A Darker Passion Read online

  “Is that why you rescued me?” She had to know. “To save your soul?”

  “I rescued you because you had already captured my heart. You touched me with your kindness, your concern for others. I loved you. I couldn’t let them harm you.”

  Never to face the light alone. Alone…

  All of a sudden, the curse’s meaning sunk in. He couldn’t face the light on his own…

  Though perhaps he could face it with another. Tristan had to find love before he could face the light again. Aimee’s love might hold the power to undo the curse.

  “But Tristan, don’t you see—that’s what the curse means. Alone, you can’t face the light. You’re a creature of darkness, trapped within your own cold-heartedness. But if you had someone to love you, someone to show you the way back to the light, then perhaps the spell could be undone.”

  For a moment Tristan seemed to consider her words. Then he shook his head, stepping back far too close to the roof’s edge. “I love you too much, Aimee, to taint you with my evilness.”

  He stepped over the side. From the shadows below she heard the flap of giant wings.

  Held in check too long, the bloated clouds burst. Frigid rain began to fall like icy knives upon the roof. She was drenched in seconds.

  “Tristan!”

  Aimee lunged for the empty space Tristan had occupied. Wind shot a torrent of freezing rain into her face. Lightning sizzled nearby, lighting up the roof in a brilliant flash that showed she was quite alone. She blinked as her eyes attempted to compensate for the sudden glare. She stumbled, falling to her hands and knees on the slick surface.

  A deafening crack came from beneath her as the old roof gave way. Suddenly there was only empty air beneath her questing fingers. Aimee screamed, arms and legs pinwheeling helplessly as she plummeted into darkness.

  Sharp claws seized the leather of her jacket, wrenching her backward and up. Powerful wings vibrated the air around her. She jerked her head up to see two onyx eyes staring down at her. Beneath her the ground whirled sickeningly. She screamed again.

  *

  Candlelight, translucent as watercolor, filtered through the fringe of her lashes. Aimee opened her eyes.

  The room was aglow with a multitude of candles. They burned in bright rows on low tables and flowed in a brilliant flame across the mantle. The dancing flames were hypnotic, comforting. Closing her eyes, she burrowed back into the warmth of the satin duvet, content to succumb to the seductive call of sleep—until a worrying thought forced her eyelids open again.

  She was most definitely not at home. So where was she? The last thing she remembered was plummeting toward her death through the stormy sky.

  Throwing off the heavy duvet, she sat up and studied her unfamiliar surroundings. The room she’d been sleeping in looked like a pictorial from a Victorian magazine. Thick velvet drapes, fringed with gold, blocked out the dampness. The parlor was cluttered with an assortment of tables, each bearing its own doily and some sort of figurine or vase. Bouquets of cream-colored roses, dyed the color of antique lace by the candlelight, filled the air with their perfume. From somewhere beyond came strains of Vivaldi.

  “I would have taken you home,” said a familiar voice. “But I must confess, I would much rather keep you selfishly to myself.”

  Tristan leaned casually against the doorway of the crowded living room, a brandy snifter dangled from one hand, the other thrust into the pocket of his pleated pants.

  He left the doorway and crossed the parlor to sit beside her. Carefully, cherishingly, he pulled her toward him, holding her as tenderly as he would a wounded child. The brandy was warm against her lips. It burned all the way down her throat, but its fire seemed to chase back the chill. Her hair was damp against her cheek. She looked down to find herself clothed in a silk shirt that was far too big to be her own.

  “Where am I?”

  “My home.”

  She looked around her, then back at him. “But I fell.”

  He hugged her protectively closer. “The old factory roof is most treacherous.”

  “You caught me.” Images were falling into place now, like pieces of a puzzle. She remembered the sizzle of lightning, the huge bird lit up against the night sky.

  “I would never let any harm come to you.” He set the snifter down on the table in front of them and turned toward her.

  “Promise you won’t disappear again after you kiss me?”

  He laughed, and she felt the vibration beneath her hand as she slipped it through the opening of his shirt to caress the soft hairs of his chest.

  “I promise.”

  “Good,” she said. And covered his mouth with hers.

  She wasn’t dreaming this time. Desire arced through her, keen and demanding. She intended to remember every minute of this night. With tender kisses, she explored his forehead, dipping lower to nibble at his eyebrow before continuing down the arch of his nose to claim his mouth again.

  Tristan lay back, crushing the comforter beneath him, content to assist her in her study of him. Her fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt, opening it to her searching lips.

  Warm hands traveled upward under her shirt, stroking her, encouraging her, until the fabric grew too confining and she pulled it off over her head and tossed it aside. His gaze lingered on her, warm and admiring. Then he pulled her closer to take the taut peak of one breast into his mouth.

  Aimee moaned, arching as his lips moved to tease the other. Frantic hands fumbled with his belt. Chuckling, he assisted her before easing his trousers over his hips and onto the floor.

  Her eyes drank in the length of him, the animal strength beneath smooth skin. With liquid grace he turned and gathered her under him. Satin hair fell down around her in a warm cascade. She felt him, hard against her thigh, yearning with desperation to match her own.

  “Love me,” she whispered against his lips. And with a gentle yet purposeful thrust, he obliged.

  *

  The sun cast spears of light around the edges of the drapery. Aimee opened her eyes, the events of the past few nights startlingly clear in her mind for the first time in three days. She smiled, stretching languidly against Tristan’s warmth beside her.

  A band of light cut across his face.

  His eyes opened cautiously. Wonderingly, he turned his face into the light.

  Like a wary animal, he crept hesitatingly forward, until he was showered in the sun’s golden glow. In fascination, he stared at the liquid light covering his hands.

  Then, with a joyful laugh that seemed to come from the roots of his being, he threw open the drapes and turned to face her.

  Bewildered, Aimee watched his movements. Suddenly the significance of his simple action grasped her.

  Awed, she joined him in the shaft of glittering light.

  He ran his hands through her hair, which shimmered with auburn highlights in the sun’s rays. His fingers stroked her cheek as if rediscovering her, assuring himself that the moment was indeed real.

  “Tristan?”

  “The sunlight,” he whispered, as if saying it aloud might make the miracle disappear.

  “The curse…do you think it’s gone?”

  Tristan gave a shaky laugh. “I don’t know.”

  “Try changing,” she suggested, afraid even to hope.

  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Aimee watched his features change to smooth marble as he composed himself. She realized suddenly she was holding her breath and let it go with a deep sigh. Tristan opened his eyes.

  “I can’t…seem to bring about the metamorphosis.”

  “This is good, right?”

  “Good? It’s fantastic,” he whispered, the first signs of optimism creeping into his smile. “You’ve saved me, Aimee. With your love, you helped me rediscover the man within the beast.” He pulled her tightly against him and kissed her soundly.

  “Do you really think it’s possible?”

  “I’m certain of it.” Sweeping her off her feet, he twirle
d her across the living room, as he had on the rooftop.

  “Come on,” he said, putting her down suddenly.

  “Where are we going?”

  Tristan looked down at her with brown eyes that sparkled like jewels in the morning light. They’d lost the feral gleam they’d had in his owl form. “I intend to walk into the dawn with the woman I love.”

  About the Author

  Stephanie Bedwell-Grime is the author of eight published novels and over fifty short stories. She has been nominated for an Eppie Award and has been an Aurora Award finalist five times.

  Stephanie welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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  Also by Stephanie Bedwell-Grime

  Witch Island

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