Waltzing into Damnation by Rita Stradling

Author:Rita Stradling [Stradling, Rita]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-05-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Two Days Before

Washed, primped, and nervous, I make my way down the hall toward Andras’ room. I find the black gown from my dream hanging in my stateroom closet among many similarly lavish dresses.

Obviously, Andras found quite a few formal wear stores in port. It was either that or he demanded gowns from the demons on board. I’m hoping it’s the former and suspicious it’s at least in part the latter.

With that thought, I’m really hoping I won't have any demons demanding the dress off my back if I manage to slip away from Andras tonight.

My heels click on the plastic not-quite-wood flooring. Holding up my fist, I stand before Andras’ door, not quite able to make myself knock. The door hovers just the slightest bit open, and violin music slips through the crack. I know the melody immediately, and it does nothing to calm my nerves. The sweet, long tones belong to the tune Andras played for me the first time I met him.

A bucket of reality douses over me as I remember it was the same night Andras had me kidnapped.

Yet, the reality of the circumstances of why I know this song only adds anger to the ache thrumming my chest, worsening it. A phantom loss throbs deep within me. Just because I can't handle listening to another note, I push the door open and barge in.

Andras sits on the edge of his bed, wearing the exact suit I saw in the premonition. His jacket lies beside him. In his arms, he cradles a violin against his chin. His eyes don’t open as I enter, and to my disappointment, he doesn't stop playing either.

He continues the all-too-familiar melody as I cross the room. Reaching forward, I grab his arm and grip where his cuff rides up around his wrist. As inappropriate as my action would be with any other person in the world, I need the music to stop.

“Don’t play that song,” I whisper on a harsh breath. “Ever.”

His eyes snap open and find me. I don't believe for a second he doesn't already know I’m here, but finally he lifts his bow away from his instrument.

“I didn't think you were going to join me,” he says as he set his violin beside him on the bed.

“I'm hungry,” I say. And it’s true. Hunger had been building in me since I woke. Even though I had the best lunch in years today, it feels like my nourishment only increases how famished I am.

Slowly, he stands. He more than stands; it’s as if every movement Andras makes is deliberate and predatory. He doesn't move at all like Stephen; there is an ease and general good-natured zest to everything Stephen does. Nothing Andras does is lighthearted, as if even the concept would be utterly unknown to him.

Carefully, he replaces his violin in its case; from the look of the old wood, and even the case itself, it could have been a relic from our former life together. I don't ask.

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