Page 38
Story: The Gloaming
My eyes were still on the sky when I felt it. A gentle brushagainst my mind. Far from the familiar skin pricking sensation I’d been expecting. I hadn’t heard an engine, but a dark silhouette walked softly along the centre of the road, blacker than the surrounding night. His solid physique was impossible to ignore at this distance – all lean muscle and lethal grace. A wave of anticipation surged through me, and my body thrummed with the energy of it.
“Hullo, Erin.” His voice was the same smooth, velvet brogue I remembered. Tall and imposing in the half-light, his tumble of dark hair was swept back from sharp cheekbones. He was the same striking figure who’d helped me before, but his easy elegance seemed more dangerous now than it had then. He wasn’t trying to hide it, this time. Without a word, he crossed and sat beside me on the bench.
“I never actually told you my name,Nicholas.” My voice broke on the last word, but the shiver that ran through my body as he spoke didn’t feel like fear. It was true though – I hadn’t even noticed, but he’d known all along whoIwas.
He chuckled. “No, I suppose you didnae.” He drew a deep breath and took in the panorama of the city. “Though tis something of a speciality of mine to ken the things I shouldnae. Particularly when it comes to beautiful women.” His eyes met mine, a glint of mischief in their green-gold depths. He gestured to the scenery. “I’d say forgive the intrusion, but ye have to admit… it’s quite the view. I’m no sure you can lay claim to it.”
“You’d never know what’s been going on down there,” I agreed. I fought back the urge to look at him.
“Aye,” he drew out the word. “I hear Isabel’s been telling all sorts of tall tales. You’d think she’d know better.” The disappointment in his tone was clear.
“You disagree with her?” I asked – it was harder than I’d thought to keep control of the conversation. This could well be my only opportunity to learn about them both, and I knew that. But his low, lilting voice made it hard to focus on much else.
I sensed rather than saw him smile. “Isabel and I have long been friends. She kens better than most what sort of man I am. Before we met, I’d spent a century in solitude – I hadnae realised how lonely eternity could be, til I found her friendship.”
Don’t start feeling sorry for this…monster, Erin. Don’t you friggin’ dare.
“You’d call it friendship? Even after her accusations?” I asked, shivering as the wind made its way beneath my scarf. His knee brushed against mine, sending a jolt of heat through me, and I pulled away, closing my eyes to the lingering sensation.
“Truly, I would. She’d tease I was her apprentice, sometimes, but our relationship wisnae that simple.” He leaned forward, broad shoulders tense as he gripped the cold, smooth wood of the bench. The movement emphasised the width of his chest, the lean strength in his arms that I remembered all too well.
“We left a wake of carnage, Isabel and I… we built our reputations on fear. Tis why twas so hard to admit the kind of life we led wisnae really what either of us wanted.” Flakes of snow drifted between us as he waited for my response, his expression unreadable.
And I wanted to keep going. His words, like brushstrokes, painted a vivid image; a deadly, beautiful couple tearing apart lives for the thrill of it. The contrast between that picture and the man sitting next to me was startling, and it made it that much easier to keep talking.
“So… is that why you went your separate ways?”
He shrugged, sitting back and adjusting the scarf knotted loosely around his neck. “Twas one reason, aye. But there were others. Her decisions frustrated me – and in turn, my ideas frustrated her. Our kinship was –is– built on our shared affinities, but that didnae mean we agreed on everything. I—” he paused and glanced at me. “Well, I spent many a year searching for somethin’ I hoped would change everything. Meanwhile, she didnae believe that thing existed.” Another smile crossed his face, though there was sadness in it. “And o’ course, Izzie winnae leave her bonnie England behind. No back then. So I was forced to continue my search alone.”
My curiosity was beginning to get the better of me. “Why? What were you looking for?”
His eyes burned into mine, and I leaned into it, heart pounding. As quickly as it had begun, the moment passed. He turned back to the city, and continued as though I hadn’t asked.
“Years later, in London again, she found the verra thing she needed to finally understand my search. Did your research tell you that?” He hesitated, his expression unsure.
I shook my head. He seemed torn about how much toshare – I couldn’t help but think he wanted to tell me everything.
“She wed a soldier from the north – no too far from here, actually. Nineteen-fourteen, nae, fifteen, I think it was.”
“Wyatt’smarried?” I remembered the ring on her left hand. “To a human?”
His laugh was as familiar and musical as I remembered. “Aye, though I ne’er had the pleasure of meeting the man as could steal Miss Isabel Wyatt’s heart.”
“Wait.” I did the mental arithmetic. “Did he… die?” There were more important questions to ask, but there was still time. He’d said he was searching for something. I had to know what.
“He did, aye. I would have been there, but I was in Europe, preoccupied wi’ troubles of my own,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Gods… I hadnae stopped to think on it, but I suppose Paris – before the war – was the last time any of us kent a bit o’ peace. After that… well, twas a tough time for us.”
So we’d all lost someone, it seemed. That Wyatt still wore her ring told me enough to know it was a weakness I could exploit – but I didn’t exactly relish the thought. I put it out of my mind for now, instead wondering about the dates he’d mentioned.
“Were you involved in the war, then?” I could imagine him in a military uniform – something about his bearing said there was a soldier in him.
“Involved, eh? Truth be told, I’ve fought in more battles than I can rightly recall. But then… twas a war like no other.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “Have you e’er heard of Sachsenhausen?”
I shook my head, already apprehensive about his next words. It sounded German, even with his accent.
“Twas a camp, north of Berlin. A dark place, by any account. I’m no surprised you dinnae know it. But there are those of us who remember it well enough. Those who learned about human cruelty the hard way.” He fell silent, his words hanging in the air. I waited, but he didn’t continue, lost in the past.
I swallowed, but I had to ask. “Were you a… a prisoner?”
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