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

focus. Sil had not returned. He knew this. But there were moments when Lydia spoke which reminded him of a time long ago. There were bits of Sil inside of her. Of that, he was certain.

His Cat assassin stared at him and grinned through his protruding fangs.

“What?” Pitch growled.

“You like her.”

“Well she’s here isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Leo gave him a meaningful look. “But you like her. You have no idea how to deal with her, do you? I’ve never seen you so bad at wooing a woman.”

“I’m not attempting to woo her.”

“But you want to.”

Yes, he did. Pitch realized that he very much wanted to “woo” her, as Leo had said. But there were too many factors making it difficult.

He could not touch her with hands stained red from a millennium of blood. Chaos raged in his veins and this was not his Sil. The moonbeam which had stepped from the sky to bring cooling peace to his soul had been one of a kind. Pitch’s captured mouse was not so giving.

She would never allow a butcher to stain her porcelain skin with his corrupted hands.

“Maybe,” Leo interrupted Pitch’s thoughts, “you should let her go.”

“And subject her to the world? No. She will remain here with me. There's no telling what would happen if she becomes overwhelmed.”

“Would it?”

“The magic will consume her sooner rather than later.” Pitch turned on his heel, returning to his office with a heart heavy as stone. “She will stay safe with me.”

Chapter 3

Her spine pressed against the solid wooden door. She slid down until the thick Persian carpet cushioned her fall. She was completely limp.

Silent sobs wracked her frame although they did not to shake the door. Lydia wouldn’t allow that. He couldn’t know how afraid she was. How much she worried for her own safety.

She had decided a few weeks ago that she did not want to die. Pitch had left the house and not returned for such a long time that she was certain he would not come back. So she left the sanctuary of her room and explored. There were many odd things in this strange house.

But there was no escape.

Her head thumped against the door as tears slicked the soft curves of her cheeks. She was so tired. Everything ached.

Lydia still wasn’t certain what he had done to her. Some kind of plague? Some illness that made her unable to fight back against him. Or this place.

She tried to catch her breath, but found herself unable to. Even lifting her arms to brush at the tears was impossible. She heaved a breath that lacked oxygen and opened her eyes.

“I’m going to die here,” she whispered to the still room.

Her desire to live had never been stronger. Deep inside her being, something else was growing.

She could feel it hidden underneath her ribcage, something alive tucked between her lungs. Lydia could not describe it. It wasn’t a heartbeat nor the thump of life. It was a coil of what she could only refer to as magic.

And it was spreading. The longer she remained here the more she felt it grow. It sparkled like champagne through her veins and made her feel like she was glowing. Along with those moments of effervescence, there was pain.

Blinding gnawing pain that grew until she wanted to scream. The inner marrow of her bones ached. Parts of her body she didn’t know existed throbbed. There was nothing she could do to stop it.

Lydia wanted to blame it on the man made of shadows. Her kidnapper. The man who haunted her nightmares.

Pitch.

Yet, sometimes when she looked at him, there was a spark of memory. Lydia replayed the moments in her mind. As he told her that she had named him, a memory rustled and flooded her with strange images.

Sparkling starlight. The quiet lapping of water against a rocky shore. And a whisper into the darkness.

Pitch.

Her eyes snapped open, and she gasped. There was danger down that path.

Face crumpling in pain, her body bowed forward as her hands curled inwards. She could no more force her muscles to release, any more than she could stop the sun from rising. Lydia wheezed as her body bowed without her consent. She remained locked in that position until she forgot how to count or even what time was.

“Ah!” The soft cries of pain continued until the episode stopped.

She lay upon the floor in a pool of her own sweat, wondering how long this one had lasted. A few minutes? An hour? A day?

Tremors ran like aftershocks down her spine. She swallowed past a tongue thick and dry.

“Help.” A tear slid down her cheek. “Help me.”

No one came to help her. No one ever did.

Thousands of heartbeats later, she dragged herself to the bed. Hand over hand, she pulled through the thick carpet until she heaved her aching body upwards. Her breath sawed out of her lungs and made the air taste like blood.

It was almost cruel to have such a comfortable prison. The bed was like a cloud beneath her. The pillows cushioned her aching skull, spiking a new level of hurt she hadn’t thought possible.

Her eyes rolled back into her head as she sought the peace of oblivion.

“Come on, mouse.”

The words rang in her head. She wanted to tell the person to be silent. Such loud words were unnecessary to wake her.

“That’s it. Let go of the Dream World.”

Stop, she wanted to beg. You’re hurting me. But the ringing voice didn’t say fighting words. Why would words hurt if they weren’t jagged edged and slicing?

“You should have let me know you were so far gone,” the voice stung like whiskey poured upon an open wound. “I would have helped you.”

A tear slid from her eye before she could catch it. The trail sizzled upon her overheated skin. Her dry throat clicked as she tried to speak. Her eyes drifted open with great difficulty.

Darkness hovered above her. Shadows and ink swelled in great waves, obliterating all light. All that was left was a