Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,10

spent most of their spare moments together. Laughing together. Sharing things about their lives that she didn’t think either of them had ever told another soul. Esme had begun baking teacake and biscuits because she knew he would always appear in her kitchen just after lunch and stay until she had to shoo him out or risk missing dinner.

Doubt assailed her. She could remember the day of the vampire attack as though it had happened yesterday. He’d been in the kitchen with her, leaning on the bench and watching as she rolled dough. Looking at her with an expression that she’d almost thought was hungry. And then he’d reached out, his gaze following his fingers as he stroked them over her cheek. Up her nose, a smile softening his mouth and warming his eyes. Esme hadn’t been able to breathe, her heart hammering in her chest as she stared helplessly up at him.

“Flour,” he’d murmured and dropped his hand. But his gaze lingered on her for another long moment as if he were waiting for something.

She’d never said a thing. Hadn’t been able to. And then the next she saw him, his throat was half torn open and Blade had been forced to infect him with the craving to save his life. That moment changed everything. Rip didn’t touch her anymore. His visits to the kitchen stopped and the laughter had vanished. She’d known he was fighting to control himself, to find some sense of peace with the craving within. She’d been determined to wait.

But maybe the vampire had taken more than just Rip’s humanity.

Esme pinched her cheeks to give them some semblance of color and returned below, her hair tucked up neatly and her midnight-blue skirts swishing around her ankles. Above her she could hear people starting to stir, the peace of the day threatening to shatter. Though she loved the odd little family Blade had collected over the years, right now she simply wished to be left alone.

Grabbing her shawl and basket, Esme pushed out into the cold winter’s morning and stopped, her breath catching at the glittering array in front of her. The whole world was white, the drift of snowflakes floating slowly through the air. Esme’s breath steamed and the biting cold caught in her lungs but even that was a thing of beauty. The air tasted so pure, so clean, as if the snow had dampened down even the thick pall of smog that clung to London’s steeples.

Her boots crunched in the soft powder as she wrapped her shawl around her, tucking it tight. It had been years since they’d had a downfall like this. A clump slid off a nearby roof and Esme jerked her head up. The silence suddenly took on an ominous sensation, all the little hairs on the back of her neck lifting.

Nothing moved. Still… the sensation of being watched heightened. Tugging her gloves on slowly, she stared out into the street. This was ridiculous. Everybody in the ‘Chapel knew she belonged to Blade. Nobody would dare lay a finger on her.

Gathering her breath, she strode out into the narrow lane… and directly into a warm, hard surface.

Hands locked around her upper arms as she tripped, the scent of heated male curling through her nostrils. Panic flared as she instantly recognized whom it was. She’d washed his shirts for years; she’d recognise that distinct, slightly spicy scent of his cologne anywhere.

Of all the people she didn’t wish to see this morning…

“Rip,” she blurted, tipping her head back to stare up at him. “What are you doing out?”

“Ain’t been in,” Rip muttered, staring down at her with an unreadable expression in his green eyes. Faint lines feathered the corners as his eyes narrowed. “So it still ain’t ‘John’?”

It wouldn’t be John again. It couldn’t. Not until she’d managed to heal the gaping wound inside her – or distance herself from it at least. “You’ll be looking for your bed then,” she said, sidestepping him and tucking her basket against her abdomen. “If you’ll excuse me? I have errands to run.”

The soft shuffle of his heavier footsteps echoed hers and a hot wash of tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone?

“The boiler’s running hot water. You’ll be wanting a wash, I believe,” she threw back over her shoulder.

Two long steps and he caught up to her, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his collar pulled high against the drift of snowflakes. Canny green eyes raked