His Dark Embrace (6 page)
“Come on, Sky Blue.” Taking her hands in his, he stood and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter 4
Sky was fixing breakfast the next morning when Kaiden knocked on her front door.
“Hi,” he said. “I hope I’m not too early.”
“No, I was just fixing breakfast.”
“I was hoping we could go through Paddy’s files again. There must be something there that we missed.” There had to be. Time was running out.
“Sure, if you want. Come on in. Have you eaten?”
“No.” As much as he enjoyed eating, he didn’t care for cooking. Most of the time, he ate in restaurants or ordered take-out.
“Well, I’ve got enough for two if you like waffles and sausage.”
“I do, indeed.”
He followed her into the kitchen, then stood in the doorway.
Sky gestured at the table. “Please, sit down.” Moving to the counter, she removed the waffle she had fixed for herself from the waffle iron, put it on a plate, added some sausage links, and set it before him. “What would you like to drink? I’ve got coffee, tea, milk, orange juice ...”
“Orange juice, thanks.”
“Eat it while it’s hot,” she said, smiling. She poured batter onto the waffle iron, dumped the rest of the sausages into the frying pan, then filled a glass with juice.
He finished the waffle and sausage before hers had cooked.
“Do you want this one, too?” she asked, amused.
“No, thanks. But now a cup of coffee would hit the spot.”
She poured him a cup, served up her own breakfast, and sat down at the table across from him. “Are you sure I can’t fix you another waffle?”
He thought about it a minute, then shook his head. “I’m good.” He added milk and a generous amount of sugar to his coffee. “Home cooking is a rare treat for me.”
“I take it you’re not one of those bachelors who’s handy in the kitchen,” she remarked as she spread blueberry jam on her waffle.
“You got that right. Anything more than a bowl of cereal is beyond me,” he replied. “Although I grill a mean steak.”
“Well, at least you’re not totally helpless.” She finished her waffle and set her fork aside. “What will you do if we can’t find the formula?”
“I don’t know. Did Paddy have many visitors?”
“Sure, lots of people. A lot of the folks in town didn’t care for the new doctor, so even after Granda retired, some of his old patients came to him with their complaints.”
“Was there anybody who acted suspicious?”
“Suspicious? I don’t think so.” She frowned. “You know, now that you mention it, there was this one guy. I remember seeing him several times when I came home on vacation last year. I don’t think he was a patient, but I don’t think he was a friend, either.”
“What was his name?”
“I don’t know. I never heard it.” She took a drink of her orange juice, her brow furrowed. “I never saw his face, either. He always wore a long gray cloak with a hood, kind of like monks wear.”
A muscle throbbed in Thorne’s jaw. “Like a monk, you say. Was he tall?”
“Yes, very.” She leaned forward, her eyes alight with interest. “Do you know him?”
“No.” It couldn’t be Desmarais. The man had died years ago. Or so everyone thought.
Sky leaned forward, her arms folded on the table. “Then how do you know he was tall?”
“I didn’t. It was just a question.”
“Hmm. Why don’t I believe you?”
He offered her his most winning smile. “I don’t know.”
With a little huff of annoyance, Sky rose and began to clear the table. Drat the man! He knew something, all right, but what? And how was she going to find out?
After Sky finished cleaning up the kitchen, Thorne followed her down to the basement. He paused in front of the door to the lab. “We haven’t looked in there.”
“I don’t think Granda kept any of his notes in the lab. He always recorded them in one of his journals and then locked them in one of the file cabinets.”
“Have you been inside the room since he passed away?”
“No.” As a little girl, Sky had never liked going into the lab because her grandfather had sometimes done experiments on animals, and even though he had claimed he never hurt any of them, she couldn’t stand to think about the cute little black-and-white mice and rats or guinea pigs getting shots, or worse.
“Couldn’t hurt to have a look around,” Thorne remarked.
“I guess not.” Sky unlocked the door and switched on the overhead light. And blinked in astonishment at the utter disarray that met her eyes. Tables lay on their sides, broken vials, tubes, and beakers were strewn around the floor. The large glass-fronted cabinet that had held a number of jars and bottles had been ransacked. Broken glass crunched beneath her feet as she moved farther into the room. The door on the right side of the cabinet was open, the contents scattered. Someone had picked the locks on the three drawers on the left side and rummaged through them before tossing the drawers and their contents aside.
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.
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
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.
Thorne drummed his fingertips on the sill. What was Sky doing now? Was she curled up in a chair, reading? It had been a pastime she had loved as a child. Watching TV, perhaps? Working in Paddy’s garden? Preparing lunch?
Frustration rose within him as a hunger he had not felt in years—a hunger aroused by a single drop of Sky’s blood—stirred deep within him. He slammed his palm against the wall. He had to find that damn formula!
Turning away from the window, he began to pace the floor. Desmarais had been in Paddy’s office, so Thorne had to assume that Desmarais had stolen the formula for the potion, but why? What effect did the concoction have on humans, if any?
At one time, Girard Desmarais had been a hunter without equal. Fearless, merciless, tenacious, he claimed to have taken more than two hundred heads before he had quit hunting and taken refuge in a monastery after the death of his wife.
It was rumored that Desmarais was a descendent of Abraham Van Helsing, the most famous slayer of them all. Generations of Van Helsings considered vampire hunting a sacred calling, sacrificing home, family, and livelihood to rid the world of the Undead. The monastery where Desmarais had taken refuge was believed to be a sanctuary for slayers who had grown too old to hunt, or who had lost their nerve.
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