“I’m so sorry.” Reaching out again, she carefully took hold of the book.
The body—the man—the corpse—the living corpse—made a sound.
One that was only remarkable in its smallness.
A sound of relief.
And she watched, in shocked horror, as the body crumbled to dust beneath her hands. Like fireplace ash, nothing but gray soot remained.
Something washed over her, and for a moment, she felt dizzy. She shut her eyes for a second, and the sensation passed.
“Well done, my little butterfly. Or should I say…my little thief?”
Whirling, she tried to find the source of the noise, but no one was there. “Hello?”
Silence.
“Who are you?”
Silence.
Ava clutched the book to her chest, feeling its weight—substantial and somehow warm, despite having been held by a corpse for what must have been decades. The dust that had once been a man continued to settle, dancing in the firelight.
Shutting her eyes, she took a slow, deep breath, and let it out. “Hello?” she tried one last time. “Look, I really don’t appreciate the whole ‘disembodied voice’ thing. Ten out of ten for ambiance, but zero points for originalit?—”
She opened her eyes.
And immediately regretted taunting the voice.
She found herself face-to-face with…
There were no words at first.
Except that she was once more certain that she was dreaming.
He wasn’t human. There was no question of that in her mind.
Standing just inches away from her was a creature unlike anything she had ever seen before in her life. He towered above her, easily six and a half feet tall, and broad at the shoulders. His skin was so close to a shade of white that it almost looked greenish-blue.
Never mind the fact that he was…there was no way around it, he wasgorgeous.Cheekbones that could cut glass. Sharp, elegant features that screamed refinement, but a strength and hardness to them that made him almost look like an oil painting come to life.
The hair that flowed down around his shoulders and close to mid-chest was a deep, forest green that transitioned in a perfect gradient to an almost toxic-colored yellowish-green at the tips.
He was dressed like—she was terrible with historical clothing—royalty.A black suit that would have looked right at home at a masquerade ball in the sixteenth century, stitched with the finest thin lines of green silk into the pattern of spiderwebs. He wore it over a black wool vest, and a white silk shirt. Jewelry hung around his neck haphazardly, as if he simply collected whatever he liked and wore it without any mind to the rest of it.
But it was his eyes, more than anything else—even his skin color—that made her certain that what she was looking at wasn’tjust elaborate makeup or that she hadn’t wandered onto a movie set. His eyes were a shade of yellow-gold that wasn’tpossible.The darkness of his pupils were more like slits than they were circles.
Explainable with contacts.
Except for the fact that she could tell in the dim light of the candlelit room and the shadow of his dark hair—that they wereglowing.
That, she knew couldn’t be faked. Nor could the way he was staring at her. Like he was seeing through her—like her outer core was transparent, and he could see all her inner workings. The intensity of it made her want to crawl under the table and hide.
It was the presence around him. There was something primal in the way he set every hair on the back of her neck standing on edge.
He let her stare at him in stunned silence for a moment before reaching out his hand. He had dangerously sharp nails that were painted gold. And from the many rings on his fingers dangled chains and charms decorated with jewels of every kind imaginable.
With a crooked finger beneath her chin…he shut her open mouth. But it was like the touch of a ghost. It was there—but it alsowasn’t.A whisper. A nudge. But nothing substantial.
