broke one of the windows with it. He listened for a long moment, waiting to see if the noise had been overheard, and when nothing happened, he climbed over the low sill.
He paused inside the room, his heart pounding so loudly it would have been impossible to hear anything else, and then, summoning his nerve, he walked from room to room. A heavy layer of dust covered the floor; lacy cobwebs adorned the corners of the ceilings. A rat had made a nest in the kitchen hearth.
A wave of unease overtook him as he came to a flight of steps that led down, to the wine cellar, he supposed.
A fine sheen of perspiration coated his brow and dampened his hands as he took the steps one by one until he reached the door at the foot of the stairs.
He wiped his palm on his trouser leg, placed his hand on the latch. Instantly, he was overcome with a deep, primeval fear that went beyond terrorasan image of blood-red eyes shining within a cavernous skull rose within his mind. And with that death's-head image came an overwhelming sense of doom.
It was more than he could endure. With a hoarse cry, he bolted up the steps. The cold sweat of fear momentarily blinded him, and then he was running through the small cottage, diving through the broken window, impervious to the blood that oozed from his hand when he gashed it on a shard of broken glass.
As if pursued by all the hounds of hell, he vaulted into the saddle and raced away from the cottage and the terrifying evil that dwelled within.
The scent of blood, hot and fresh and rank with fear, drifted down the stairs that led to the cellar, rousing Gabriel from the lethargy that imprisoned him.
He sat up, his senses suddenly alert. Lifting his head, he sniffed the air, much as a wolf might sniff the wind, and he caught it again, the tantalizing odor of freshly spilled blood.
Someone had been inside the cottage.
Head cocked to one side, he closed his eyes and listened. And waited.
But the danger was past. Whoever had invaded his sanctuary had fled, leaving nothing behind but a few drops of blood and the lingering smell of fear.
He would have to find a new resting place, he mused as he slowly surrendered once more to the darkness of his deathlike sleep. Either that, or destroy the mortal who had dared violate his lair.
A faint smile twisted his lips. For Sara's sake, he would spare Maurice's life. For now.
PART One Chapter Sixteen
"What is it, Maurice?" Sara asked. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."
"Sara Jayne..." He stumbled into her apartment, the fear that had choked him at the cottage still strong.
"What have you done to your hand?" she asked.
Maurice glanced at his hand. The neckerchief he had wrapped around the cut was soaked with blood.
"It's nothing," he muttered, too agitated by what had happened in the cottage to be concerned about his injury. "Saints above, Sara Jayne, he's a monster!"
Exasperated, she closed the door, then drew her dressing gown more tightly around her. "Haven't you given up that absurd notion yet? Is that why you got me out of bed at this hour of the morning? To tell me that Gabriel is a monster?"
"It's true. Come with me and see for yourself."
"And just what did you see?"
"Nothing."
"Maurice, you're not making sense."
"I didn't seeanything except a locked door. It's what I felt, Sara Jayne. Never in all my life have I felt such evil. You've got to believe me. He's unholy."
"Sit down," Sara said. "I'll get you a glass of brandy. And then I'll bandage your hand."
With a weary nod, Maurice sank down on the sofa and closed his eyes. He couldn't forget the horror that had surrounded him in the cottage, the terrible sense of evil, of danger. Of death.
"Here," Sara said, handing him a glass of brandy. "Drink this. It will help ease the pain."
While he sipped the brandy, she washed the blood from his hand, covered the shallow cut with salve, and bandaged it with a strip of clean cloth.
"I'm going to get dressed now," she said, "and then we'll go have a look at that cottage."
"Maybe that's not such a good idea."
"I want to see it for myself."
They reached the cottage an hour later. In the brilliant light of early morning, the dwelling looked peaceful enough. It was obviously deserted, Sara thought, and had been for a long while by the