His Dark Embrace

Thorne took a deep breath, his nostrils filling with a familiar scent. So, Desmarais wasn’t dead after all.

Sky looked up at him, her expression troubled. “I don’t know who could have done this. Or when,” she added, and then frowned. The “when” was obvious. It had to have been last night, while she was at the fair with Thorne. She knew a moment of relief that it had happened while she was away. Anyone desperate enough to break into the house might also be desperate enough to silence whoever got in their way.

Thorne glanced around. Sky might not know who had done this, but he did. Eyes narrowed, he perused the room, only then noticing the edge of an old spiral notebook sticking out from underneath one of the overturned drawers.

Moving quickly across the room, he pulled the notebook free. Someone had drawn the outline of a large red heart surrounded by a dozen little hearts on the cover. His name and Skylynn’s were written inside the large heart.

Skylynn felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks when she saw her old high school notebook in his hand. What on earth was that doing in the lab?

Thorne glanced at her over his shoulder, one brow raised. “Yours?”

She nodded. “I was only sixteen,” she muttered, her embarrassment growing with every passing moment. “And you were ...” She cleared her throat. “You were older and mysterious and ...” She folded her arms. “I had a crush on you back then, that’s all.”

He bit back a grin as he opened the notebook. More hearts, large and small, had been drawn on the inside cover, along with the words Mr. and Mrs. Thorne, Sky and Kaiden, and Mrs. Skylynn Thorne.

“I must admit, I’m flattered,” he said, unable to hold back his grin any longer.

Sky held up her hand. “Please, just forget it.”

“Poetry, too?” he mused.

“What? Oh, no! I’d forgotten about that.”

The words were neatly written inside another heart.

As the rising sun

Chases the night from the sky

So the memory of your smile

Fills my heart

Chasing the darkness

From my soul

“It was a long time ago,” Sky said, not meeting his gaze. “Is there anything else in there? Anything useful?”

“Just a spiral notebook.” He thumbed through the pages. Paddy’s familiar scrawl covered line after line with notations on experiments apparently made on animals. Toward the back of the book, he could see where several pages had been torn out. Another page had been torn in half. Thorne’s name was scribbled across the bottom of the half that remained. “Dammit!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think the ingredients and the instructions for mixing the formula might have been in here.”

Sky looked up at him, her eyes wide. “And now the thief has it!”

Thorne nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured. Dammit! Of all the bad luck.

“I need to call the police and report this,” Sky said, suddenly all business. “Maybe they can determine who the vandal is.”

“You don’t need the police. I know who did it.”

“You do?” Sky exclaimed. “How can you possibly know that?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Go after him, of course.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No, but find him I will,” Thorne said, his voice laced with determination.

“I hope so.” She took another look around, her gaze settling on her grandfather’s favorite cup which lay near the cabinet, miraculously unbroken. Kneeling, she reached for the cup, let out a small cry as a tiny sliver of broken glass pierced her knee.

Thorne sucked in a ragged breath as the scent of fresh blood filled his nostrils. He whirled around, his gaze zeroing in on the single drop of blood oozing from Sky’s knee.

“You’re not squeamish, are you?” Sky asked, wiping the blood away with her fingertips.

“No.” He swallowed hard. They had to get that formula, and it had to be soon. He could feel himself reverting. With every breath, he was growing increasingly aware of Skylynn, not as a woman, but as prey. The steady beat of her heart echoed like thunder in his ears; the rich, coppery scent of her blood made his fangs ache with need.

He clenched his hands into tight fists. He dared not put it off any longer.

He would have to drink the last of the potion, and soon.

Thorne had offered to help Sky put Paddy’s lab back to rights, but she had refused his help, saying that she wanted to go through the rest of the house and make sure nothing else was missing before she called the police.

He had taken his leave shortly thereafter. Being near Sky, listening to the beat of her heart, the whisper of the blood flowing through her veins, was a temptation he wasn’t sure he could resist much longer. Better to put some distance between them than risk doing something he would have a hard time explaining to her.

At home, he prowled through the house he had occupied, on and off, for the last 150 years. It was a grand place, more like a mansion than a home. Originally built as a summer retreat by an Italian count, the house boasted vaulted ceilings, paneled walls, and hardwood floors. The front parlor had a large stone fireplace, as did the back parlor, the spacious dining room, the servants’ quarters downstairs, and all five bedrooms upstairs.

From time to time, he had done some remodeling. What had once been a water closet had been made over into the master bathroom, with the latest fixtures and plumbing. He had replaced all the original windows, added screens, and heavy-duty locks on all the doors and windows. Only three of the rooms were furnished—the front parlor, the master bedroom, and the kitchen.

The kitchen was located in a separate part of the house, connected to the dining room by a narrow hallway. When he’d bought the house, the kitchen had contained no modern appliances. The stove had burned wood, there had been no running water, no electricity.

Nine years ago, he’d had the kitchen remodeled. He had replaced the old floor, built new cabinets, and installed a black granite sink top. Although he didn’t do much cooking, he liked to eat, and so he had purchased a refrigerator, a stove, and a microwave.

The servants’ quarters, located on the third floor, had been accessible from the kitchen and also by a separate outside entrance. He had plastered over the outside entrance.

He paused at the front window and stared at the house across the street. The police had been there earlier. He doubted they would find anything helpful. Desmarais was a past master at obliterating any and all evidence of his presence.