Filter

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EXCERPT:

The man with the accent stepped away. “She is fortunate. There appear to be no injuries.”

Would her pride count? Her mother’s shattered hopes?

Mr. Demure leaned in and kissed his daughter’s forehead and gently spread a blanket across her. “I have always warned her that her curiosity would be the death of her. That or her clumsiness.”

She heard the men laughing as they drifted out of the room. The shadow stayed. She wished he would go. The burning tears ached to be set free. She couldn’t restrain them much longer. With a trembling, unwilling hand she rubbed her throbbing forehead and exhaled deeply.

For a moment she believed he had left, but as she shifted away from the wall she sensed him there beside the bed. He was very close.

Wretched curiosity! But she would fight it and not look.

“Katherine,” he whispered, his breath rolling in a warm wave across her cheek. A traitor tear spilled out, the humiliation was too much to contain. Gently, a finger dabbed the wetness from her cheek. He said it again, softly, as though it pleased him just to say it, “Katherine.”

“Viktor!” the accented voice bellowed from below. And then the shadow was gone.
Darkness overwhelmed her then and carried her away to a land of crows and mocking strangers.

(c)2010