Page 14 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
I slid the clasps free, slipping my fingers beneath the heavy cover. My magic almost stinging as it flooded to my fingertips, curious and demanding.
‘I wouldn’t open that one,’ came a dark voice over my shoulder.
A cry of alarm left my lips. I turned, only to find my fingers trapped between the book cover and a gloved hand, cold leather against my burning flesh.
The fireplace roared to life behind me. A soundless panicked command I’d subconsciously given it. Illuminating the tall, imposing figure stood before me.
There was a stillness in his expression, oddly dark eyes set in a handsome, angular, but somewhat cruel face. A face that reminded me vividly of the portraits of the saints that mortals worshipped.
His raven hair was wet, as if he’d been caught in a storm. Longer than fashionable as it curled slightly against the collar of his grey suit jacket. A pale slash of scars ran through his eyebrow and down to his jaw, one into his lip, silvery in the firelight. The skin on his neck was nothing but a mess ofdamaged flesh. Like some monstrous creature had gone for his jugular … once it had finished raking its claws down the side of his face.
‘What are you doing hiding in the dark?’ I demanded, snatching my hand from under his touch, heart pounding wildly. William hadn’t said anything about another guest.
‘In my own library?’ His dark brow lifted arrogantly.
Hislibrary.My heart dropped to my slipper-covered feet.
Lord Blackthorn was standing before me, considering me with barely contained annoyance, and he couldn’t be a day over thirty.
I stepped back, flushed with embarrassment. This washishouse; he could sneak about like a spectre all he wanted.
‘Did your snooping prove rewarding?’ he enquired, unmercifully. Undoing the buttons of his jacket with relaxed ease he moved past me to the chair before the now-blazing fire, spots of rain clinging to his shoulder, but as I looked to the glass ceiling above, there was no rain. Hadn’t been all evening.
‘I wasn’tsnooping,’ I insisted with annoyance, rubbing my hands together to ease the lingering sting of magic. Anything to hide my unease of how he was nothing like how I imagined him. Younger, colder and clearly disfigured by a horrific war that the world pretended hadn’t happened.
‘That’s what all snoopers say.’ He dropped unceremoniously into one of the chairs with so little decorum I wouldn’t be surprised if he threw his feet up onto the small table before him.
He didn’t.
‘William said I was free to wander the house,’ I said, aware I did need to impress this man on some level if I had any chance of staying here.
‘Of course he did.’ He pulled a pile of papers off the table next to him and into his lap, almost causing an avalanche of clutter.
With a careless wave of his hand, he indicated the chair opposite him. ‘Sit.’
The dominating nature of the word made me stand straighter.
‘I don’t follow commands.’ I informed him coldly.
His head turned lazily in my direction, his irises suddenly a pale grey that took on the warm hue from the fire. Maybe it was a trick of the light that they’d appeared so dark.
‘Please,’ he nodded respectfully, but something about it still held an aloof quality. As if the last thing in the world he’d want was company, despite asking for it.
Choosing to ignore the fact that proper ladies didn’t sit in dark rooms with men they didn’t know in nothing but their robe, I took the seat.
I surveyed him more closely now he was distracted with the papers in his lap. Too young and rugged, unpreened by the standards of the elite class. But I wasn’t foolish enough to be distracted by the sharpness of his jawline.
‘You were quick to accept the partnership. I see none of the other old fools were interested?’ He tugged off his gloves, revealing more scars on his hands, oddly shaped like thin vines wrapping around his long pale fingers.
‘I’m Kysillian. Unless you’re unfamiliar with the vulgar lies spread about my kind …’ Being fey was enough for prejudice; being Kysillian was another danger all together, one he should understand in his line of work.
‘I fought in the wars, Miss Woodrow,’ he replied, those otherworldly eyes taking me in. ‘I’m well aware of the lies spread to expand the King’s rule.’
‘A king your family once served,’ I countered. If he could be rude then so could I. My temper was getting the better of me. The Mage King had persecuted the fey.
Despite the bastard being overthrown, nothing had improved. I wondered how much of Blackthorn’s involvement he regretted. Those burdened with such guilt usually chose drink, denial or decided the world was better at war or in the grasp of a mad king.
‘As I’m the only one left, I see the price of their mistakes as duly paid.’ There was a genuine regret in his voice that eased me slightly.
