Page 30 of Edge of Oblivion (Night Prowler 2)
ld never be atoned for. He was beyond salvation, so far beyond the pale he was almost a cliché of evil. And yet she hadn’t condemned him. She had just looked at him with those huge green eyes, looked into him, almost as if she...
Not! Thinking! About it!
He found her sitting at the table on the sweeping terrace, gazing out into the lifting pink radiance of dawn. He simply watched her for a moment through the sliding glass door. Her hair was mussed and spilled dark over her shoulders, around the cashmere throw she’d wrapped around them to ward off the chill of the morning. Her skirt was wrinkled; she must have slept in it. He wondered if she’d waited for him. How long might she have waited before she’d fallen asleep in her clothes? The metal collar around her neck took on a rosy gleam in the light, and he felt a ping of discontent at the sight of it against the fine skin of her throat, delicate as a foal’s.
Twice. She’d had the opportunity to flee now, twice, and hadn’t taken either one.
He inhaled, marshaling his fragmented emotions with effort, pushing down the thought that rose unbidden inside him like a lure that bobbed up, unwelcome, from dark water.
You can trust her.
No. Trust was for children and fools. He was neither.
Her head turned and she looked at him through the slider. She sent him a fleeting, quizzical glance then directed her attention to the many silver domed platters on the table. She lifted one, sniffing its contents.
Bacon. He smelled it through the glass, and his stomach growled.
He stepped out onto the terrace and took a seat opposite her. Neither of them spoke for several minutes while they filled their plates and ate. Birds began to chirp in the trees beyond the plant-filled patio, hesitant little sleepy peeps at first that grew into full-throated songs of welcome as the sun rose over the horizon.
“You didn’t catch him,” she said, stating the obvious.
He tore apart a croissant with his fingers. “No. I know where he went, though. I’m going out again.”
“That must be handy for an assassin.” She glanced up at him. “The walking-through-walls bit.
I’ve never seen that before. And you have Vapor, too. You’re very Gifted.”
He didn’t reply. Church bells throughout the city began to toll.
“I like that,” Morgan said quietly between bites of scrambled egg. Xander froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.
“The bells,” she said, looking down at her plate. “We don’t have church bells in Sommerley.”
“Oh.” His heart eased out of his throat. Fool.
When he was able to breathe again, he sensed something different. She was so somber. Her finely arched brows were drawn together, her generous mouth turned down.
“Are you all right?” he said, low, not quite looking at her.
She blinked up at him, startled. “Me?” She let out a small, brittle laugh. “I’m...yes! Of course I’m fine! I’m just...so very...”
Then she carefully put down her fork, dropped her face into her hands, and fell silent.
“Morgan,” he said, harsher than he intended.
She put up a hand. “Just give me a minute.” Then she put the hand back over her lowered face.
The impatience that lashed through him was almost unbearable. He held himself immobile, staring at her gleaming dark hair, the fine sweep of her collarbones exposed at the open neckline of her blouse, her long, tapered fingers that were just slightly trembling on her face.
He said her name again, softer. She inhaled, then let her breath out in a sharp exhalation that sounded like she had come to some kind of decision. She lifted her head and looked straight at him, and her gaze was steady and clear.
“I have to know how you’re going to do it.”
He frowned. Do what?
“It’s just the not knowing. I think if I know, I can...it will be easier for me.”
The food he had eaten turned to a sour lump in his stomach.
