The Hunter by Byrne Kerrigan

Author:Byrne, Kerrigan [Byrne, Kerrigan]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2016-02-03T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Christopher rose at dawn, as was his habit, and dressed in the loose-fitting silk trousers he wore for martial art training. Stepping out of his room, he paused to study the closed door at the end of the hall. Did the woman behind it sleep well, or was she plagued with fitful dreams? Did she sincerely trust him to keep her alive? How did she fare, he wondered, after last night’s encounter?

Turning, he strode toward the stairs, feeling the need to punish himself physically with some brutal drills. A drop of awareness trickled down his spine, and he paused to glance back at Millie’s room, expecting to see her standing there.

She wasn’t, but his feet remained rooted to the floor as he, again, contemplated the door and the woman who slept on the other side.

Millie.

He’d taken her virginity. Coerced it from her. Mounted her like a randy stallion and pushed inside of her like a brute.

Christopher pressed his lips together, as the contrasting memory of her unparalleled warmth combined with the cold discovery of her blood on him. He’d washed the evidence from his body that night when he’d bathed after leaving her room. His fingers had lingered over the wet patches her tears had left on his shirt and, in a moment of unguarded sentimentality, he’d lifted the garment to his cheek in the chance he might catch some of her warmth left from where she’d clung to him.

He’d sent a bath to her, as well, hoping to assuage the tight and uncomfortably oily sensation he’d been unable to escape from. No matter how vigorously he scrubbed, his skin felt tainted by his own impulsive, undignified need.

Was this what shame felt like?

If so, he didn’t at all like it, or its bedfellows, whom he’d hesitantly identified as doubt, regret, and concern. He’d lain up half the night picturing Millie in her canopied bed, vigorously hating him, or worse, hurting because of him.

Where there was blood, there was a wound. One he’d created, one that nature had made necessary, to be sure, but even so …

It troubled him in a way it never had that he’d caused her pain. Which bemused him further because pain was his business, was an intrinsic part of his life. He’d been born to it. Pain had honed him to a razor’s edge, a weapon as sharp and lethal as any blade. So why would it bother him so much that he’d caused her even the slightest pinch?

Because she’d met his sharp edges and rough ways with softness and amiability. Because beneath all that smooth, creamy skin and sweetness, was a woman with untold courage and strength. Because she’d fallen apart in his arms, and he’d somehow helped to stitch her back together.

Because the thought of her hurting set his muscles to twitching and an uncomfortable fury simmering through his veins. There in his cavernous hallway, surrounded by emptiness, something cold and sharp found him. Something he thought he’d left in the iron darkness of Newgate.

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