Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 60
Something white moved between the grass, catching Emma’s notice. Curious, she stepped closer. For her trouble she was nigh frightened out of her skin to discover a snake glaring up at her from its lair of rock and moss. Its scales were dreadfully pale and its albino eyes dark as blood.
Swallowing her bile, Emma backed away and left the hideous thing to guard the dead. She headed to the abbey, inexorably drawn to the beautiful ruins that towered over the moorland and the white-capped ocean. Offshore, in the distance, there loomed a wall of towering black clouds.
It was to this somber atmosphere that the abbey’s gothic facade seemed perfectly suited. It was an impressive old structure that lent such disquietude to its windswept surroundings that Emma could not help but shiver in response.
She felt certain that she was being watched. Not by the specters she’d left in the churchyard, or even the bloody snake, but by something far more threatening. A vampyre!
No, you’re safe, she assured herself. Vampyres have no power in the daylight. The thought had no sooner materialized when, surprised, Emma glanced up to see the sky becoming suddenly muted. She was dismayed to find that the towering cloud mass had made short work of the distance and flown in from the horizon towards her like a swarm of bats. Chaos was fast approaching.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A Kiss of Chaos
Emma wandered about the abbey grounds for above an hour, reflecting on the beauty of it. Above all, she deliberated over Markus Winterly. This stunning vista, so dark and mysterious, was to her the very embodiment of the man himself.
But was he a vampyre? That she had, in all sincerity, just asked herself such a ludicrous question gave her pause. What else was she to think? She’d endeavored to remain incredulous of all she had seen and read, but there were things she could not dismiss as mere fancy.
She’d yet to see Winterly or his sister eat a single morsel, to say nothing of Victoria’s eschewing sunlight. His incredible hearing was anything but natural. The bruising incubus had visited her shortly after she’d met him, as had come the nightmares. There was also the matter of the unsolved vampiric London murders in which the victims had died of exsanguination.
And, most disquieting of all, Emma could not efface from her mind the sight of his black eyes that first night in Winterthurse. It had been no phantasm in the darkness, no trick of the light.
Closing her eyes, she listened as the wind murmured across the scars. In its hushed undertones was a warning that she was no longer alone. She felt his presence. The air itself seemed to shift aside to make room for him.
There was no need to open her eyes to know that Markus Winterly was standing beside her now. It was as though he’d flown in on that black cloud bank, for she had not heard his footfalls.
That he was aware she sensed his presence was certain, for her heart accelerated into a fearsome tempo, it fair shook her bosom with delicious tremors.
“How did you find me?” she asked, her eyes still closed.
“I could find you anywhere,” he answered, his voice low and seductive.
For a woman who had unexpectedly found herself alone with a vampyre, she was remarkably serene, at least outwardly, her poor racing heart notwithstanding. But she was not calm, not by any means. She lifted her lashes gradually from where they rested on her cheeks and then turned to him.
His lips were, naturally, curled in that ambiguous way and his eyes seemed even more like black glass under the leaden sky. It seemed to her that he had brought the storm a little closer; they would need to leave soon.
Could he read her mind? she wondered. Could he guess what she suspected him of being? “Why are you here?” It’s daylight, she almost said.
“I took it upon myself to come in search of my itinerant guest.” He glanced up at the darkening sky and she followed the direction of his eyes to see a storm petrel swooping towards the cliff. “The weather is about to change for the worse, I'm afraid. I brought the carriage with me.”
Well, he was a thoughtful vampyre, she’d give him that. She watched the storm petrel till it disappeared over the cliff in search of shelter.
“Will you permit me to guide your tour through the abbey ruins before we leave?” He held the crook of his elbow out for her and took the liberty of threading her hand into it.
Well aware that there was no soul save him about, if indeed he owned a soul, Emma deliberated whether or not that was a good idea—putting herself so completely into his power like this. But she had been alone with him before.
It was no use lying to herself, she was powerless to refuse him; she was drawn to him the very same way the sun was drawn to the horizon—inevitably. It was not the first time she’d had that thought. Whatever was playing out between them was certainly ineluctable. She understood that somehow.
Emma allowed him to guide her away from the cliff and back towards the ruins. They passed the little pond beside the abbey, its grey waters rippling under the wind’s ministrations. He lead her down the length of the skeletal nave, roofless but no less grand for all that. They were each of them seemingly caught up in their own thoughts as they passed the north and south transepts, till finally he halted before what remained of the choir, studying it intently.
Evidently her nerves had finally unstrung themselves, for she found herself biting her lips to prevent a malapropos little giggle that fought to free itself. There was no doubt of her madness now. Against her better judgment, almost against her will, she now believed in vampyres; and she was