her eyes welled with dismay, for it was clear her sister was appalled not by the revelation itself, but by Emma’s perceived mad raving.
“What mark?” Victoria was scrutinizing Milli’s unblemished throat. With an impatient sound, she withdrew from her pocket a small, round mirror—the vain creature—and, taking Milli’s hand curtly in hers, placed it in the girl’s palm.
Emma bit her lip. “The… the mark you left on Milli’s throat after I withdrew to the library earlier. You or one of the other blood thieves living under this roof!”
With a gasp, Milli tore her eyes from her reflection. “Dear God, Em, what possesses you to speak so?!”
“Your sister,” said
Winterly suddenly, unclasping his hands and facing the women at last, “is possessed by truth.”
“Markus…don’t.” Victoria drew his name out like a warning hiss.
“I don't understand.” Milli flinched as Victoria snatched the mirror back.
“Then allow me to elaborate…” Into the silence that ensued, there came an almighty ripping of wool and linen and a deafening crack as a pair of magnificent wings unfurled and beat the air like great black gleaming sails.
Chapter Forty-One
A Deal With The Devil
Wings! Emma stood transfixed. She ought to have guessed that even a dark angel might still possess his wings. They dwarfed the room, their empyrean luster gleaming gem-like across indurative black feathers. They were truly beautiful and frightening to behold.
Milli’s shrieking filled the room. When he finally lowered them, she quietened down.
At the carpal bends were vicious-looking black barbs that jutted out from his steely plumage. They looked like horns when the wings were tucked behind him. The wings bore nothing of a bird’s fragility; these were weapons that might very well cleave a man’s skull!
“I want to go home!” Milli sobbed into her hands.
Home seemed an impossibility now. Where could they run that these fiends could not find them? One had to die to enter heaven which seemed the only escape. Assuming, of course, Emma would be admitted there at all.
“Home? That is now quite out of the question.” Victoria went to take Milli’s hands, but the girl balked. “My dearest Milli, am I not still your loving friend?”
“A friend,” Emma seethed, stepping between the vampyre and her sister, “would not have so ‘lovingly’ availed herself of ‘dearest’ Milli’s lifeblood.”
Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1) Page 28