Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 88
She, however, remained long after he’d withdrawn. When the clock on the mantelshelf chimed the darkest hour, she bestirred herself from her thoughts. It seemed her lengthy contemplations had been so dark as to snuff even time itself, for she knew not whence the hours had slipped. The storm had abated and the castle was swathed in deep silence. The slumberous heart of the fire was reduced now to ash and ember, pulsing its languid death throes. The taper beside her had bled itself near to nothing, the wick all but spent.
Unlike Milli, Emma had always felt a sort of kinship to the night; it had never frightened her, not really. She was not like everyone else, she’d always been a bird of another color, yet that had never stopped her from trying to blend in with the rest of the flock. She had never wanted to be different, but with Markus she’d never felt more so. Moreover, she’d never felt more herself than when she was with him—never more so awakened and enlivened.
Why did she still crave his touch after all that had transpired? Despite what had been done to Milli. What hellish power did he wield over her? Was she in her right mind or had he tampered with it somehow? She thought not, but how was she to be sure?
Once she no longer allowed herself to look through that glass darkly, she knew she could never go back. Nosce te ipsam. Know yourself. She knew it was not escape she really wanted. Not now that Milli was with Mary. Markus had brought a letter back from Mary as proof he’d followed Emma’s directive faithfully.
So what did she want? She delved into the oubliette of her mind and stood up with a disturbing epiphany. That indwelling daimon had met her gaze and now it would never allow her to look away again. There was really only one thing she wanted tonight.
Taking her candle, and the white queen from the chessboard, she quit the hall and bent her course towards the master’s chamber.
Chapter Forty-Two
Sinistra
My Dear Mary,—Bootless now to speak of honor or righteousness; I am no fit companion or guardian to my poor Milli. So in your safekeeping I commend her. You shall do the office better justice than I.
Be patient, Cousin, I shall write again soon and expound. God willing, you shall believe me. Until then, do all in your power to protect my sister. And, for Heaven’s sake, bar the windows against fearsome dreams. The night has deadly wings. As to my fate, I have made my bed and take to it gladly… God keep you both safe,
Emma.
Emma was a specter in a white dinner gown wandering through the haunted castle of her beloved books. But unlike a noble heroine bent on fleeing the bête noire, she craved the company of her wicked viscount.
Her tarnished reflection was etiolated amidst the dusky patination of the large looking glass in the hallway. Her eyes appeared too large for her face and the candlelight cast unkind smudges of shadows beneath them. Her impromptu portrait, confined in that ancient silver frame, savored of death. A corpse bride fit for a vampyre’s bed. The thought amused her a little. At least she was no longer afraid of that reflection. To be afraid of it was to give it power over her.
She was only afraid for Milli. How had her sister come by that mark? Now that she was clear-headed, Emma conceded that it had not looked like a bite; then again, she’d never seen a vampire bite for herself. Would to God she never did. No, that was just another lie she was too much in the habit of assembling, like another stone in a wall of lies she’d built for herself. Tonight she must be honest. The thought of Markus’s teeth upon her neck struck her as deeply intimate and, dare she admit it, exciting. In truth, the threat of vampyre kisses was not inducement enough to sway her from her course. On the contrary, it was as though an invisible red thread had coiled its seductive length about her midriff and was tugging her forward with languid inexorability.
Her taper flickered nervously in the hush. Or was it trembling anticipation? Doubtless a little of both, she decided. At the stairhead she turned left instead of right where her bedchamber lay, and where chastity prevailed. Sinistra for her tonight—to the vampyre’s den. And just as she reached the imposing door behind which her lover dwelled, her flame suddenly sputtered out, smote by an invisible gust. Now she could not retreat, for all was as black as Hades, save the irresistible glow of candlelight beneath his door. There was no turning back, even if she’d wanted to, she was as like to fall and break her neck in the dark as find her way back to her room. Death by misadventure seemed somehow more tragic than death by exsanguination.
She raised her hand to knock, but the door swung open before she could announce herself. Markus stood aside, tacitly inviting her in. His neckcloth was discarded, and his white cotton shirt lay open. His cuff, she noted cursorily, still bore the stain of blood.
She endeavored not to gape at the unconcealed ridges of flawless flesh and sinew along his abdomen as she slipped past him into his chamber. Yet she knew that if she lowered her unsettled eyes to escape the top half of him she’d only wonder about the lower half beneath his black trousers. No thanks to the so-called literature in his library, she now had a very good idea of what lay therein. There was no help for it, she could look at none of