Read Online The Passion by Donna Boyd - Free Book Online
Authors: Donna Boyd
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Romance, Horror, Paranormal, New York (N.Y.), Paris (France), Werewolves
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crop again threateningly, and Tessa fled to her attic room.
No one would have blamed her if she had run farther.
But she scrubbed the coal dust from her face and the blood from under her fingernails, dressed herself in a clean frock and pinafore, and tied back her hair.
Al of this she did by rote, without thinking of the reason for it, or what she intended to do when her toilette was finished. She stood before the mirror and inspected her appearance automatical y, but the face that looked back at her was not one that she recognized.
The girl she knew had spent a lifetime plotting her vengeance, had seen her opportunity and taken it.
But when she reviewed the events of the night, she was swept by a wave of horror and confusion so intense she had to sit down. What had she done !
What madness had overcome her, that she should spend the night nursing back to health the very creature she had spent al her adult life plotting to destroy? He was evil, she knew that to be so; it must be so… And yet, in the grip of that miraculous transformation, he had not been evil. He had been a creature of light and magic, of power and beauty, and she , smal and clumsy and earthbound, had been the evil one. When he had had her beneath his mighty paws with teeth poised to tear at her throat, and when he had backed away and let her live—then he had not been evil. She, who had plunged a knife into his chest while he slept, had been evil.
Yet how could al these years of knowing be wrong?
How could the incredible miracle she had witnessed last night and the kil er monster she had hated for the past ten years be one and the same? She had fal en under the spel of his transformation; that much was certain. There was no other reason to explain her irrational fear for his safety, her determination that he should not die. Could she have been wrong about him al this time? Or was she wrong about him now?
She could not leave this place without knowing the answer.
And so it was that, with a weakness in her knees and a tremor in her chest, Tessa retraced her steps to the massive carved doors of the master's chamber precisely one hour later. She stood for a moment, trying to breathe steadily, trying to gather her courage, and knocked.
His muffled shout bade her enter.
He was stretched out upon the divan in a sunny corner of the room, surrounded by stacked platters that held little more than scraps of bone and crusts of bread. A jug of new wine from his own vineyards
—which were wel known to be among the most prestigious in France—sat half empty at his elbow, and he refil ed his glass with a flourish as she entered. How he could have consumed so much food in the short time Tessa had been gone was beyond her ability to comprehend, but it seemed to have had a beneficial effect—both on his wel -being and on his disposition.
In the hour since she had left him, the blood had been scrubbed from the wal paper—although when she looked closely she could detect the faintest of stains—the bed had been changed, the carpets had been swept. The draperies were drawn back and late-morning sun spil ed through the tal windows, il uminating the gilded mirrors and deep-toned masterpieces, sparkling off the teardrop lamps and chandeliers. The transformation was amazing, but no more so than was the miraculous recovery of the werewolf she had tried to kil .
He wore gray flannel trousers topped by a silk dressing gown which was a rich blue color only a shade darker than his eyes. An ivory ascot was cavalierly wrapped around his neck and its folds tucked into the dressing gown. His lustrous hair was brushed back over his shoulders and tied loosely there; his color was good, his eyes bright and alert.
Beside him stood Gault, attired in a peacock green jacket and trousers and a magenta shirt, his arms folded across his chest, his black eyes glinting wickedly.
Alexander beckoned her over with the hand that held the wineglass, an amused expression on his
No one would have blamed her if she had run farther.
But she scrubbed the coal dust from her face and the blood from under her fingernails, dressed herself in a clean frock and pinafore, and tied back her hair.
Al of this she did by rote, without thinking of the reason for it, or what she intended to do when her toilette was finished. She stood before the mirror and inspected her appearance automatical y, but the face that looked back at her was not one that she recognized.
The girl she knew had spent a lifetime plotting her vengeance, had seen her opportunity and taken it.
But when she reviewed the events of the night, she was swept by a wave of horror and confusion so intense she had to sit down. What had she done !
What madness had overcome her, that she should spend the night nursing back to health the very creature she had spent al her adult life plotting to destroy? He was evil, she knew that to be so; it must be so… And yet, in the grip of that miraculous transformation, he had not been evil. He had been a creature of light and magic, of power and beauty, and she , smal and clumsy and earthbound, had been the evil one. When he had had her beneath his mighty paws with teeth poised to tear at her throat, and when he had backed away and let her live—then he had not been evil. She, who had plunged a knife into his chest while he slept, had been evil.
Yet how could al these years of knowing be wrong?
How could the incredible miracle she had witnessed last night and the kil er monster she had hated for the past ten years be one and the same? She had fal en under the spel of his transformation; that much was certain. There was no other reason to explain her irrational fear for his safety, her determination that he should not die. Could she have been wrong about him al this time? Or was she wrong about him now?
She could not leave this place without knowing the answer.
And so it was that, with a weakness in her knees and a tremor in her chest, Tessa retraced her steps to the massive carved doors of the master's chamber precisely one hour later. She stood for a moment, trying to breathe steadily, trying to gather her courage, and knocked.
His muffled shout bade her enter.
He was stretched out upon the divan in a sunny corner of the room, surrounded by stacked platters that held little more than scraps of bone and crusts of bread. A jug of new wine from his own vineyards
—which were wel known to be among the most prestigious in France—sat half empty at his elbow, and he refil ed his glass with a flourish as she entered. How he could have consumed so much food in the short time Tessa had been gone was beyond her ability to comprehend, but it seemed to have had a beneficial effect—both on his wel -being and on his disposition.
In the hour since she had left him, the blood had been scrubbed from the wal paper—although when she looked closely she could detect the faintest of stains—the bed had been changed, the carpets had been swept. The draperies were drawn back and late-morning sun spil ed through the tal windows, il uminating the gilded mirrors and deep-toned masterpieces, sparkling off the teardrop lamps and chandeliers. The transformation was amazing, but no more so than was the miraculous recovery of the werewolf she had tried to kil .
He wore gray flannel trousers topped by a silk dressing gown which was a rich blue color only a shade darker than his eyes. An ivory ascot was cavalierly wrapped around his neck and its folds tucked into the dressing gown. His lustrous hair was brushed back over his shoulders and tied loosely there; his color was good, his eyes bright and alert.
Beside him stood Gault, attired in a peacock green jacket and trousers and a magenta shirt, his arms folded across his chest, his black eyes glinting wickedly.
Alexander beckoned her over with the hand that held the wineglass, an amused expression on his
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