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

when this weapon of a man with intent in his eyes.

But he did not grab her. Instead, he swept past her to take hold of her chair.

The breeze from his passing smelled like the sweet scent of cigar and some other strange smell she had never associated with him before. Lydia inhaled as he pushed her chair from the room.

“Is that… chocolate?” she asked him.

“Hm?”

“You smell like chocolate.”

“When was the last time you had chocolate, Lydia?”

She could hear the amusement in his voice. “Well I suppose the truthful answer would be ‘years’.”

“I think we should remedy that tonight, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t complain.”

Streaks of red painted walls rushed past her as he pushed her faster. The paintings of Revelations became little more than blurs of color. She felt his breath stirring her hair a while the rush of movement made her breathless.

Bubbles of laughter escaped her mouth as she cried out, “What are you doing?”

“Making you laugh!”

He was certainly succeeding. She couldn’t contain that mirth spilling over her tongue and into the air. She hadn’t laughed like this in… years. Nearly a hundred if she was adding the time together right.

Somehow, time hadn’t made her laughter any different. It was still a coughing sort of sound as though she didn’t know how to laugh. But it was high pitched and happy. That had to count for something.

It didn’t dawn on her, as they careened through the halls of his nightmarish house, that this was the man who kidnapped her. She didn’t think about her friends or the life she had left behind. She didn’t think about the immense amount of power damaging her body. All she thought about was the way the wind tickled her hair, and how his soft chuckle was the sweetest sound she had ever heard.

He slowed them down just before the dining room. The door opened without a hand having to touch it.

The room was decadent with lavish decorations and expensive artwork. A black table dominated the space with legs carved with demons crawling up from the floor. It was covered by a blood red table cloth glimmering with fine gold lacing.

Every food imaginable piled upon the table. A full turkey, bowls of unnamed vegetables, mounds of bread and fruit.

“This is a banquet fit for a king,” she stuttered.

“Or a queen.”

“Coy,” she told him as he wheeled her to one side of the massive table. “Is this yours?”

“Everything here is mine.”

“The table?”

“Everything.”

Lydia reached out and trail her fingers along the edge while he locked her in place. “Why is everything so frightening here?”

He leaned past her for the break underneath her wheel, murmuring in her ear, “Are you frightened?”

“Not usually.”

“Then is it truly frightening?”

He sat down in the chair next to hers. Lydia glanced at him, surprised that he wouldn’t place himself across from her.

“Yes,” she replied. “I would think demons and screaming people carved into all your furniture would be considered scary to most people.”

“It’s an intimidation tactic.”

“Really? Does it work?”

A rattling sound down the hall halted their conversation, followed by Louis cursing. Pitch held his breath for a moment before shaking his head. “No. No it doesn’t.”

She snorted, then covered her mouth because she was sitting in her pajamas at a black tie event. Pitch was obviously trying to impress her for some strange reason. And ladies did not snort like that!

But once the snorting started, it didn’t stop. She could cover it all she wanted but she couldn’t stop the sounds that burst forth. Laughter, like the wild abandon of their hallway run, pushed out of her chest until it was echoing in the room.

Pitch stared at her in stunned silence before bursting into laughter. He sounded like the echoing boom of cannons but even that didn’t snap her out of her hilarity. She giggled until there was no more breath in her lungs.

When they finally calmed down, he shook his head again and glanced at her. “It is ironic that I am considered the most frightening person in this city, but those who know me do not consider me to be a threat at all.”

“Oh I wouldn’t go that far,” she pointed imperiously at what she assumed was a pitcher of water. “Give please.”

He obliged with no complaints. “You consider me a threat?”

“I’d be an idiot if I didn’t think you were a threat,” her hands shook as she took the pitcher from him. “Good lord. What did you put in here, cement?”

He arched an eyebrow and poured her a glass with ease. She could only tsk. The crystal in her hand turned cold although there was no ice in the water.

“You’re a smart woman then,” he told her as he poured himself a drink.

“I like to think so.”

“You ended up here. You haven’t panicked or tried to stab me through the heart with a butter knife. I consider that smart.”

She fingered the butter knife next to her plate. “There’s still time.”

“And you’ll notice I wore no armor in hopes that you would trust me.”

Lydia could hear the teasing tone in his voice. He spoke like this frequently to her, but she had always considered it to be condescending. It wasn’t at all. He had a very dry sense of humor.

The food was all too far away from her to reach. She leaned forward in the wheelchair but huffed out a breath when her fingers didn’t quite touch the grapes she wanted. Wrinkling her brow, she turned to him.

“Did you do this on purpose?” she demanded.

“Perhaps.”

“Why?”

He leaned and grabbed the grapes for her. His hands lingered over each bunch until he found the one he deemed worthy. “Where I come from, honored guests did not fetch food for themselves.”

“Louis lives here now, I’m certain he wouldn’t mind assisting.”

“I prefer to feed you myself.”

“Why?”

He pondered the question, his eyes searching hers, before he shrugged. “If I feed you from my own hand, I know you will not be poisoned.”

She was tongue tied. Did he really think she would be poisoned by something here? She