Page 47 of Edge of Darkness (Night Prowler 4)
Someone was in the library.
Her heart like a wild thing in her chest, Ember eased the door closed and made her way down the hall toward the library. She paused just outside the door, looking in.
Standing with his arms braced against the stone hearth of the massive fireplace, staring down into the flames, Christian didn’t acknowledge her presence, or turn to look at her as she slowly entered the room.
Though the light in the room was low, the only illumination the glow of the fire and the tapered candles in a silver candelabra on the desk, everything felt too bright and sharp, the edges of things hurting her eyes. The urge to turn and run away was powerful, and so was the urge to cross to Christian and touch him. He wore loose clothing, ivory linen drawstring pants and a matching, untucked shirt rolled up to his elbows. Against the glossy parquet floor, his feet were tanned and bare.
Now that she was here, ambivalence was a noose around her neck, a noose tightening in degrees with every second Christian stayed silent.
What could she say? What could he? Why, in fact, had she even come?
Finally, he said into the hush in a tone devoid of emotion, “Are you here to kill me?”
That startled her. A little breathlessly, she asked, “What kind of question is that?”
Without turning away from the fire, he lifted his head and turned it slightly so she saw him in profile: tight jaw and stern mouth, the perfect line of his nose, the serious, black slash of his brows. “A logical one. Unless you’re planning on playing darts with that blade in your pocket.”
Her fingers tightened around the switchblade. Her heart jumped into her throat. “How could you possibly know that?”
Now he did turn, slowly, straightening and lowering his arms to his sides. With the firelight behind him flared into nimbus around his head, his features were cast in shadow. His eyes, however, those preternatural green eyes, flashed silver against the light, like a cat’s.
“I can smell it,” he said very softly, his gaze locked onto hers. “Just like I can smell the metal in your arm, the fear you have of me now, your ambivalence, and your confusion. I could smell you as soon as you got out of that cab, Ember, which incidentally I also could hear coming, all the way up the mountain.” He stepped forward slowly, soundlessly, his gaze still trained on hers. “Why are you soaking wet?”
“Stay where you are,” she insisted. The cold and her wet hair and clothes were beginning to have their way with her, and she was shivering uncontrollably. The hand she held out—in vain, she knew—to stop him from advancing, shook.
He’d stopped in place when he saw her outstretched hand, but this little concession did nothing to quell her sudden anxiety. What a fool she’d been, coming here to confront him. Alone. Alone in a house with a supernatural creature who had a predilection for chewing things to shreds. And not a soul on earth knew where she was right now.
Screw it, she thought, straightening her shoulders. I’m not going to be intimidated by a…by a—
“And when you’re angry or irritated,” Christian said softly, “it feels like fingernails scraped over my skin.”
“Stop that,” Ember hissed, a flush of heat rising in her face.
He examined her expression, her
flaming cheeks, her stiff back, and shaking hands, and exhaled a slow, controlled breath. Watching her face carefully, he said, “I thought I might never see you again.”
Ember’s teeth began to chatter. She had to clench her jaws together to keep them from clattering right out of her skull. “I know…I know what you are.”
His left brow lifted, but that was all.
“You’re not human?” She’d meant it as a statement but it was still so unbelievable to her, standing with him so close, looking so normal, that it came out with a lift at the end like a question.
It brought a grim smile to his face. “I assume you already know the answer to that, or you wouldn’t have brought a knife. Not that it will help you.” He took another step toward her.
She blurted, “So you are dangerous…to me.”
“You already know the answer to that, too. Yes to the first part, no to the second. And I’m not answering any more questions unless you answer some of mine in return. Quid pro quo, September.”
His eyes were fierce and intent, burning with some unknown emotion that had her nerves singing. The term “quid pro quo” always reminded her of Hannibal Lecter and Agent Starling sharing information in Silence of the Lambs, something she really didn’t want to think about at the moment. Next he’d be telling her about eating someone’s fried liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.
Hysteria began to take hold of her body, sinking sharp teeth into her throbbing heart.
“Did you kill those—those men? In the alley?”
He nodded, and it took her breath away. She’d seen the pictures on the Internet, she’d read all about the mangled bodies, but it was still stunning. This beautiful man was a murderer.
A murderer. He’d eaten out someone’s heart.
