His mouth twitched as he reached down and examined my ankle. “You are soaked through, covered in mud, clearly in considerable pain, and attempting to convince me that our simultaneous presence in this cemetery is mere coincidence?”
“I went for a walk,” I said, hearing how ridiculous the words sounded even as they left my mouth. “I could not sleep. The rain had lessened, and I thought fresh air might—”
“You followed me,” he said, his voice dropping lower, taking on an edge. “The question is why. What did you expect to discover lurking among graves at midnight? What terrible secret of mine did you imagine you might uncover?”
I met his eyes, rain and pain making me reckless. “I expected to discover exactly what I did discover—you, collecting specimens from fresh graves, continuing research with a plant that killed your wife.”
The words hung between us, sharp and damning. His jaw clenched, the control failing just enough that I saw a flicker of pain beneath as he searched my eyes.
Before he could answer, a light swept across the cemetery behind us, a lantern swinging through the darkness, accompanied by heavy footsteps and the jangle of keys.
The groundskeeper.
Dr. Ambrose’s hand shot out, gripping my arm with sudden urgency. “Can you stand if I support you?”
“I—yes, I think so—”
“Then do it. Now.”
He hauled me upright, taking most of my weight as my injured ankle refused to bear any pressure. I bit down hard on my tongue to keep from crying out, tasting copper, using the pain to maintain focus through the dizziness threatening to overwhelm me.
“The groundskeeper makes rounds every hour,” he whispered urgently against my ear as he pulled me deeper into the cemetery, away from the approaching light. “If he finds us, there will be questions neither of us can afford to answer.”
We moved as quickly as my injury allowed, his arm around my waist supporting me, my arm draped across his shoulders for balance. Each step sent fresh agony radiating from my ankle, but fear provided motivation that overrode pain. The lantern light grew brighter behind us, and the footsteps closer, the groundskeeper humming some low, mournful melody that wound between the stones like a hymn to soothe the restless dead.
“There,” Dr. Ambrose said, pulling me to the left.
A mausoleum loomed before us, its stone facade elaborate with carved faces and Latin inscriptions worn almost smooth by weather and neglect. The door stood ajar, whether from age, carelessness, or some previous trespasser's intrusion, I was not sure. He shouldered it open wider, the hinges grinding with a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet cemetery.
He pulled me inside, and the door ground shut behind us.
Darkness enveloped us. I could not discern walls or ceiling or the tomb that presumably occupied the center of the space, only the cold and cramped interior announced itself.
We pressed ourselves against the wall just inside the door, barely breathing as the groundskeeper’s footsteps approached. Dr. Ambrose’s body was solid against mine, his chest rising and falling rapidly against my back, his hands at my waist.
Light swept past the mausoleum’s narrow windows—thin lines of illumination that painted brief stripes across the darkness before moving on. Through the crack where the door met the frame, I watched the lantern’s glow, and heard the groundskeeper’s melancholic song as he made his rounds.
The footsteps paused.
I stopped breathing entirely. Dr. Ambrose pulled me closer. The silence stretched, broken only by rain pattering against stone and my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.
After what felt like an eternity compressed into seconds, the footsteps resumed. The light faded away, growing dimmer with distance.
We remained frozen for several minutes longer, making certain the danger had truly passed. Gradually, as my eyes adjusted to the absence of light, I became far too aware of our bodies pressed together and the cold cresting through my veins. My teeth began to chatter, and my whole body shook with violent, uncontrollable shivers.
I pressed closer to him, desperate for the warmth of his body to seep into mine. His breath stirred the wet hair at my temple, each exhalation a caress against my chilled skin. The intoxicating scent of him filled the small space—rain-damp wool and the clean earthy note living beneath that belonged only to him.
“You are trembling,” he said, shifting so he could wrap his arms fully around me.
A flutter began in my chest, residual fear or something less innocent spreading outward through my limbs. A need built, demanding, and growing stronger with each breath I drew in that confined space.
I glanced behind me at his coat pocket. I could barely see it in the darkness, but I sensed the vine’s alluring glow—beckoning me with a pull so strong it made my hands tremble with the need to reach out and touch it.
My companion rose from whatever depth it normally occupied with a sudden force that made the world tilt sideways as it pressed images of a life I had never lived through my mind.
Standing in a greenhouse, hands on my waist as I was lifted onto a worktable. The heat of his mouth against my throat, teeth grazing skin, his voice rough with desire—
The vision fractured, then reformed.
