She stood there a moment, staring at the cloudy skies, the puddles, the raindrops dripping from the trees. Freedom lay beyond the door. Knowing it was useless, she took a step forward, only to be brought up short by the same invisible barrier.
With a shake of her head, she closed the door and carried the package into the main room, her fingers tearing at the string, ripping off the wrapping. Inside, she found yarn and thread in all the colors of the rainbow and a dozen needlepoint patterns.
Stunned, she dropped down on the couch. She remembered the night Stefan had asked her if there was anything she wanted and she had said no, even though she had wished for the very things she now held in her hands. How had he known?
She sat there for a long time, staring into the distance, as the wordwarlockrepeated itself over and over in her mind.
Though she would have died rather than admit it, Bryony was happy to see him that evening.
He regarded her through narrowed eyes and then a slow smile spread over his face. “I am happy to see you, too.”
She glared at him from the couch. “How do you know what I’m thinking?”
He shrugged one broad shoulder. “A good guess?”
“No.” She made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the whole room. “The painting over the fireplace, the rug, the drapes, the mirror in the bedchamber. I thought the house needed all those things shortly after I stumbled into this place and the next day they were here.”
“As you have no doubt surmised, I can read your mind.”
“How? How can you do that?” She stared at him, eyes wide. “It’s true, isn’t it? You’re a warlock.”
Settling in the easy chair, he stretched his legs out in front of him. Elbows resting on the arms of the chair, he regarded her over his folded hands. “My mother was a witch. She taught me the Dark Arts.”
Bryony opened her mouth and closed it again, too stunned to speak. Even though she had suspected as much, deep down she hadn’t really believed it was true. Of course, he hadn’t actuallysaidhe was a warlock, but there was no other explanation. It certainly explained why the doors wouldn’t open. No doubt he had cast some kind of magical spell on them and on the windows, too.
“You are not going to faint, are you?” he asked. “You look a trifle pale.” A wave of his hand produced a glass of red wine. Leaning forward, he handed it to her.
Bryony stared at the drink as though it might bite her. What other proof did she need?
Stefan laughed softly. “It is not poisoned, I assure you.”
Feeling suddenly light-headed, she took a sip, and then another. It was quite good and she drank it all. When the glass was empty, it disappeared from her hand. It was the last straw. A black void opened before her and carried her away.
He caught her before she slipped off the couch. Cradling her in his arms, he lightly stroked her hair, traced her lower lip with the tip of his finger, ran his tongue along the side of her neck. The scent of her skin tickled his nostrils, the warm, coppery scent of her blood aroused his hunger.
He ran his tongue over her tender flesh.
Closed his eyes.
And bit her ever so gently.
Later than night, he stood out in the rain, letting it wash over him, wishing it could wash away his sins. He had no right to keep Bryony here, especially after what he had done to Leanora. He tried to rationalize his actions, but he could not. Weak and badly wounded after his battle with the hunters, he had dragged himself home. Desperate to replace the blood he had lost, he had called the girl to him. He swore under his breath. He hadn’t meant to take it all. But the excruciating pain of his injuries, his overpowering need for blood to heal his wounds, had been stronger than his self-control. Horrified by his lack of control, he had transported her to a distant cemetery and buried her.Monster!His mind screamed the word and he could not deny it.
What would Bryony think if she knew Leanora had been the only thing standing between herself and death that day?
He shook his head, hating himself for what he’d done. Hating what he was. Bryony would despise him if she knew. There was no way to make her understand the terrible pain that clawed relentlessly at his vitals when he was wounded and in need of blood to heal. No mortal could begin to understand the anguish. No human could endure it, let alone survive.
He clenched his hands at his sides. Tomorrow night, he vowed. Tomorrow night he would let her go before he lost control again. Before it was eternally too late.
Chapter Seven
Bryony settled in the chair by the window. She had done a few chores after breakfast—washed the dishes and put them away, filled the tub and took a bath, then washed out her undergarments. An apple made do for the mid-day meal.
She stared out the bedchamber window, but it wasn’t Daisy she saw or the distant mountains. In her mind’s eye, she saw her home. The manor house, large and impressive, was set amidst a sea of manicured lawn and giant trees. Flowers bloomed in boxes. Blooded horses filled the corrals. A dozen dogs and countless cats roamed the yards and the barns. She pictured her room in the east wing of the third floor, the white curtains that fluttered at the arched windows, the soft grey carpet that muted her footsteps, the big, canopy bed, the porcelain doll her parents had given her when she was five, the bookshelf that held her favorite volumes. An armoire filled with party dresses in silks and satin stood in the corner. Would she ever see her home or her family again?
The images faded as, with a heavy sigh, she turned away from the window and picked up her book. She had finishedJane Eyreand was now following Alice as she wandered through Wonderland looking for the White Rabbit.
She lost track of time as she read until her eyelids grew heavy and she dozed off in her chair.
