She closed the book and stared into the flames dancing merrily in the hearth as she tried to understand what she had read.
Lord Rayven is a man compelled by dark appetites, miss.She heard Bevins's voice in the back of her mind. He is driven by forces you cannot comprehend. You would be wise to leave this place and never come back.
Last night, she had decided Bevins was right. She had tried to leave the castle early that morning, only to find that all the doors were locked. She had gone looking for Bevins, but, for once, he was nowhere to be found.
Now, sitting in front of the fire, her whole body tensed as a chill skittered down her spine.
He was here.
She had heard no sound to betray his presence, no footsteps as he entered the room, but suddenly he was there before her, a tall figure clad all in black. He stood before the hearth, the fire crackling behind him. Like a demon rising from the bowels of hell.
He lifted one black brow in amusement. "A demon, Rhianna?" She heard the rueful smile in his voice.
"You are more right than you know."
She tried to think of something clever to say, but nothing came to mind. Like a bird trapped by a hungry cat, she could only stare at him, waiting for him to strike her down even as she wondered how he had known what she was thinking.
He glanced at the book in her hands, wondering how much she had read, if she understood the connection between his dark words and the blackness in his soul.
"You're afraid of me now, aren't you?" he asked, knowing her fear had nothing to do with what she had read and everything to do with what had passed between them the night before.
She couldn't speak past the lump in her throat.
"Aren't you?" His voice was sharp, demanding an answer.
"Yes, my lord." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I should like very much to go home now."
"Would you?"
She nodded vigorously. "Yes, please. Please..." Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
"Please let me go home."
The sight of her tears smothered his anger. Murmuring her name, he reached for her, drawing her out of the chair and into his arms. The book fell, unnoticed, to the floor.
"I will not hurt you, Rhianna," he said quietly. "Please believe me."
"No. I just want to go home. Please, my lord, please let me go home."
"Rhianna... sweet Rhianna." Gently, he caressed her cheek.
She flinched at his touch, as though fearing he would strike her. Once, he had wanted her to be afraid of him, to be wary for her own sake. Now, the knowledge that she was afraid of him burned into his soul, as painful as the touch of the sun on his preternatural flesh.
"Rhianna, I warned you once to go while you could. Now I fear it is too late." He shook his head with regret. "I find I cannot let you go."
She gazed up at him, his face blurred by her tears. Even so, she could see the loneliness that haunted his eyes, the sadness that she had once yearned to wipe away.
Slowly, he lowered his head, and she felt the touch of his lips on hers, cool, gentle. His arms held her lightly, with warm affection. Would he let her go if she stepped away?
Heart pounding, she drew away and took a step backward. And he let her go, his arms falling to his sides, his eyes dark with an inner torment she could not fathom.
"You once begged me to let you stay," he said, his voice moving over her like a dark wind. "Now I am begging you."
She felt the tears dry on her cheeks. "I've changed my mind."
"Too late, Rhianna. Shall I go down on my knees and plead with you, my sweet?"
"No!" She could not bear to think of him kneeling at her feet, his arrogance humbled, his pride broken.
"Won't you take pity on me, my sweet Rhianna? A year is not so long, after all."
"And if I stay, will you let me go when the year is up?"
"You have no choice, Rhianna. You will stay."
"Then why are you asking me? I don't understand."
"I want you to stay with me of your own free will. I want your company to see