Page 18 of Edge of Darkness (Night Prowler 4)
“Where shall I stop, miss?” said Corbin, slowing as he pulled around the corner and onto the one-way street that ran behind the plaza. Like many plazas in Barcelona, the large cobblestone square was for pedestrians only, off-limits to all but delivery vehicles or the police.
“There,” Ember said, her voice trembling. With her right hand she indicated the back of a building half a block up. Her left remained curled to a fist in her lap, and Christian impulsively reached out and placed his own on top of it. Beneath his fingers, her hand was ice cold. It felt very fragile and small.
She turned, startled at the contact, and looked at him. Reflected in the moonlight streaming through the windows, her face was wan and pale. She was frightened, deeply frightened, and he sensed her reaction was about far more than what had just happened. He felt an unexpected, almost overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and comfort her.
“You’re all right,” he reassured her softly, holding her gaze. “You’re safe.”
“I’m safe…with you.”
It was a whisper, nearly inaudible, and Christian wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. Either way, it was a minefield, one he didn’t want to explore.
She could never be safe with him. Not really. Temporarily, maybe, and in instances like this where he could save her from little accidents, prevent her from coming to harm in one of the million ways a human could be harmed going about their everyday lives.
But in the big ways, the ways that really mattered, she’d never be safe with him. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Unfortunately, his body didn’t care. His heart didn’t care. He didn’t care, in spite of all the reasons he should.
“Let me walk you up,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
No, she wasn’t. And he wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I’m walking you up.” He opened his door before Corbin could get out of the car, and had her door open before she could protest. He held out his hand and she stared up at him, seeming very small and fragile in the back seat of his car, her little cat’s ears pricked forward as if listening for something.
“Really, Christian, I’m fine.”
“So you’ve said. Now get out of the car or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you up.”
Her face went a shade paler and he had to smile. “That was a joke. A bad one. I apologize. I promise to behave.”
Her lips twisted, a rueful little smile that had him dying to know what she was thinking. Without commenting, she accepted his outstretched hand and climbed out of the car. Once standing, she immediately withdrew her hand from his. “It’s just over here,” she said, and turned, leaving him to follow behind her.
He nodded to Corbin, who watched them through the windshield, and turned away before the sight of Corbin’s worried face could distract him.
When they reached her apartment building—a five-story walk-up of creamy stone, with a tiny café and a newsstand on the ground floor and stone gargoyles leering down from the balustrades of the terrace on top—she hesitated, looking up. “Um, I think this is good. My landlord lives on the second floor and…” She hesitated, chewing her lip. “He sort of thinks I’m out of town. I don’t want to wake him up.”
His brows rose. “How will he know it’s you? And why does he think you’re out of town?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and sent a nervous glance at the dark windows on the second floor. “He always knows it’s me, he’s got Spidey senses. And…I’m a little behind on the rent. Asher covered for me and said I was out of town so I could buy a few more days. It’s been really slow at the bookstore lately, and I just,” she cleared her throat, “I just needed a little more time to get it together.”
She looked pained as she spoke the words, scuffing the toe of her boot against the ground and lowering her lashes, and it was obvious it galled her to admit she was short on her rent. Especially to someone like him, he realized with an unhappy clench in his stomach, a man who dined at the finest restaurants in the city, owned a car that cost upward of six figures, and had a driver to boot. He’d never given much thought to his own wealth because he’d always had it, as had his father, and his father before him. As the son of an Earl, Christian had never wanted for anything.
Anything material, that is. He’d wanted plenty of things that had nothing to do with money. Those things—freedom, autonomy, the choice of where to live—were far more important than all his wealth and privilege combined. Ember had those things, and though she probably wouldn’t believe him if he told her, he’d trade places with her in a minute.
He sometimes thought people had no idea how good they really had it. They seemed always to focus on the bad things, the little inconveniences or discontents, when in reality most people had far, far more valuable things than he did. He was Gifted, as were all of his kind, but most humans had the greatest gift of all: choice.
He shook all those thoughts off and to Ember he said, “So we’re sneaking you in, then.” He grinned at her. “Co
ol.”
He wanted to laugh at the look on her face. Startled, horrified, relieved, her expression went through a dozen transformations in the five seconds it took for her to compose herself and answer.
“Oh, so we’re inviting ourselves up, are we?”
“I’d love an espresso, if you’ve got it. And I did promise to behave,” he said, very seriously, with his best “I’m trustworthy” face.
“No, Mr. Fancypants, I do not have espresso.”
Her voice was cool, she’d arched one dark eyebrow, which clearly telegraphed disdain, and she was looking at him as if he were an insect she’d like to smash beneath her boot.
