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

“Only a few ma’am,” he told her.

It was more than a few. He was fidgeting with the blankets smoothed over her legs.

“How many, Louis?”

“I’m thinking somewhere around three years?”

“So long.” She tried to keep the sadness out of her voice, but was unsuccessful.

Louis’s ears flattened against his skull. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine that it’s easy for you.”

“No, it’s not.”

How could it be? Lydia was fairly certain that she was as immortal as Pitch. But that didn’t mean that the passing of years wasn’t countable. She was old now. Old enough to die and be put to rest.

Yet, here she was. Lying in the same bed with the same damned coverlet that never seemed to fade or age. This place wasn’t a prison.

It was a tomb.

She raised a hand to her aching head. “Louis, I need to get up.”

“I can imagine that you do ma’am. After all those years resting in a bed, you must be keen on moving around a little.”

The man who called himself maid did not move. Lydia lowered her hand from her brow to give him a meaningful stare. Still, he hesitated and then looked behind him as though she might be staring at someone else.

“Louis,” she began, “could you bring my wheelchair?”

“Oh!” He blushed again and rushed to the chair. “I didn’t know you were in a wheelchair miss. You’ve always looked fit as a fiddle.”

“I am healthy,” she admonished as she flung the bed sheets back. “I’m just not capable of walking.”

“Born that way? Shame miss. Legs are wonderful things though I suppose you wouldn’t know.”

The magic had strengthened her, she realized. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed didn’t take her breath away. Her big toe wiggled at her command.

She was getting considerably stronger.

“Legs are lovely,” she murmured. “I used to walk.”

“An accident then?”

“You could say that.”

Lydia didn’t want to tell this poor man his employer was to blame. And if she was being truthful with herself, she also didn’t want to blame Pitch anymore. He was an enigma of secrets but he also tried very hard.

She couldn’t fault a man like that. She could still feel the brush of his breath over her lips. Could still see the way his face had tilted into her palm as though he begged for touch.

A shiver ran down her spine. “Take me to the library, please.”

“There’s no library here ma’am. I’ve been living in this house for three years and I’d know if it was there.”

“Pitch’s study, then.”

She heard Louis shuffling before he tentatively replied, “I don’t think we’re allowed to go there ma’am.”

“I’m allowed to go anywhere. I’m my own woman, and if we get in trouble, I promise to bear the brunt of Pitch’s anger.”

“I don’t think he could be angry at you,” Louis muttered as he pushed her chair from the bedroom. “He hardly talks about you, but when he does… Hoo boy. You know there’s something going on.”

“Like what?”

“Oh I wouldn’t know, that’s far beyond my knowledge. Pitch makes little sense.”

He wheeled her down the hallway past macabre pictures of Revelations and screaming figures carved into each banister. All the while, her mind was racing. Pitch thought about her? Spoke about her? What an intriguing thing to think about while she was lying in her bed.

“No,” she replied. “I suppose he doesn’t.”

Apparently, neither did she. Lydia knew full well she shouldn’t be going back to his study. Pitch was a secretive man and she should ask his permission to invade his space.

But there was a burning question inside her chest refusing to stay quiet. She needed to know more about Sil. More about Pitch. More about the story she had been thrust into with no choice.

They had been intrigued by each other in that first meeting. They had hated each other first; the rage made the air vibrate. Then Sil pitied him. He seemed to accept that pity as she gave him more of the contact he craved.

“Mysteries,” she muttered. “This house is full of them.”

“Indeed it is,” Louis said as he turned her chair around. He backed them through the door of Pitch’s study. “But I’ve always thought it rather made sense considering the man who owns it. Pitch is just as curious as his home.”

“I would agree with that. Do you know him well?”

“No one knows him well.”

She furrowed her brows. “I remember a man he brought here. He was like you, but not. I believe his name was Leo.”

Her chair jerked to a screeching halt, nearly tossing her to the floor. “Leo is my father.”

“Oh.”

Lydia wasn’t sure what to do with that. She remembered Leo as a tall, swarthy fellow with a head full of messy hair and lion-like eyes. Some of that had transferred to his son, but she had expected someone much larger than Louis.

She glanced over her shoulder, and Louis nervously shoved his glasses up his nose.

“I should have guessed,” she said. “You have his looks. The shape of his face. His eyes. His… commanding stature.”

The last bit was a lie, but it couldn’t hurt to say. His shoulders straightened.

“Thank you ma’am. I believe you’re the first person to see my father in me.”

Her heart clenched. Lydia reached out and grabbed ahold of Louis’s hand. “My father never saw himself in me either.”

The magic in her heard the words he didn’t. He wouldn’t have minded being different if his family had supported his choices. His life was harder because he was always trying to win the approval of someone he loved. He didn’t care about strangers, he cared about his father. The bruises of blood relatives were difficult to brush off.

“You are uncommonly kind, ma’am.”

“Call me Lydia, please.”

“Lydia. You are, quite frankly, the kindest woman I have ever met. I am very glad you woke up.”

“As am I. It's nice to meet someone with a similar soul.”

His slitted pupils dilated as he stared down at her. He was a comfort she didn’t know she needed. Human, not sculpted by