Free Before Dawn by Ann Bruce Page A

crimson blood poured down between his white fingers. She’d nicked an artery. His lace cravat sucked in every drop that came into contact with it, making the blood seem to blossom and spread.
     
    With his eyes holding hers captive, Edmond slowly took away his hand to reveal the dark, wide wound that was, before her very eyes, getting smaller and smaller as the flesh re-knit itself. Soon, there was no sign of the injury except for the blood staining his neck, hand, and formerly white garments.
     
    A choked sound squeezed past her constricted throat, jarring Mercy out of her petrified state. But it was too late. Edmond had closed the distance between them. She brought her knees to her chest and struck out with her bound feet. The impact jolted up her legs, but Edmond absorbed the blow to the center of his chest like she was a mere child. He carelessly knocked her feet aside and bore down on her.
     
    Pain exploded in Mercy’s left cheek. She cried out as she fell back onto the table, her head bouncing once on the solid stone. Flashes of light behind her eyelids, then shooting pains in her head. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, and she convulsively swallowed, nearly choking. Dazed and uncoordinated, her hands came up, more defensive than offensive, but he simply captured her bound wrists, pinned them over her head with one hand, and encircled her neck with the other. A wickedly pointed nail dug into the side of her neck, very close to her own carotid artery, and despite trembling muscles, she ceased her struggles. The fingers imprisoning her wrists squeezed until the knife clattered onto the slab.
     
    Her body went limp, and her chest rose and fell with her ragged breaths. She let her head fall to the side. Her eyes closed, tears on her lashes.
     
    “You resemble her so much,” murmured Edmond, running the backs of his fingers over her tender left cheek, making her wince.
     
    Biting down on her bottom lip to keep quiet, she shook her head.
     
    He sighed. “You are right. At first, I thought you were her. I wanted you to be her. Mais non . You have her eyes, her nose, her lips.” He skimmed a finger over each feature, ending at the corner of her throbbing mouth.
     
    “ Regardez-moi ,” he ordered softly. The hand around her throat tightened. Her lashes lifted. Through the shimmer of tears, Edmond was blurred, and she was glad for that small favor. He lifted his finger, allowed her to see the red stain of her blood on his skin. “You share her blood.” He licked it away. For the space of a breath, his eyes swam with a pleasure that was deeply, darkly sexual. Terror squeezed Mercy’s insides, and her body shook, the tremors seeming to rattle her heart, her lungs, her stomach. His lips lifted in amusement, then he sighed. “But you do not have her soul.”
     
    Almost casually, he picked up the stone knife stained red with his blood and studied it, angling it this way and that. “For years, I searched for this knife.” He ran the pad of his thumb along an edge. Fresh blood welled, sliding down the blade. “Legend says it was used to expel the evil souls that took over living bodies. You make five cuts on the possessed victim—throat, wrists, heels—and when they bleed, the evil soul would be forced out with the blood.
     
    “Since the only soul in your body is yours, it will be forced out, leaving this body for mon ange .”
     
    Somehow she found her voice. It was hoarse and tiny, but she could speak. “You tried this many times before and failed every time.”
     
    “But not with this knife and not with someone who shares Angélique’s blood. This time, it will work,” he declared fervently, eyes bright with fanaticism. He pressed the tip of the knife against the hollow of her throat. “I found the knife, and it led me to you. Avant le point du jour, ma belle Angélique sera avec moi. Le destin en avait décidé ainsi .”
     
    It was meant to be.
     
    Edmond leaned closer, smiling