Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 89
His imperial bed drew her gaze. The ebony fourposter was as wide and impressive as a sturdy Spanish galleon, its thick pillars hung with crimson brocade drapes. Each elaborate post was guarded by a coiling gargoyle dragon, glaring with toothsome ferocity. The counterpane onto which she would soon spill her blood was appropriately red.
A warm finger slipped beneath her chin and turned her face up. “You came,” he murmured. Thankfully there was nothing of smugness in his expression. He took her lifeless candle from her fingers and set it aside.
“I believe, Lord Winter—”
“Markus,” he bade her gently. “You have already used my name tonight, remember?”
“Markus,” she whispered, nodding. Unaccustomed to this gentler side of him, Emma unwittingly reverted to using the only armor she had at her disposal—her irony. “Why wouldn’t I come?” She placed the chess piece in his hand. “To the victor the spoils. Did I really have a choice?” She had meant only to make light of the situation, for she was inordinately nervous, but it had sounded all wrong. Truly, there was no other choice because she was only ever going to choose Markus.
But he mistook her meaning. “Don’t be dramatic, there is always a choice.” He released her abruptly and deposited the white queen none too gently on his ornate dresser beside her dead candle.
“Not when the devil himself beguiles a woman to—”
“Exactly!” he growled. “The devil has no greater weapon than words, no power other than that which he is granted.” Suddenly he was caging her in against the door, though he was careful not to touch her. “And I shall tell you something else for nothing: there is no devil. You mortals are your own devils and you create your own hells.”
“What of God? Is he merely fiction too?” she scoffed.
“Of course He exists. It was He that cast me from Heaven, and banished me to hell.”
“Hell? But you walk here amongst us.” Had he somehow escaped the Lake of Fire?
“Precisely. Did you never consider that this earthly realm is the Underworld? Surely the pain and suffering you mortals inflict upon each other will have convinced you of that.”
Was he lying? she wondered, her mind reeling. “Why were you cast out of Heaven?”
He gave a shrug. “I allowed love to corrupt me.”
Love?! Surely he could not mean—
“But Satan, as you know him, is the fabrication of man,” he went on. “A means by which to cast the blame of omnipotent evil to a faceless entity, one that controls, possesses, and destroys. It is an excuse, and one which allows for mankind to shirk responsibility for their own misdeeds and depravities. The Destroyer, my dear, is mankind, not I. Look to history and you will see that I speak the truth.” Those gleaming black eyes dropped to her lips. “So, you see, you have a choice after all. You are here not because I forced you, but because you too crave the forbidden; you yearn for what only I can give you.”
“No, I want what you can never give me.”
“I can give you anything, my rose.”
“Are you capable of love?” She was here because she loved him, and what she wanted more than anything was to be loved. Loved despite that she was plain and her heart alloyed with darkness.
Out came the giant wings with a restless snap. They were only a shadowy blur until they stilled precariously overhead, outstretched like frightening scimitars. “Teach me.”
“I thought you were to be my preceptor tonight,” she whispered, awe-struck again by those wings.
He folded his wings behind him like a black cloak. “Perhaps we may learn from each other.”
“Then I wish to learn something of your dark gifts?”
He made an impatient sound. “What are you driving at?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Tell me, Markus, can you not control minds even a little?”
“Not even a little. Telepathy is not a talent I possess.”
Well, deep down she’d known her darkness was hers alone, not some seed planted by him. She believed him too. Lying seemed to be beneath him, he appeared to relish the truth in all its stark shades. There was no need for lies when truths were unsavory enough. But she was neither relieved nor disappointed by this revelation. Neither option was palatable in the end, for if she was not a victim of mind-control then she was a sickly rose. The latter was an odium she could far better abide than the idea of having her thoughts tampered with. Fortunately, or tragically, he was merely the impetus that awakened her to her own inner daimon.
“Did you come here only to theologize, Emma?”
No, she had come to meet the dawn in his bed, a fact he well knew. She shook her head.
“Some Madeira, my love?” he asked, backing away. He then lifted a silver decanter from the side cabinet, a questioning arch to his black brow.
“I thank you, no. Your…love—” her lips quirked ironically “—chooses to remain abstemious.”
“Your abstinence does not, I hope, extend to the fruits of the flesh?”
Her cheeks flushed with the innuendo. “Well, no, I…that is to say, I did not mean…” She fidgeted with her skirt. Lord, she was making a hash of things! Why was he just staring at her in that devilish manner? And why could she not untie her tongue from her tonsils? “On second thought,” she said, “I will take that glass of Madeira.”
“Excellent.” There was a flash of a fang as the corner of his mouth lifted. He poured the amber liquid into the cut crystal. “It seems that I have a talent for mind-control after all.” He was brave to tease her about that so soon.
She gave a soft snort as he slipped the delicate crystal stem between her waiting fingers. Unsurprisingly, he took none for himself. He was right to fortify her with wine, the night was yet young and her courage required whatever liquid reinforcement was at