Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 79

Through the darkness and watery vision, Winterly looked bemused. Two deep clefts had appeared between his brows at the first sign of her tears. In the midst of her indecorous sniffling, she was surprised to find a piece of lace pressed suddenly into her hand.

“Your tears cut no ice with me, madam.” His voice was gruff. She was coming to find that she was always “madam” when he was vexed with her. “My words may hold no water with you, but I tell you now that I have never lied to you and only time shall prove that. You are in no mortal danger from me. Milli too is safe as long as she remains under my protection. Leave Winterthurse if you wish, I will not stop you, you are free to do as you please and go where you will. You are not my prisoner, Miss Rose.”

She wiped the last of the moisture from her eyes before she retuned his monogrammed hanky to him. It was then she noticed the curious quirk of his mouth as he beheld her, his eyes once more…human. His expression was almost gentle. “Why do you look at me in that way?”

“Because you fascinate me. I find it intriguing that you have borne my revelations with such equanimity and such show of mettle.”

“Hardly equanimous to be caught in a weep.”

“Well, you are only human,” he allowed. “But doughty all the same. Any other maid would have swooned dead away. Your novels have taught me that much.”

“I suppose I bear it as I have because I still question my sanity. Perhaps I shall awaken in Bedlam tomorrow and discover that you are nothing but a phantom in a dream.”

“I am no phantom, Miss Rose. I could prove as much, if you’d allow it.”

Allow it? Only insofar as he allowed her to allow anything. Emma lifted her hands warily to her neck, suspicious of how he might go about proving his corporeality.

“Ay,” he said, chuckling darkly, “I could very well demonstrate it that way, but I won’t. There is a code of ethics, you understand.” Then, under his breath, “Though I am not above breaking cardinal laws.”

She gave a snort. “I understand only that you require blood to survive.”

“I do, but you are not the only blood source in England, dear girl.”

The thought of him siphoning off some poor wretched soul’s lifeblood sickened her. “You are vile.”

“Enough,” he said, nose flaring. “Do not presume to understand my habits.”

“As you presume to understand me?”

“At least I come to you with an open mind, madam, but you are determined to act the bigot.”

She gasped as though he’d slapped her. Was she truly having this argument with a vampyre about ethics and morals—and he, the killer, calling her a bigot! “Who killed those women in London?”

With a growl he turned his back. “Why ask that question when you have already decided that it was I?”

“Do you deny that you kill for blood.”

“I do not.”

With a shudder she held up her hand. “Save the remainder of your divulgences for another time, I beg of you.”

“A time of day, you mean?” He was impenetrably watchful.

The night was thick and the advantage all his own; this was neither the place nor the time for him to…enlighten her. The rest could wait until the world was no longer blighted by darkness. “Yes, I require that you wait until morning to continue.” Once the sun was up to fortify her courage she would feel more herself again. Only then would she be equal to bear witness to whatever else he meant to show her.

“Then oblige me,” said he, “with an uncolored mind when you are ready to know more.”

Was she really being as opinionated and intolerant as he affirmed? Surely she was right to hold him in suspicion? Now that she knew what he was, how was she to proceed without preconceived notions and aversions?

Ana had warned her to be on her guard around these Winterlys and Emma would be a fool not to heed that warning, for that seemed the safest recourse. But how had Ana known about him? And would she, Emma, be endangering Ana’s life by asking Winterly about the De Grigoris? Likely. All these uncertainties made one thing very certain: Emma would need to tread carefully if she and Milli were to survive. She couldn’t very well pin all her trust and hopes of survival on Winterly’s magnanimity. Just as a cat had no business trusting a hungry wolf.

First thing tomorrow morning she would try to convince Milli it was time to leave. While Winterly still maintained his guise of benevolence; at any moment he might assume the role of mad butcher of London. They ought to have left the first day she suspected him of being a fiend. Although, suspecting someone of vampirism was nothing to actually hearing and seeing that suspicion confirmed. She could be forgiven the sense of gothic excitement she’d felt till now. Reality was far less romantic.

“Miss Rose,” he said, interrupting her chaotic thoughts. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” And then something awful occurred to her. “You haven’t been sneaking into my room every night, have you?”

Thankfully, his look of insult was manifestly genuine. “To what purpose? Or do you imagine I find pleasure in fondling an unresponsive body like some necrophilic cur?”

“What? No!” Good God, what a hideous thought!

“I have come to you only once and that was when you were quite awake, though you convinced yourself you were dreaming. I prefer my sport responsive and warm.” And before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her once more. Hard. Despite all that had passed between them tonight, she felt herself melt against him. The truth was, as dangerous as his kiss was—as deadly as the teeth behind those lips were—she was never more alive than when his mouth was pressed to hers.

When he pulled away, he gently pulled her mask away with