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

hundred years now. And here she was, blind, and managing three flights of stairs. That had to count as an achievement.

Except now she didn’t know where to go. She squinted her pale eyes, trying to see through the many layers of moving lights. Time was passing into her vision as well. Lydia was certain the vase in the corner wasn’t moving, but she could see its sparkling lights tumbling to the ground and smashing into pieces.

“Now where are you going to go?”

She wondered how he hid himself from her gaze. “I thought I might go for a walk.”

“A walk?” His footsteps echoed behind her. She tilted her head to the side, listening for his movements but not attempting to see him. “When you can hardly make your way down the stairs?”

“I can see just fine when I want to.”

“You were staring at that vase like it was going to jump out at bite you.”

She grinned. “I can see sort of all right.”

Lydia turned carefully, balancing herself with a hand on the piano. She could see him now. A great mass of dark magic, like a storm cloud rolling over the plains. But within that blackness, she saw thousands of stars.

“Oh Pitch,” she sighed. “You have nebulas in your fingertips.”

“Is that how you see now?” He strode forward, intimidating and powerful. “In magic?”

“I don’t know what I’m seeing,” she tilted so she could see him as he grew closer. When he was inches away, she could finally see him normally. Though he was fuzzy, she knew the lines of his face as though they were her own. She lifted a hand and traced a finger down the bridge of his nose. “But I would know you without eyes.”

He trailed a hand down her arm, lifted it above her head, and spun her around. She leaned back into his chest. Her horns fit into the hollows of his collarbones perfectly, taking the tiring weight off of her skull.

His arms wrapped around her waist. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than ever. I don’t think I need to sleep again.”

“Good. Because you’ve been asleep for quite a few years.”

“Years?” Lydia winced. “I thought that was over with.”

“Sounds like it was the last big rest your body needed.”

“Do I look any different?”

His hands glided over the silken nightgown. He traced the lines of her waist, the hollow of her hips, the backs of her hands. “Yes. I don’t know how to describe it because there is no physical differences precisely. You’re glowing, Lydia, like you’ve been dusted in diamonds.”

“Now you’re just being fanciful.”

“I most certainly am not,” he spun her around again, trapping her palms against his chest. “You are lovely.”

“And you’re in a very good mood.”

She hadn’t seen him like this before. His shadows practically danced with light, their nebulas swirling in the depths of his soul. She thought, perhaps, this was what his happiness looked like.

“I am,” Pitch held her hands against him and swayed. The piano played a quiet melody. “I have a plan, and you woke up just at the right time.”

“I did?”

He led her into a waltz, gracefully leading her around furniture and over uneven flooring. “I invited Malachi to my club.”

“Excuse me?” She almost stumbled in shock.

“He’s been rather impatient lately, considering no one has been found to solve that prophecy of yours. Rumors have spread, saying that the prophecy isn’t real. I thought we’d give him a reason to believe it again.”

“And we’re doing that by inviting him to meet us?”

“No, we’re inviting him to meet Wren.”

“Wren?”

Her mind was whirling. What was he going on about? He jumped from topic to topic, and she had missed so much.

“The Legion I told you about.”

“Legion is a woman?”

“Considering it has thousands of souls, I would think at least half of them are women.”

“I mean the woman its possessing, Pitch.”

“Ah, yes,” he turned them gracefully around a corner. “Wren is female.”

“Should I be jealous?” It was a foolish question, but she felt a burning ache in her chest that wouldn’t go away.

Lydia wouldn’t blame him. She was asleep for years at a time, and though they needed each other, they had never defined any part of their relationship. For all she knew, he still thought of her as a prisoner.

And she was. She couldn’t breathe deeply enough to ease the sudden panic. She was still just a tool in his end game, the last bit of Sil who could help him fulfill his destiny. Then perhaps he would go back to his creations, or back to his club. Her time of usefulness would eventually come to an end.

He waltzed them into his office. She couldn’t see his face anymore, he had leaned too far back for that. All she could look into was the abyss of his magic, still swirling with happiness.

Had another woman put that there?

“I will not lie to you,” he murmured as they danced backward. “I always flirt with other women. I always charm them, perhaps even touch them, to get what I want.”

Her spine stiffened.

“But I will never,” they slowed as they neared his desk, “ever, look at anyone else with desire.” He lifted her onto his desk, papers and pens flying. “You are the light to my darkness, the song to my silence. You have nothing to worry about, bright one.”

“When did you start calling me bright one?” she asked, her fingers ghosting over his features. He was smiling. His lips curled against her palms, pressing chaste kisses against her fingertips.

“About the time I realized just how important you were to me.”

Lydia arched a brow. “Do you want something from me, or are you being serious?”

“A little bit of both.”

The wicked grin he flashed made her pulse racing. A lock of dark hair fell, the same lock which always drifted into his eyes at the perfect moment. She might have scolded him if it wasn’t for her breath catching.

“Are you doing that on purpose?”

“Am I doing what?”

“Your hair, Pitch.”

He tilted his head to the side, playfully thinking