A Darkness Strange and Lovely

soul like the Hell Hounds, but instead of all at once, it’s bit by bit. I hope you got a good look at what happened to that Marquis, because that is exactly what you did to me. You”—he jabbed his finger into my shoulder, pushing me back a step—“just withered away part of my soul. Part of my very being.

And for what?”

“T-to stop the Dead—”

“I didn’t want to stop those Dead in the first place. We had time to get away—to leave.”

“But then the Dead would have overrun Paris!”

“So?” he snapped. “That was not my problem, Eleanor. It was your problem, and then you made it mine.” He leaned into me, his face scored with rage and pain. “You gave me no choice. You betrayed my trust.”

“I-I’m sorry.” I cowered back. “I truly am, Ollie. Please . . . what can I do to make it up to you?”

“Free me. Free me and get the hell away from me.”

“I-I do not know how—”

“Because you’re not training!” His roar blasted over me, and I shrank back farther. “You’re running around Paris with everyone but me! You seem more upset about that damned Marquis’s death than you do about hurting me. I really am nothing more than your tool!”

“I’ll start studying—I promise.”

“You’re bloody right you will, but don’t think it will be enough for me to forgive you.”

“Empress?” Daniel stepped into the hall, his hands in fists. “What’s goin’ on here?”

“Nothing,” Oliver snapped. And without another word, he went through the front doorway and stormed into the night.

Daniel looked at me, clearly expecting an explanation.

But I couldn’t speak. Guilt and shame coiled inside me. Only the blackest magic in the world could drain a person’s soul, yet I had done exactly the same thing with electricity. I had killed a part of

Oliver.

For several minutes, all I could do was stare silently at Daniel—and somehow he understood that staring was all I was capable of, for he did not speak. He simply waited for me to return to the moment.

And as time ticked past and the world slowly cleared before me, I began to see Daniel. To see how his lanky body slouched with his weight on one foot. How his face was streaked with dirt and sweat.

How his hair was dusted white and poking up in all directions. How his chest moved beneath his shirt —a shirt that used to be white but was now mottled gray. . . .

And above all, how beautiful he was—not just on the outside but on the inside as well. He knew me; he understood.

My mouth went dry. I took a step toward him. “Thank you.”

His brow creased. “For what?”

“For . . .” Two more steps, and I was in front of him. “For still caring, despite everything.”

“Caring? I didn’t do anything. I heard shouting from the other room and—”

“I mean, thank you for caring enough to save my life tonight. Twice.”

His eyes ran over my face. “You saved my life, Empress. And Joseph’s. I reckon that makes us even.”

“Even,” I murmured, not particularly aware of what I was saying. My eyes were stuck on Daniel’s throat. On the faint flutter of his pulse. It was . . . fascinating. It meant he was alive. We were both alive.

Without thinking, I rolled onto my tiptoes and brushed my lips over that patch of skin, over his heartbeat.

He stiffened. I lurched back.

Heat flushed through me. “I-I am so sorry,” I tried to say, but my voice barely squeezed through my pinched throat.

And Daniel simply gaped at me, slack-jawed and frozen.

“I sh-shouldn’t have done that.” I skittered back several more steps, humiliation boiling inside me.

“Please—forgive me.”

Still he did not move, did not speak.

I retreated farther, wishing the front door were open so I could flee as far and as fast as my legs would go. Oh, why wasn’t Daniel saying something— anything? And why was he staring at me like that?

I turned to go, my hand outstretched for the doorknob.

“Wait,” he breathed.

I paused, glancing back.

And in three long steps he reached me. Then, his hands trembling, he cupped the sides of my face, and I swear his chest was so still, he could not have been breathing.

I know I wasn’t.

He ran his thumbs along my cheeks, down my jaw, over my lips. And his eyes seemed to scour every inch of me. Then, ever so slowly, Daniel Sheridan lowered his head and grazed his lips over mine.

And I felt as if my heart might explode.

Yet despite that—despite the fragile perfection of his touch—it wasn’t enough for me. It could never be enough. He smelled of sweat and blood and gunpowder. Of caves and torchlight and everything we had been through.

I loved him, and I would not let him walk away—not this time. So before he could draw back or change his mind, I pushed forward and kissed him again. Hard.

A low groan broke from his mouth, and now I knew my heart exploded. My brain, my skin, my lips —everything burned with feverish need.

His hands dropped to my waist, pulling my whole body to his. And now he kissed me, determined at first and then almost desperate. No matter how many times we pressed our lips together, it was not enough.

Then came the nip of teeth, a flick of tongue, and my knees turned to jelly. I almost fell backward.

But he would never let me fall. He crushed me to him, his body hot through his clothes—hot through my clothes. Then he guided me backward and pressed me to the door.

And all I could think—all I could feel—was that I needed more. More of him, more of Daniel.

His stubble scratched my face raw. I did not care. I was too lost in the feel of his lips, of his tongue . . . of any feeling that proved we were alive.

His lips left mine, but before I could beg him to stay, his mouth was tracing along my neck, biting and possessive, and now it was my turn to groan. I could barely breathe, my heart hammered too hard against my lungs, and I certainly could not see straight.

But the moment couldn’t last forever. Always, the real world had to interfere.

A weak voice called out. “Daniel? Eleanor?”

Daniel and I paused. Our hearts drummed and our breathing rasped—so loudly, I almost thought I had imagined that voice.

But the voice called again. “Daniel?” It was Joseph, and at that realization, Daniel and I staggered apart.

“Is all well?” Joseph called.

“Yes,” Daniel croaked, scrubbing a hand over his face. He blinked quickly, as if trying to grab a hold of who he was, where we were, and what had just happened. . . . He looked as completely lost as I felt.

“We’re . . . we’re coming,” he said, his head swinging toward the sitting room.

“Just a moment,” I chimed, forcing my legs to walk, to step away from Daniel. I knew that now was not the time for love, but that did not change how much my body wanted it to be the time. Did not change how much my pulse pounded in my stomach,