Page 35 of When Bones Whisper
With trembling fingers, she took the armchair to his left, and crossed her legs. The crackling of the fire hissing between the logs soothed her racing thoughts. “No reason. I thought I had heard something. It was likely from outside.”
“Hmm,” he said, clearly losing interest.
Rolling back her shoulders, she attempted to focus on anything besides what had just happened. Something was either happening to her mentally, or it was paranormal. She hoped it was the latter, but either way, she couldn't bring herself to trust him with the truth.
She had only left her bedroom intending to borrow a book from their library to entertain herself until she was ready for sleep, but now that she was in there with him, she didn’t want to leave. In his presence, the voices faded away, and she felt somesemblance of peace. It wasn’t just him. Being around anyone helped. It was being alone, when everything was silent, that she hated.
“I assumed you would be with Katherine,” she said, breaking the silence.
“Why would you think that?” he asked, taking a sip of whiskey, the firelight casting dancing shadows across his sharp features.
“She likes you. That much is evident.”
Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he swirled the gold liquid and said, “Katherine only likes herself. Besides, she is here to help you, not me.”
“Do you come in here often?” she asked when he let out a heavy sigh.
His pupils flared when he looked at her, reflecting the dim light of embers and fire. “Not for some time.”
“I read that one the other night. It is surprising that you like that one,” she said, pointing at the worn title.
“Why?”
“It is a book about redemption through suffering, and you are....”
“I amwhat? A monster who could never be redeemed?”
“Is that what you want? Redemption?” she asked, noticing the slight tremor in his throat as he swallowed.
“No, that is not something a vampire could ever ask for.”
“Why not?”
“Because we are not deserving of such things.”
She shook her head, leaning forward, brows curving. He truly believed that. She could see it in his face. “I don’t believe that is true.”
“Then you are naïve.”
“And you are cynical,” she said, with a deep breath.
“You would be too, if you had lived as long as I.” His gaze traveled over her face, as if he was searching for something, before settling on her lips. “You’ve been reading my books. I noticed the dust disturbed.”
She glanced at the long shelf beside the mantel. “Alexander said they were your favorites, and I wanted to get to know you better.”
His lips pursed. “Why?”
“So I could know what I’m up against.”
He pointed his glass at her, slowly nodding before leaning back against the sofa cushions. “You’re not up against anyone, Miss Lovett. We are on the same side.”
His dark shirt and pants strained against his muscles, his top buttons undone. The men she knew, who dressed in such fanciful clothes, never wore them so casually. Yet, he didn’t seem to care.
“Stay and read, if you want,” he said gruffly and returned to his book.
She grabbed the closest one and placed it on her lap but couldn’t get past the first page. Every so often, he’d peer over the top of his, glance at her, then avert his eyes. She couldn’t focus on a damned word. After several minutes of that, she closed the bookand sighed. “I’ve noticed there are no mirrors anywhere. Not even in my room.”
He lowered the book, staring at her, eyebrows pinched. “Aren’t you inquisitive this evening?”
