Page 36 of Dark Embrace

There had been a thrilling edge of desperation in that kiss. Need. Hunger. She ached to untether the bonds he set about himself, to follow where that desperationmightlead.

A perilous path to tread; a most dangerous thingtowant.

14

Killian heldher gaze a moment longer, his hands held in tight fists at his sides, his control clearly in place, if somewhat tattered. Sarah recognized that she affected him and that pleased her. The realization wasdisconcerting.

“Lock the door behind me,” he said, hisvoicetaut.

She had no wish to lock the door against him. She had no wish for him to leave at all. Her lips felt warm, swollen from his kiss, and she wanted only to press her mouth to his and kiss himagain.

“If I lock the door, how will you come to me should I call out?” Such a reasonable question, despite the unreasonable circumstance. She could not imagine calling out to him, could not imagine him sitting out there all night on the small, stiff chair. Why would he do thatforher?

His shoulders tensed, but he did not look at her again. “There is no door that could stop me if I wanted to be at your side, Sarah. Remember that. Remember that I—” he made a slow exhalation, as though he struggled with the words, and after an instant, he continued in a low, ragged tone “—I am not likeothermen.”

No, he was not. A part of her recognized that with soul-searing clarity. He was like no one she had ever known. She had long sensed a hidden part of him, held in careful check just beneath the surface, and she did not doubt that he spoke the truth, that no lock, no door could hold him. It was a strange and frighteningcomfort.

He walked past the small table with the candle and the plate of food, and he paused there, his attention snared. She thought he meant to insist she eat, and she knew that she could not. Her stomach was alternately in knots, or dancing and twisting like it held a thousand butterflies struggling togetfree.

“What is this?” he asked, lifting the old and yellowed copy ofNew Monthlymagazine that lay open beside the plate. He read aloud the title of the short story she had pored over so many times that she could recite it by heart. “The Vampyreby John William Polidori—” he glanced at the date “—April1,1819.”

His voice had grown eerily flat, devoid ofinflection.

“My father was obsessed with that story before his death,” Sarah said. “He read it again and again, studying and dissecting the words as though they held the secret mysteries of life.” She shook her head. “I have read it myself so many times that I can recite it in its entirety. A sad and horrid tale, but I do not see what agitated my father so greatly. There are no secrets hiddenthere.”

“Are there not?” He cast her a veiled look. “May I take this to read while I keepwatch?”

Keep watch. Over her. When was the last time she had felt safe? Months. Perhaps years. But tonight, with Killian guarding her door, shewassafe.

She knew not how to place that fact in the twisted uncertainty that had becomeherlife.

“Yes, please do. Perhaps in your reading, you will find the secrets that Imissed.”

“Perhaps. Tell me, in the end, is the vampire revealed for the monsterheis?”

“Yes. How didyouknow?”

“A guess. Are vampires not always fiends?” The thread of irony in his tone gave herpause.

“I don’t know. I have not read many suchtales.”

He nodded slowly. “You have not read Byron’sTheGiaour?”

“Ihavenot.”

“It is a poem about a monster damned to drain life from those it loves.” There was no inflection to his words. They were flat and dry, yet she thought they meant somethingtohim.

“How terrible,” she said. “To be so damned and so alone in thatdamnation.”

His gaze burned into her. “You feel pity for themonster?”

She swallowed. Did she? “Yes.” She looked at the floor. “Such loneliness is a vile pestilence eating one from the inside out.” She looked up again. “Perhaps he was a monster because of hisloneliness.”

Killian drummed his fingers in a slow roll across the tabletop, and she had the feeling that he argued a silent debate within himself, as though he meant to say something and weighed the pros and cons. In the end, he said, “I…dislikethat you know anything about suchloneliness.”

Her gaze shot to his. “And I dislike that you know it too,” she whispered, daring much with thisassumption.

He did not argue her assertion; he inclined his head and exited her chamber, closing the door behind him with a softsnick.