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

“It’s you,” Sil’s voice softened to a quiet trickle. “It was always you.”

Pitch’s eyes widened, but he tilted into the gentle touch as though he had never been caressed. “What?”

“We meet in the middle,” Sil told him. “And for that I am infinitely sorry. But I have been searching for you my entire life, dear one. I look forward to seeing you again.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What is your name?”

“I do not have one,” he told her firmly. “Names are for creations. Not for creators.”

“Then I shall call you… Pitch.” Sil’s eyes wandered to the dead forest behind them. “For like this environment, you will be the sap which holds together all wounds. Both mine, and yours.”

Lydia’s heart broke as Sil stepped away. Not because the moment was beautiful in itself, but because she saw Pitch’s face as Sil turned her back on him.

She saw every muscle twitch as he shattered into a thousand pieces. She saw every bit of him ache for the fleeting comfort she had freely given. And in that moment, she knew without a doubt that he had never experienced kindness.

He pulled the shadows around himself like a blanket and disappeared into the murky darkness of the forest. He cast one lingering glance at the woman made of light who had so obviously impacted him. His eyes were large and luminous, reflecting a thousand stars hidden deep within their depths.

A ripping sound startled her, forcing her eyes back to Sil. The diamond strands upon her antlers clacked against each other as she ripped open a bright portal.

Lydia watched the muscles of her spine clench. She was trying not to turn back, Lydia realized. Sil wanted to look at him, too. She wanted to see the man made of darkness one last time.

But she did not turn. Instead, she inhaled so deeply that Lydia could count each delicate line of ribs and stepped through the portal back into her world.

Lydia was thrust back into the waking realm.

She couldn’t breathe. Her chest was too tight, and the book was clenched too hard in her hands. Her fingers had curled into claws around the outside of the diary. She shook the leather bound book from her hands and press her fingers underneath the weight of her legs so she could force them straight.

The pain might have been overwhelming if she wasn’t so distraught. There was something alive inside her chest again. A mass of magic pushing from her stomach and out her lips.

The sound of the book hitting the floor must have alerted something in the house. She heard the clipping steps that always preceded Pitch. If she had been in a joking mood, Lydia might have mentioned that it sounded as though he wore heels.

Instead, her eyes devoured the sight of him as he walked into the room. Here was a man, not a monster. He was tall and lean, everything a human man should be.

She knew now what monstrous capabilities he hid within his shadows. But she had also glimpsed pain he hid behind so many walls.

“Lydia?” his brows furrowed. “What is wrong? You are emotional.”

“Come here.”

“What happened? You read fifty-two, didn’t you?”

His long legs brought him to her side quickly. He sank to his knees and took her cold hands in his.

“I did,” she whispered.

“Your hands are cold.” He reached past her to wave a hand in front of the window and cursed. “I should have known, this house is far too drafty to place you by a window. This was my mistake.”

“Pitch-”

“We will move you back to your room. House, build a fire for her and have it roaring by the time we get there.”

“Pitch-”

“My sincerest apologies that I pressed you to go too fast,” he reached his arms to scoop underneath her.

“Pitch stop,” she caught his hand.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

His dark eyes weren’t just black, she realized. There was the darkest ring of deep blue around the edges. The deepest abyss of the sea in a face carved out of marble.

She raised a shaking hand and gently cupped his cheek. Her fingers flexed experimentally, brows furrowing as she watched her pale skin glimmer against his.

If he had flinched away from her, she might have been able to stop. A kidnapper did not deserve any kind of pity from the woman he locked away.

But he didn’t move. She saw the same expression on his face as she had in her vision. His eyes rolled back and his brows drew tight. As though he was trying desperately to hold onto the feeling of another person’s skin touching his.

Pitch’s hand raised. It hovered over the back of hers but never touched.

“I saw it,” she whispered. “I saw everything.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes rose to meet hers. He was frozen, with fear or horror she could not tell. “You saw?”

“The same way I see the future. I stepped into the world as she remembered it, but also as it was before she was there. I watched the two of you speak.”

“How is that possible?”

Lydia shrugged. “I don’t know, you tell me. You knew her. You know this power.”

“She could not do that,” he told her quietly. “The magic is manifesting in you. It’s changing to suit you, not her. Eventually I will be of no use to you.”

The thought of living without him writhed and squirmed. “You didn’t have a form.”

“Not back then.”

“You do now.”

“This is a much more physical world.”

“Could you-” she licked her lips, “could you go back to that? If you wished?”

His coal black gaze caught hers and held. Lydia watched with rapt attention as he slowly lowered the hand which still hovered above hers. Just as she might have discovered whether his hands were smooth or calloused, his arm from the wrist down turned into shadow.

It swirled above her hand, nearly so thick that she imagined she could feel it. Cold. The shadows were so cold.

“I am still the creature you saw in your vision,” he quietly