Free His Dark Embrace by Amanda Ashley Page A

eyes ...”
    “I’m fine,” he said gruffly. “Please, just go.”
    She stared at his back, at his hands, tightly clenched at his sides. Blood trickled through the fingers of his right hand. She couldn’t just leave him, not when he was bleeding, not when he might be sick. She took a step toward him. “At least let me bandage that cut.”
    “Dammit, Skylynn, just get out of here! Now!”
    She wasn’t about to argue, not with that tone of voice. Lifting the hem of the robe, she ran out of the room and didn’t stop running until she was inside her own house, with the door closed and locked behind her.
    Breathing heavily, one hand pressed to her chest, she leaned back against the door.
    What had just happened?
     
     
    The sound of Sky’s front door slamming shut behind her echoed in Thorne’s ears like a death knell. And indeed, that was what it was, he thought bitterly.
    The death of his humanity.
    He could feel his dark nature returning, the constricting of his veins as the thirst for blood surged up within him. He grimaced at the near-forgotten ache in his jaw as his fangs ran out. The potion was quickly wearing off, but why?
    Blood. He could think of nothing else. It was a remarkable fluid, warm and red and smooth. It was 90 percent plasma and of that 90 percent, 55 percent was water. The other 45 percent was made up of antibodies, hormones, proteins, glucose, and amino acids. The remaining 10 percent of blood consisted of red and white blood cells. Whatever it was made of, humans couldn’t survive without it.
    And now, neither could he.
    Agitated, he paced the floor in front of the hearth. True, the last dose he had taken had been smaller than usual, but it should have been good for a few weeks. Had waiting so long to take the last of it weakened its effectiveness?
    Dammit!
    Feeling as though the walls were closing in on him, he went out into the backyard, oblivious to the thunder and the lightning, to the rain that pummeled his head and shoulders like wet, angry fists.
    Standing there with his eyes closed, Thorne was aware of the dark wrapping around him, the mist caressing him like a woman’s loving arms while the night whispered in Kaiden’s ears, welcoming him home.
     
     
    When her breathing returned to normal, Sky went into the kitchen. After pouring herself a glass of ice water, she stood at the sink, staring out the window at the rain.
    What had just happened? One minute she had been on the sofa next to Kaiden, thinking how cozy it was, just the two of them sitting side by side, and the next the coffee cup in his hand had shattered and he had ordered her out of the house.
    She frowned. Maybe he was ill and didn’t want her to know. Maybe Granda’s tonic really was keeping him alive.
    After putting the glass in the dishwasher, she went into the front room and looked out the casement window. The lights were still on in his house. She clutched the collar of her robe—his robe. Should she go over and make sure he was all right? He hadn’t looked very well when she’d left. Maybe that’s why he had been so abrupt. She could get dressed and run over on the pretext of returning his robe and retrieving her clothes, she thought, and then dismissed the idea. He wasn’t likely to fall for a ruse like that. Maybe she should just wait until tomorrow.
    But what if he was really sick?
    What if he needed help?
    Maybe she hadn’t imagined that eerie red glow in his eyes. Maybe it was a symptom of his illness.
    And maybe she should just mind her own business.
    She jumped as a brilliant flash of lightning lit up the sky and the lights went out.

Chapter 7
     
    Thorne lifted his face to the heavens. The storm reminded him of the night he had been turned so many centuries ago. It had happened in the heart of London in the middle of winter. He had been a bit of a scoundrel back then, much to his mother’s shame and his father’s disgust. He had spent most of his time in the pubs, drinking, gambling, and wenching,