leave,' he said softly. 'The Old Man--General Lee--is determined to make a thrust northward. I have to be back in Richmond in forty-eight hours.'
'Pierre, no! You've just--'
'I have to go back.'
'You sound so...strange, Pierre.' She tightened her arms around him.
'I'm frightened, my Genie, and I can't even describe why,' he told her. 'Not frightened of battle anymore, for I've been there too many times. I'm frightened...for the future.'
'We shall win!'
He smiled, for his Northern-born belle had one loyalty: to his cause, whatever it should be.
An ocean breeze swept by him, drawing goose pimples to his flesh, and he knew. They would not win.
He buried his face against his wife's slender throat, inhaling her scent, feeling already the pain of parting. He held her fiercely. 'You need not fear, Eugenia. I will provide for you--always. I've been careful. The money is in the house.'
He whispered to her, though they were alone.
'Yes, yes, I will be fine--but I will not need anything. When this is over, we will be together, love.'
'Yes, together, my love.'
Eugenia loved him too well to tell him that she knew the South was dead. She did not tell him that the money he had hidden in the house, his Confederate currency, was as useless as the paper it had been printed on. He was her man, her provider. She would not tell him that he had provided her with ashes.
And he did not tell her that he felt a cold breeze, a cold, icy wind that whistled plaintively, like a ghost moaning and crying. Warning, foreboding. Whispering that death was ever near.
He took her in his arms and carried her up the stairs once again. Their eyes met.
They smiled, so tenderly, so lovingly.
'We're having another baby, Pierre.'
'What?'
His arms tightened. She smiled sweetly, happy, pleased, smug.
'A baby, Pierre.'
'My love!'
He kissed her reverently.
All through the night, he loved her reverently.
Pierre woke before Eugenia. Restless, he wrapped a sheet around himself and checked his hiding place, pulling the brick from the wall in silence.
A beautiful glitter greeted him. He inhaled and exhaled.
He had to go back to the war. He wanted to take his pregnant wife and his young son and disappear forever. But he was a soldier; he could not forsake his duty. He could assure himself, though, that whatever came, Eugenia would not want for anything.
He replaced the brick. No, Eugenia would not want for anything.
Chapter 1
The fear she felt was terrible. It tore into her heart and her mind, and even into her soul. It paralyzed and mesmerized. With swift and stunning ease, it stole Alexi's breath, and as in a nightmare, she could not scream, for the sound would not come. She knew only that something touched her. Something had her.
And that it was flesh.
Flesh touched her, warm and vibrant. Flesh...that seemed to cover steel. Fingers that were long and compelled by some superhuman strength.
Flesh...
For what seemed like aeons, Alexi could do nothing but let the fact that she had been accosted sweep into her consciousness. It was so dark--she had never known a darkness so total as this night. No stars, no moon, no streetlights--she might have fallen off into a deep pit of eternal space, rather than onto the dusty floorboards of the decaying, historic house. She might be encountering anyone or anything, and all she recognized was... Flesh. Searing and warm and frightfully powerful against her own. It had come so quickly. She had crawled through the window and the arms had swept around her, and she had been down and breathless and now, as fear curled into her like an evil, living thing, she could begin to feel the body and the muscle.
And she still couldn't scream. She couldn't bear force. She had known it before, and she had come here to escape the threat of it.
She tried for sound, desperately. A gasped whimper escaped from her--she knew that she was being subdued by a man. Even in the darkness, she knew instinctively that he was lean but wiry, that he was lithe and powerful. Her position was becoming ever more precarious. Her wrist was suddenly jerked and she was rolled, and there was more warmth, warmth and power all around her as she was suddenly laid flat, her back to the floor.
A thigh straddled roughly over her; she was suffocating.
Good God, fight!
She tried to emerge from the terror that encompassed her. Again she could feel heat and strength and tremendous, taut vitality. In the darkness she felt it--the fingers groping to find her other hand, to secure it so she would be powerless in the horrible darkness.
At last the paralysis broke. Sound burst from her, and she screamed. She could fight; she had learned to fight. Panic surged through her, and she twisted and writhed, ferocious and desperate in her attempt to escape.
She tried to kick, to wrench, to roll, to flail at the body attacking her. Her voice rose hysterically, totally incoherent. And she punched with all her strength, trying to slap, scratch, gouge--cause some injury. She caught him hard in the chin.
He swore hoarsely. Belatedly she wondered if she shouldn't have remained still. Who was he? What was he doing in the house? She hadn't heard a thing, hadn't seen a thing, and he had suddenly come down on top of her. He was a thief, a robber...or a rapist or a murderer. And screaming probably wouldn't help her; here she was, out in this godforsaken peninsula of blackness, yelling when there was no help to be had, struggling when she was bound to lose.
She screamed again anyway. And fought. He was breathing harder; she knew it despite her own ragged gulps for air. She could feel his breath against her cheek, warm and scented with mint. She could feel more of his body, hard against hers, as he silently and competently worked to subdue her.
Flesh...
She felt more flesh against her wrists, and then he had her again in a vise. She felt her hands dragged swiftly and relentlessly high over her head, and she knew that she was at the mercy of the dark entity in the night.
No...
Tears stung her eyes. She had run too far for it to come to this! With an incredible burst of energy, she wrenched one hand free and sent it flying out full force. She struck him, and she heard him grunt. And she heard his startled 'Dammit!'
His arm snaked out in the blackness to catch and secure her wrist once again.
And then all she knew was the sound of breathing.
His, mildly labored, so close it touched her cheeks and her chin. Hers, maddened, ragged, racing gulps. Fear was a living thing. Parasitic, it raged inside of her, tore at her heart and her soul, and she couldn't do anything but lie there, imprisoned, thinking.
This was it. Death was near. She'd been desperate to run away, and now, for all her determination, she was going to die. She didn't know how yet. He might strangle her. Wind one hand around her throat and squeeze...
'Stop it! I don't want to hurt you! All right, now, don't move. Don't even think about moving. Do you understand?”
It was a husky voice. Harsh and coolly grating.
'I don't want to hurt you. The words echoed in her mind, and she tried to comprehend them; she longed to trust him.
The darkness was so strange. She couldn't see, but she felt so acutely. She sensed, she felt, as he released her, as he balanced on his feet above her.
