Satans Master. Кэрол Мортимер

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СКАЧАТЬ to Sabina, and reminded her of how damp her clothing had become.

      A sharp tap on the door heralded no reaction whatsoever, so she knocked again. Still no answer. There had to be someone here. She walked along the front of the cottage to the window with the chink of light showing through, trying to see in through the tiny gap in the curtains. She felt herself tense as the curtains moved slightly, two venomous green eyes suddenly appearing in front of her and making her let out a bloodcurdling scream.

      ‘Satan’s no more enthusiastic about nosey-parkers than I am,’ remarked a cold voice from behind her.

      Sabina swung round to see the owner of that unwelcoming voice. Standing in front of her, the mist swirling eerily about him, stood a tall dark man dressed completely in black—black cords and black jumper, his hair also jet black, long and unkempt. His face was gaunt, all strong angles, the focal point being a pair of cold grey eyes that remained unblinkingly on her white face. He was a handsome man in a pagan sort of way, the handsomest man Sabina had ever seen.

      ‘Wh—who are you?’ her voice quivered.

      His mouth twisted tauntingly. ‘I’m Satan’s master, who else?’

      Sabina woke to find herself lying on a sofa, the hardest article of furniture she had ever sat on in her life. She had never fainted before either, for that was surely what had happened. God, that man—Satan’s master! She swung her legs to the floor, sitting up to come face to face with him.

      He turned from his morose study of the fire, a man possibly in his late thirties, his expression not lightening as he saw her looking at him with wide frightened eyes. ‘So you’ve decided to wake up, have you?’ he rasped, pushing the black cat off his lap and standing up. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded. ‘And what are you doing here?’

      Sabina’s mouth felt dry. ‘I—er—I asked you first,’ she said with a return of her usual spirit.

      ‘And I told you,’ he replied sharply, his voice deep and husky.

      ‘Of course you didn’t,’ she said with a nervous laugh. She had behaved stupidly a few minutes ago; this man might be dark and frightening, but he certainly had no connection with the devil. ‘That cat is Satan, isn’t he?’

      ‘He is.’

      ‘And you’re his owner.’

      White teeth showed in the glimmer of a smile. ‘No one owns Satan. He just goes with the cottage. The locals believe the previous owner, a certain Mrs McFee, was a witch.’

      ‘That’s ridiculous!’

      His steady gaze remained levelled on her. ‘Is it?’

      Sabina swallowed hard. ‘You know it is.’

      ‘Do I?’

      ‘Of course it is! No rational human being—–’

      His dark eyebrows rose, straight black brows that disappeared into the untidy swathe of dark hair that fell over his forehead. There was something about this man, something familiar … ‘Who says I’m a rational human being?’ his soft attractive voice taunted. ‘Who says I’m even human?’

      ‘Stop teasing me!’ She pushed back the hood that had been hiding her hair, unzipping her anorak. ‘Would you mind if I took this off?’ she indicated the damp garment.

      ‘Take off anything you want,’ he invited, already insolently appraising the curves she had revealed. ‘Female company has been in short supply around here.’

      Sabina blushed under his intent stare, and left her coat on, wanting to wrap her arms protectively about her as he continued to look at her. ‘Then why do you live here?’ she snapped angrily. Her first impression of this man being a ghostly figure was completely wrong, he was all too human, despite his casting doubts upon the fact minutes earlier.

      His face hardened, the angles sharper than ever, his eyes glacial. ‘I live here because it suits me to. Now I repeat, who are you?’

      ‘Sabina—Sabina Smith.’ She couldn’t stop looking at him, there was something so familiar about him, something at the back of her mind telling her she should know him, or someone like him. Without the dark growth of two or three days’ beard he would be—–

      ‘What are you staring at?’ He kicked viciously at one of the logs burning in the fire, sending sparks all over the hearth. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Answer me!’

      ‘I—I—– You—–’

      ‘Yes?’ His eyes bored into hers, holding her immobile.

      ‘You remind me of someone,’ she said nervously, the anger about that firm sensuous mouth making her cower in her seat.

      He stepped forward, his hands biting painfully into her upper arms as he wrenched her to her feet. ‘Who?’ His face was only inches from hers as he shook her. ‘Who do I remind you of?’ he repeated.

      ‘I—I don’t know.’ She was beginning to feel faint—for the second time today. ‘I don’t know,’ she cried, tears gathering in her distressed green eyes. ‘What sort of man are you, to treat me like this? Let me go. Let me go, I tell you!’

      His teeth bared viciously. ‘Not until you answer me. So tell me, who do I remind you of?’

      Right at this moment he reminded her of the devil she had first thought him, the skin stretched tautly across his hollow cheeks, shadows beneath his cold grey eyes. But that growth of beard was completely human, although it made him more satanic than ever.

      Sabina took a step backwards, unwittingly stepping on the cat’s paw. The same paw snaked out and caught her a savage blow on the ankle, as the cat growled its displeasure before running up the wooden staircase that led to the top floor of the cottage.

      She winced. ‘Your cat shares your dislike of my being here.’ Her ankle felt sore already, and she was sure she could feel blood trickling down on to her foot. ‘I—– Could I just see to my ankle?’ she asked her captor.

      ‘Why not?’ He thrust her away from him. ‘And you’re right, Satan speaks for both of us. I don’t want you here, Miss Smith, for any reason,’ he added grimly.

      Sabina was once again sitting on the lumpy sofa, the rest of the furniture and threadbare carpet in just as deplorable a condition. And yet the man’s clothes looked of good quality. He was a complete mystery, an enigma who wanted her out of his life as quickly as she had come into it.

      ‘Has the mist cleared?’ The scratch on her ankle was red and sore-looking, the blood flowing freely. She took out a tissue to staunch the flow, her long blonde hair escaping the collar of her anorak and falling down over her face.

      ‘No.’ He was looking at her with narrowed watchful eyes.

      ‘Then you can’t expect me to go out in that again,’ she said in disbelief, pushing her straight hair back behind her ears.

      ‘I didn’t exactly say that, only that I don’t want you here.’

      ‘I’d never find my way back to the road,’ she insisted.

      He СКАЧАТЬ