Read Online Sanctifying Grace (Resurrection) by Elizabeth Davies - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Davies
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thought. That’s all: just another few minutes.
‘ Mark ,’ he emphasised, ‘would never know. He would merely surmise you had disappeared back to your ‘own time.’’ I could almost hear the quotation marks in his voice.
‘He’ll know. He can scent blood a mile off.’
‘I wouldn’t have to spill your blood,’ Wilfred promised. ‘There are other ways to dispatch vermin.’
Vermin! This man’s arrogance was astonishing! I saw his hands flex and release and understood he meant to strangle me.
‘What about my body?’ I asked, desperately trying to stall for time. It was twilight and not yet fully dark, the light flat and two-dimensional. I had known Roman to be up and about in this almost-night before. So where was he now, when I needed him?
I took a step back. The room was rectangular with the door at one end and the bed at the opposite end, with bedside tables to either side. I edged down the one side of the bed, the one furthest away from the door and nearest to the window. I took my eyes away from Wilfred long enough to risk a quick glance outside. The drop was too great for me to seriously consider attempting and the rockery below would cause some major damage if I landed on it.
Wilfred moved closer. He, too, looked out of the window but he wasn’t checking out my possible escape route: he was monitoring the progress of the encroaching night. He was well aware of Roman’s reaction to darkness and must know time was getting shorter by the second. He took another step towards me and I crabbed around the bed.
The lunge, when it came, was sudden , but I was ready for him. As soon as he moved, I threw my body across the bed, tumbling to the floor on the other side. I leapt to my feet just as he launched himself onto the mattress, catching the back of my blouse with one outstretched hand.
I powered forward, felt the material tear and jerked free of his grasp, running full speed to the door. As I shot through it, I caught the edge of the wood with my fingers and tried to slam it shut behind me but he was too close, and was already half way through the opening.
I squealed in fear, feeling his hand once more tugging at the flapping remnants of the blouse, and I flew across the landing and down the stairs, taking them three at a time, enduring the jarring impact travelling up my legs and into my spine each time my feet slammed into a step.
I would have to turn, doubling back at the bottom of the stairs, to reach the front door, so I took the easy option and ran for the back. All the while , I could hear his harsh breathing behind me and my skin prickled and my muscles flinched at each thudding footfall.
I had gotten as far as a stretched finger-tip away from the back door when I was caught in a flying tackle. He smashed heavily into me, and I thudded against the wall, making the pots and pans on the dresser rattle.
His hands grasped my throat, the thumbs digging painfully into my neck, and as his grip tightened, the pressure began to build in my head. My lungs screamed for air and my vision started to cloud, going grey at the edges. I flailed at him, thumping a slapping tattoo on his back as I struggled to stay upright, but my legs had abruptly grown weak and I slumped sideways into the dresser, the added weight of my body putting excruciating pressure on my throat.
I reached behind me to take some of my weight on my arms and my fingers skimmed the outline of the bread board and the knife which had been left upon it. I closed my fingers around the handle gratefully, then plunged the blade into his side.
The hands on my neck instantly loosened. Frantic with relief, I drew much-needed oxygen into my burning lungs in huge shuddering gasps, coughing and spluttering.
Wil groaned and clutched at the wound, blood pouring through his fingers and dripping to the floor. He staggered back, face white with shock.
‘You bitch!’ he hissed, backhanding me with his right hand. I staggered with the force of the
‘ Mark ,’ he emphasised, ‘would never know. He would merely surmise you had disappeared back to your ‘own time.’’ I could almost hear the quotation marks in his voice.
‘He’ll know. He can scent blood a mile off.’
‘I wouldn’t have to spill your blood,’ Wilfred promised. ‘There are other ways to dispatch vermin.’
Vermin! This man’s arrogance was astonishing! I saw his hands flex and release and understood he meant to strangle me.
‘What about my body?’ I asked, desperately trying to stall for time. It was twilight and not yet fully dark, the light flat and two-dimensional. I had known Roman to be up and about in this almost-night before. So where was he now, when I needed him?
I took a step back. The room was rectangular with the door at one end and the bed at the opposite end, with bedside tables to either side. I edged down the one side of the bed, the one furthest away from the door and nearest to the window. I took my eyes away from Wilfred long enough to risk a quick glance outside. The drop was too great for me to seriously consider attempting and the rockery below would cause some major damage if I landed on it.
Wilfred moved closer. He, too, looked out of the window but he wasn’t checking out my possible escape route: he was monitoring the progress of the encroaching night. He was well aware of Roman’s reaction to darkness and must know time was getting shorter by the second. He took another step towards me and I crabbed around the bed.
The lunge, when it came, was sudden , but I was ready for him. As soon as he moved, I threw my body across the bed, tumbling to the floor on the other side. I leapt to my feet just as he launched himself onto the mattress, catching the back of my blouse with one outstretched hand.
I powered forward, felt the material tear and jerked free of his grasp, running full speed to the door. As I shot through it, I caught the edge of the wood with my fingers and tried to slam it shut behind me but he was too close, and was already half way through the opening.
I squealed in fear, feeling his hand once more tugging at the flapping remnants of the blouse, and I flew across the landing and down the stairs, taking them three at a time, enduring the jarring impact travelling up my legs and into my spine each time my feet slammed into a step.
I would have to turn, doubling back at the bottom of the stairs, to reach the front door, so I took the easy option and ran for the back. All the while , I could hear his harsh breathing behind me and my skin prickled and my muscles flinched at each thudding footfall.
I had gotten as far as a stretched finger-tip away from the back door when I was caught in a flying tackle. He smashed heavily into me, and I thudded against the wall, making the pots and pans on the dresser rattle.
His hands grasped my throat, the thumbs digging painfully into my neck, and as his grip tightened, the pressure began to build in my head. My lungs screamed for air and my vision started to cloud, going grey at the edges. I flailed at him, thumping a slapping tattoo on his back as I struggled to stay upright, but my legs had abruptly grown weak and I slumped sideways into the dresser, the added weight of my body putting excruciating pressure on my throat.
I reached behind me to take some of my weight on my arms and my fingers skimmed the outline of the bread board and the knife which had been left upon it. I closed my fingers around the handle gratefully, then plunged the blade into his side.
The hands on my neck instantly loosened. Frantic with relief, I drew much-needed oxygen into my burning lungs in huge shuddering gasps, coughing and spluttering.
Wil groaned and clutched at the wound, blood pouring through his fingers and dripping to the floor. He staggered back, face white with shock.
‘You bitch!’ he hissed, backhanding me with his right hand. I staggered with the force of the
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