Shadow of the Moon (Dead After Dark) by Anthology

Author:Anthology
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-02-26T05:00:00+00:00

2

Did he have to sleep naked? The parasite in Freya s veins that made her what she was needed blood. It itched with anticipation. But the throbbing between her legs watching him all evening was unwelcome to say the least. She had banished sexuality the day she walked away from her duty to her kind, the day her only remaining sister died through her fault. Her father was angry. But she couldn't do it any more. She had always done everything her father asked her. He was so old, so overpowering in personality. She had been tired, sick, her mind tattered after that day that changed everything. It was her achievement, or her failure, that she had not gone home to Mirso. She had come to Ashland to heal, away from what she had been, not sure what she ever would be.

But she couldn't possibly heal if this naked man in her house aroused all the sexuality she wanted to suppress. She crept out of the dressing room as his breathing became regular. He lay across the bed, one hand behind his neck, his body casually displayed. She didn't want to take blood from him this way. The sensuality of it prodded her most womanly parts even now. But she needed blood, and he was here, and her resolve was weakened by hours of watching him.

She glanced to the desk. He'd written draft after draft of something. What would such a hardened man write that he cared so much about? Cocking an ear for the rhythm of his breathing, she moved to the desk. The moon shone in through the open windows, laying a channel of silver across the letter. It was as clear as day to her, who never saw the sun.

My dearest Emily, if I may still call you that, I have returned at last. I know I was unworthy of you then. But I was not a thief. And in these years away, I have made myself into a man of means, one you will not be ashamed to claim as an acquaintance. I hardly dare hope to be more than that. If you do not wish to see me, I shall never approach you, on that you have my word. But if you will allow me to visit you, just once more, I should be honored and grateful. Send word of your decision back with the bearer of this message to

Your humble servant, Andrew Cooper, now Carlowe

That such an active, virile man, who wore a carapace against feeling in his features, could write such a letter was . . . surprising. She glanced to his form, spread out upon the bed. His muscles, quiescent now, still spoke of latent power. Men were usually so wrapped up in themselves, especially men who looked like that. Yet this letter was tentative, utterly without pretensions. He must love this woman very much. She was lucky to be loved so.

Freya had never loved, not in all her long centuries. It was not allowed in one who made Harriers.

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