Page 107 of Into Darkness (Night Prowler 6)
Lumina looked up at him, surprised, blinking. She closed the book, and hesitantly rose to her feet. “Um, hello?” she said softly in greeting.
Perfectly docile. And collared, to boot. Thorne smiled, clasped his hands behind his back, and paced into the room. He made a slow circle around her, looking her up and down, noting the tattoos on her ankle and wrists. Kinky. She wore the standard-issue white knee-length gown, and nothing else. For the briefest of moments, Thorne allowed himself to remember what delights were hidden beneath.
He’d already reviewed the recorded footage of her processing. Spectacular. He’d definitely be reviewing that again soon.
Thorne made a full circle, then stopped an arm’s length in front of her, still smiling. “Miss Bohn. How lovely to meet you at last.” To her obvious shock, he extended his hand.
She stared at it for a beat, then took it, shaking his hand with a firm, if tentative, grip. He released her hand and imagined the relieved exhalation from the glass behind him.
Lumina demurely lowered her lashes, clasping the book against her chest. “I-I’m pleased to meet you, sir,” she stammered, “and I-I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. I have to admit I’m a bit embarrassed. I’m not used to so much attention.”
Was that a blush on its cheeks? And it was apologizing? Charming creature! Thorne beamed at her, intensely pleased. He was expecting anything but this. Perhaps he’d keep one of them alive, after all. She—it—was just so . . . delightful.
In his best stern, fatherly voice, Thorne said, “Well, you’ve certainly led us on a merry chase, Miss Bohn.”
She ducked her head, murmuring, “Lumina.”
“Pardon?”
“Please, call me Lumina.” She glanced up at him, shy and lovely, and his heart missed a beat.
But no. This was getting out of hand. He drew himself up and said, “I only refer to my friends by their given names, Miss Bohn. While you reside in this facility I’ll—”
“Oh, but I do hope we can be friends, sir,” she interrupted earnestly, her brows drawn together. “I’m . . . I . . . I don’t have any friends.” She took her lower lip between her teeth and gazed at him, looking a little lost.
His mouth fell open. He was astonished at his response to her, a heady mix of paternal concern and rampant lust, and he had to make a quarter turn away to manage it, hiding his face. He coughed into his hand. “Yes. Well. You’ve led an unusual life.”
When he turned back to her, she’d sunk into the chair and was gazing at the floor. She crossed her legs at the ankle and drew them in, and he couldn’t help but notice the high arches of her bare feet, the long, slender line of her calves. On his forehead, dots of perspiration broke out.
“May I please . . . if I might be frank with you, sir?”
So polite! Such perfect submission! The lowered eyes, the respectful voice, that exquisite deference! Thorne didn’t trust himself to speak at the moment, so he simply made a vague noise of assent.
Lumina said quietly, “The Grand Minister . . .” her head snapped up and her eyes went wide, as if she’d just remembered something. Her hand flew to cover her mouth. “Oh! Sir! How is he?”
Thorne was puzzled. “He was seriously burned—as you of course know—but he’s recovering nicely. Why do you ask?”
She seemed genuinely distraught. Swallowing hard, she whispered, “It was just such a shock, sir. I-I never meant to hurt him, or anyone. He just scared me so much, and I-I reacted . . . I don’t even know how I did it, really, I just . . . but I swear I didn’t mean to hurt him. He was just very . . . scary. I’m so sorry. Will you please tell him I’m sorry?”
It was at that moment that Sebastian Thorne, for the first time in fifty years, fell in love.
“My dear child,” he said, deeply moved, “I will. And please don’t concern yourself with such things. From now on, all you have to worry about is your life here.”
She exhaled a quiet, relieved breath, then nodded, as if what he’d said had made her happy. He drew nearer to her, a moth to a flame.
“What were you going to say, before you remembered to ask about the Grand Minister’s health?” he asked, coming closer still.
Lumina looked up at him. He would have sworn he saw a glimmer of hope deep in her eyes. “He . . . at the Hospice the Grand Minister told me I could meet my mother. My birth mother. He said if I didn’t resist, I could be with her.” She moistened her lips, blinking rapidly. Her voice lowered to near a whisper. “And I would like that so much, sir. That’s why . . . I don’t want to be a bother to you, of course, but I thought if perhaps I was good you might let me see her? Or just . . . maybe talk to her? Even if it’s one time. You see, I-I never really had a mother. The woman who raised me died when I was young . . .”
She trailed off into silence, biting her lip again, looking down, and it took every ounce of his restraint not to reach out his hand and stroke her hair.
“If you give me your word you will continue to be as cooperative as you’ve been so far, I will take you to your mother, Lumina.”
She looked up at him then, moisture welling in her eyes, and reached out and grabbed his hand. He nearly recoiled, shocked, but she pressed her soft, warm cheek to his hand, and whispered fervently, “Oh, thank you! Thank you, sir! I’m so grateful to you!”
The door slid open. Half a dozen armed men burst into the room. Thorne held them all of
f with a lifted hand, staring down in awe at the supplicant clutching him as if her life depended on it. She slid her cheek along his knuckles, pressed the softest kiss to his skin, then lifted her head and gazed at him in wonder as if the sun were shining right out of his head.
