"But I am asleep," she says. "I'm dreaming, Matthew. I know that."
He nods and strokes her dark, silken hair back from her face.
"Then shut your eyes, Cat, and dream good dreams."
She shudders. Her arms tighten around his neck "I can't. I don't want to. If I shut my eyes, I might find myself back up there, with that—that thing."
"No. I promise, that won't happen."
"How can you be sure? "
Matthew leans back into the corner of the settee, taking Kathryn with him.
"Because I'll be with you," he says. "I'll stay right here, holding you and watching over you as you rest."
She gives a deep sigh.
"I can't rest," she whispers. "I can't..."
Seconds later, she is fast asleep.
* * *
Matthew looked down at her, lying in his arms. Christ, how beautiful she was, even now. Her face was ashen, the sweep of her lashes as dark as soot against her cheeks. Her hair was tumbled and wild; her eyes were still swollen with tears.
Gently, he reached out his hand and stroked the tendrils of hair back from her cheek.
What had happened tonight? Why did she go to the attic?
A muscle knotted in his jaw.
The Other must have drawn her there. No other explanation makes sense. But why?
At least, now, he knew the identity of the Thing that lived in the darkness. But why would it want to hurt Catherine?
Matthew looked down at her, lying soft and warm in his arms. What would have happened if he had not gotten there in time? The house had been lit up as brightly as if for a ball. He'd been walking in the garden, the wind and rain swirling around him, determined to avoid the house and Cat while he tried to work through his confused thoughts, when suddenly he'd felt the evil presence of the Other.
"Catherine?" he'd whispered.
He'd turned towards the house, his gaze going unbidden to the attic window. An eerie glow of light had been leaking through the shutters, and then he'd heard Catherine scream his name.
"Cat," he'd cried, and he'd raced into the house, up the stairs and to the attic...
And found her, found her just in time. His stomach had risen into his throat when he'd seen the Thing reaching out for her.
"Waring," he'd whispered, for that was who it was. What it was. What it had once been.
God, the ugliness of it. The vicious cruelty in its laugh, the inhuman fury in its burning eyes just before it had faded back into the darkness.
What if the Thing had caught Cat, wrapped her in its slimy embrace?
Matthew groaned. His arms tightened around Catherine; he bent his head and buried his face in her hair.
What in hell was happening to him? He could have killed her a dozen times over in the past few days but he hadn't. And all the reasons he'd given himself for waiting were not reasons but lies.
What he had wanted was to touch her. To kiss her and hold her, as he was holding her now.
He shut his eyes and drew the fragrance of her deep into his lungs.