Page 32 of Dark Embrace

“That is the question, isitnot?”

“And those?” She flung a hand toward the bed. “Did you bring those? Why not just hand them to me? Why leave them on my pillow?” Her words came faster now, strung together in a furious whisper. “And why slink into my chamber and leave them on my bed then sneak back outside to await myarrival?”

“Sneak…” he looked to the bed, then back to her. “Sarah, this is the first time I have been in this room.” He crossed to the bed and lifted the small box and the length of ribbon. She flinched away. He opened the confit box to reveal caramels andmarchpane.

Someone had chosen the contents with care. Someone who knew her ways and herpreferences.

“You didn’t bring them?” she asked, her voicetight.

“I did not. But someone did…” He looked at her expectantly as though she ought to know the identity of thatsomeone.

And she did. “It was him.” The man who stalked her, who clung to the shadows, who refused to reveal his face. He had chased her through the alleys tonight, but first he had come here. “He was in my room,” she whispered. “He touched my things. He must have left me the orange as well. He’s been watching me here, at the hospital…everywhere.”

Killian’s expression darkened. He held the confit box in one hand, the ribbon in theother.

“Sweetmeats. Ribbon. Impersonal at first glance, but first glance is a lie,” he said. “These items have specific meaningtoyou.”

“Yes.” Sarah felt ill, confused…afraid. “Someone knows far too much about me. Someone knows things that are private, things from my life before my father died. My father used to bring me ribbons and that very same selection of sweetmeats before hebecame…ill.”

Killian’s gaze flicked to the items he held, then back to her face. “The man who stalks you, how long has he beenaboutit?”

Sarah frowned, thinking back. “The first time I saw him was a few weeks after myfatherdied.”

Killian set the box and ribbon on the bed. “That was the first time yousawhim. Butbeforethat…”

“I sensed him. I knew he was there. I thought it was grief that played tricks on my perception. Ifeltsomeone watching me, following me, always in theshadows.”

“The first time…Whenwasit?”

Again, she thought back, trying to piece together the puzzle. “I don’t know. I think the first sense I had of someone lurking was…” She had cried for three days and not left the house. But on the fourth day she had forced herself out in the evening, forced herself to walk along the river, and she had looked over her shoulder more than once, plagued by an eerie feeling that she was being followed. “You think he has been following me all along? Even before I sensed hispresence?”

“You said your father was ill. What malady afflicted him?” Killianasked.

There was something in his tone, an urgency she couldn’t understand. Her chin kicked up a notch. “He became addicted toopium.”

Everything about Killian stilled: his movements, his expression. He looked to be made of stone. “How do you know it wasopium?”

“He took no food. He said everything made him sick to his stomach. Everything tasted rotten and foul. His complexion took on a terrible grayish cast. He spiraled intomalaise.”

“How long was helikethat?”

“I don’t know. It felt like an instant even as it felt like forever. Months and months. By the end, he clung to the shadows and eschewed the light. Sunlight made him cry out in pain. Lamplight made himwince.”

“What else?” Killian asked, his attention focused and intense.Frightening.

“He was too ill himself to see patients. He spent his days abed in a darkened room, and his nights prowling the streets, or perhaps inopiumdens.”

“Did he hurt you?” Killianasked.

“No… No!” Sarah shivered. “But one night, I thought he might,” she admitted after a long pause, relieved to finally tell someone. “He was ill in his bed, muttering and cursing and pleading, though I know not for what. He was drenched in sweat. I went to change his nightshirt and as I leaned over him, he caught my wrist, his grip far stronger than I would have expected from one so ill. He stared at me. I was—” She broke off, remembering. Her father had looked at her through eyes that were nothisown.

“You were…” Killianprodded.

“Afraid,” Sarah whispered, hating the admission, hating that the harsh memory was one of her last of her father. “I was afraid of him. My gentle, kind father was not there. Someone else looked back at me through his eyes.” She exhaled in a huff. “You think memelodramatic.”

Killian stepped closer. “I think you brave. Resourceful. A woman carving her way in an unkindworld.”

The way he looked at her made her pulse race and her mouth go dry. She made a nervous laugh and looked at the ground. “My father…the look on his face was one I had never seen. He looked like he would do me harm, like hewantedto do me harm. He cried out as though in pain and thrust me from him. He snarled at me and said that I was never to come into his chamber again. Not while he was in it. ‘Get out. Get out now,’ he shouted though he was never one to raise his voice. I ran and moments later watched from my window as he went out into the night with his nightshirt flapping and hisfeetbare.”