Black Blood (Series of Blood Book 4) by Emma Hamm (scary books to read .TXT) 📕

correct. The woman was lying across his piano as though she had died. Her arms folded across her chest, legs ramrod straight. It didn’t look comfortable.

And yet there she was. Pitch blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

“What are you on about?” he asked.

She didn’t turn her head. “Oh, you’re still here.”

“I live here.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Pitch’s eyebrows raised so high they disappeared into his hairline. “Are you insane?”

Laughter burst so loud next to his ear that Pitch ducked backward. Leo held onto his sides as great peels of shouting laughter echoed in the hall. That, at least, seemed to get a reaction out of Pitch’s strange captive. She sat straight up and looked at them with wide eyes.

The Cat Shifter wiped tears from his eyes as more chuckles erupted. “You are a blessing. Who is this lovely creature, Pitch?”

Pitch watched as her eyes narrowed.

“Is this some kind of trick?” she hissed.

“No trick,” Pitch gestured at the still laughing Cat. “This is Leo, my buffoon of an employee. Leo this is-”

He paused as he realized he did not have a clue what she was called. Had he ever asked for her name? Pitch wracked his memory but could not for the life of him come up with a name for the mouse huddled on top of his piano.

One of her eyebrows arched. Though she was still pale, somehow she looked both disappointed and unimpressed with him. “Lydia.”

The name scorched through him. Lydia. The name of music, just as her voice sounded like ringing bells. It suited her, he realized. Far too well in his opinion.

He could feel Leo’s eyes upon him, but could not untie his tongue. Thankfully, his loyal Cat was far more prepared than Pitch.

Leo swept into a graceful bow. “M’Lady, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your brilliance outshines all the beautiful artworks in this stately home.”

She snorted. “That isn’t hard. It’s a house made of nightmares and people screaming.”

“Uh-” the Cat stuttered, “I supposed you are correct. But you are a lily in a garden of weeds. Still beautiful if plucked and placed in a vase in the most opulent of homes.”

Pitch watched as Lydia crossed her arms over her chest. “And you have a silver tongue. That does not make me trust you. It does the opposite.”

It was distinctly pleasurable to watch Leo’s face turn beet red. The Cat was not used to women responding like this. Usually, he had them wrapped around one of his clawed fingers with just a few sentences. Pitch's hands fisted as admiration swelled for this strange woman.

Taking pity on his friend, Pitch stepped forward. “Enlighten me, darling. What are you doing?”

“I’m not your darling.”

“The question still stands.”

She swung her legs over the edge of the baby grand. “You said to make myself at home. So I am.”

“That doesn’t look very comfortable.”

“It’s not.”

Pitch took in a deep breath and refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then why partake in such an action?”

She pointed straight above them. “You have a moth problem.”

His eyes followed her direction and lit upon hundreds of moths upon his ceiling. Each a rare and beautiful species, they were an array of grays and whites. Their wings opened and closed to create a wave of movement across his ceiling. So many, they spattered down and fanned across the walls.

He exhaled a soft breath, not catching the sound in the tumultuous emotions holding him in their grasp. It was the final goodbye. Sil’s moths, which had ever provided him her words, returned to him.

He felt the weight of Lydia’s gaze. It was a physical touch which swept along his jaw and down the exposed weakness of his throat. If she had been anyone else, he would worry she would take advantage.

Instead, she captured his attention again as she swung herself down from the piano. “Invest in some moth balls,” she said. “I’ve heard dried lavender and peppermint leaves work wonders if you don’t like chemicals.”

“You are ill.”

“And who made me sick?” She walked away from him.

“Where are you going?” His voice had deepened as shadows curled around his tongue.

“Back to my room.”

“I did not say you could leave.”

“I don’t ask for permission,” it did not escape his notice that her hand trailed along the piano for balance. “It was nice to meet you, Leo.”

The Cat swept down into a low bow. “And you, Lily of the Valley.”

Her spine stiffened, but she paused. “What did you call me?”

“It seemed an appropriate nickname for you. One so pale and delicate deserves a fitting nickname.”

“My name is Lydia. I prefer you to call me that.”

“I cannot promise,” a wicked grin spread across Leo’s face. “You have given me plenty of entertainment tonight. It's to see Pitch so pathetic around a woman.”

Pitch was ready to cuff the Cat. The assassin needed to keep his mouth shut. Shadows curled in his palm, awaiting his order to fly free and erase the mouth covering fanged teeth.

But then he heard it. Melodic in tone and ringing in his ears, all the breath in his lungs rushed out.

“Pitch,” her tongue tasted his name like the finest of nectars. “It is a strange name.”

His knees weakened. His face flushed though his skin was white as snow. The name she whispered had long been upon many a tongue. But never a tongue so fine as hers.

“It is,” he agreed. “It was the name you chose a long time ago.”

“I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”

Did he mistake hearing the anguish in her voice? Had he not heard the warbling articulation which shook him to his core?

She walked away from him. She walked on her tip toes and her hand never left something to balance her. His eyes refused to move from the painful process. He drank in the sight of her even wounded and weak.

“Was that you, Moonbeam?” he murmured, although he did not know the words he spoke.

Leo shuffled next to him.

Pitch took in a deep breath, reminding himself to