Faith watched blue-gray light edge its way into the night sky, demanding retreat of its shadows to allow the sun to rise.
Morning. Hope. Her talisman that the coming day would end in a night of dreamless sleep. Kneeling beside the stream, she leaned over to fill her cupped hands from its trickle of sweet water. The cold silver shower against her face snapped her awake with a gasp. Even as she shivered when the cold shock of water slid down the bare skin above her camisole and soaked the cloth, her smile and laughter came for having stolen a few minutes for herself.
Within a thicket that grew to the stream’s edge, a horse moved restively at the sudden sound of her laughter. Delaney bent his dark head and murmured softly. The bay mare quieted instantly. He made no move, no other sound to spoil the unguarded moment of watching Faith’s innocent glory. And there was an innocence to her.
She moved with the sleek grace of a wild creature, and yet, within seconds her face held the look of a woman enraptured with her pleasure. She arched her head back to bare her throat to the droplets of water slowly released by her hands. He thought he heard the sigh that escaped her lips and couldn’t help but wonder if the heat and slide of a man’s lips would bring her the same pleasure.
The lush tumble of her hair appeared dark without the sun’s gleam to fire its rich color. The sight presented him with a stirring contrast of dark against the pale sheen of her skin and the thin white cloth that clung wetly to her slender waist and rib cage. His gaze caressed the intimate curves of her breasts. His duchess’s faded calico had hidden quite a bit. Delaney couldn’t help but respond to the sight of her as she stood and pushed her hair back before lifting her face to the brightening sky. Sweet laughter, dark and light shadows, and nothing held back.
Would she come to a man the same way?
He reached for his stone and held it clasped within the heat of his hand. It wasn’t a question he was going to have answered.
As if his move had somehow communicated an ending to her private moments, Faith hurried to slip her arms into the dangling sleeves of her gown. The thin cotton was immediately soaked. She was annoyed and fumbled to get the cloth buttons fastened. A few minutes later she had managed to secure her hair into a tightly pinned bun, filled the coffeepot, and was gone.
Delaney’s eyes lost their heat as he urged his horse forward at a walk to cross the stream. He slid from the saddle with an unconscious fluid grace and flattened himself in the same spot that Faith had knelt. His belly curled with the imagined warmth she had left behind in the earth.
But his moves were quick, without any of the enjoyment Faith had displayed, as he slaked his thirst, then splashed cold water on his bare chest and arms.
The mare’s warning nicker came too late. He was blinded and vulnerable the moment he tossed water on his face and started to rise.
The click of a gun hammer being cocked close to his ear told him how vulnerable he was.
The solid weight of a boot pressing down on the small of his back pointed out his blindness in letting the sight of Faith wipe out instinctive caution.
And the lingering sound of her sweet laughter in his mind had deafened him to anyone’s approach.
Delaney responded to the silent order and lowered himself to the ground. The rough gravel and sand of the bank cut into his chest. The mare snorted and sidestepped uneasily but remained close to the prone man at her feet.
“Ah, the bay is well trained, amigo. But tell me, did you take the little farmer and train her as well last night?”
“Maybe,” Delaney answered, turning his head so that his cheek rested on the damp earth. He couldn’t see the tip of Chelli’s boot, but he sensed that he was standing close to him.
“Edna Mae waited and waited for you to return to have your drink with her. It saddened me much to see such a fine woman disappointed. I promised her I would come to find you after I consoled her.”
Delaney listened, not to the goad, but to the pebbles that scraped together when Chelli shifted his weight.
“You disappointed me, amigo. I had not thought you to be a selfish hombre. And the little one, she is like a new rose that would fetch a fine price for me in trade. It is hard for me to admit that I was wrong about you. Yet, I ask myself why you hid from her as I did? Was she not pleased with you?”
“You figure to stand there jawing about her, Chelli, or shoot me?”
“I have not made up my mind what to do with you. There are many who would pay me to see you dead. Maybe I should teach you what it means to cross me. I like you, amigo, even when you get in my way.”
“It’s nothing personal.” Delaney inwardly gathered himself to move. He sensed the moment when Chelli made his decision.
His hand snaked out, and he grabbed Chelli’s boot. Delaney had to twist his body tight, rolling hard against Chelli’s legs, throwing the man off-balance. The Mexican’s arm jerked high, and the shot went wide of its intended target. Delaney yanked on Chelli’s belt, the wet gravel aiding him in bringing Chelli down.
Before Chelli could blink, Delaney straddled him. He obeyed the silent command of Delaney’s hard grip on his wrist and released the gun. Chelli wasn’t about to move, argue, or breathe deeply with the glittering knife blade pressed to his throat.
“I don’t want to kill you, either, amigo. But you’re snake bait if I catch you sniffing my back trail.” There was no heat in Delaney’s piercing gaze, which made the softness of his voice all the more chilling. With a deliberate move Delaney drew the tip of the blade across Chelli’s throat. The line that appeared was as thin as thread. It was a measure of the fine control that he had exerted that not one drop of blood appeared. “For you to remember me, amigo.”
“Stop it!” Faith shouted, holding her father’s rifle on them. “Don’t either one of you move.”
From one breath to the next Delaney froze. Then, with a sudden, smooth, explosive turn, he lunged toward her. Gripping the knife, he used his forearm to knock the rifle barrel upward, and with his left hand he ripped the stock from her grasp.
Faith was stunned by the violence she witnessed, stunned by the violence that seeped from Delaney’s body. She couldn’t look at his face. His skin glistened with sweat, sleek bronze skin on the powerful muscles of his shoulders, arms, and washboard stomach. Her gaze slid down to the knife he held.
Chelli staggered to his feet, and Delaney stepped back to keep him in sight. “This loaded?” he asked her, bringing the rifle level with Chelli’s gut.
“Yes,” she managed to choke out.
Chelli raised his arms wide from his body and smiled. “It is over, for now.” But when he leaned down to get his gun, Delaney stopped him.
“Leave it. I’ll get it back to you later, amigo.”
“As you wish.” He backed away, turned, ducked beneath an overhanging branch, and was gone.
Delaney’s breath shuddered out from him. He tossed the rifle down and lashed out at Faith. “You ever dare aim a gun at my back, duchess, an’ you’d better be ready to shoot first.”
“No! I wouldn’t have shot at you. I was frightened. We all were when we heard that shot.” Faith stopped herself from saying more. Delaney turned his back toward her, his spine rigid with tension. She had to fight down the urge to go to him, to offer a woman’s soothing touch, to brush the bits of dirt from the broad expanse of his bare shoulders, to somehow tell him she had been afraid for him.
His move toward his horse was dismissal, but Faith refused to leave. She envied the gentle strokes he offered his mare’s outstretched nose before he grabbed his shirt that was slung over the saddle. Couldn’t he see, didn’t he know that she wanted to be held, too? A trembling started inside her, and shivers racked her body.
Delaney slid on his shirt and took his time buttoning it. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, could still see the shock in her gaze, and wanted to close his eyes to blot out the sight of her. Foolish thought. Impossible action. He wasn’t going to make what she saw go away. He certainly had no intention of explaining or apologizing. She’d take him as he was.
“Go back to your camp, duchess.”
“Stop calling me that ridiculous name!” Clasping her hands in a death grip, she managed to stop shaking. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” He sheathed his knife with a deft move, picked up Chelli’s gun, and hefted the near perfect balance of the Colt Frontier. The long-barreled revolver was a fairly new model, and Delaney estimated its cost before he emptied the chamber of bullets and put them along with the gun in his saddlebag. Not once had he looked at Faith.
“What should I tell my father? He’ll want to know what happened.”
“The truth. He’ll appreciate it, even if you can’t. He’s getting his money’s worth, duchess. I tried to tell you that.”
“I’ve asked you, now I am demanding that you stop calling me duchess! I’m aware of what I look like, Mr. Carmichael, and it’s far from being a duchess.”
“Oh, it ain’t your looks. It’s the grand tilt of your nose.”
Faith refused to spar with him. She knew she was plain, had been told as much most of her life. Even Martin had never called her pretty. It didn’t matter a wit what this man thought of her. She wasn’t interested in the hardheaded Delaney Carmichael! But against her better judgment, she knew she wanted to understand him.
“Why do you condemn my father for what he believes to be true? You can’t deny that what happened with Chelli proves you’re everything people say.”
Delaney’s shrug came in answer and annoyed her. She stared at his profile, noticing the slightly crooked slant of his nose. Broken most likely and more than once, she thought. His cheeks and chin were bristled with a near black stubble that matched the color of his hair. As if the direction of her thoughts had called his attention, he raked one hand through the straight, collar-length hair to push it back from his face. The first strong rays of sunlight picked out rainbow drops of water within its depth.
“What were you doing around here so early, Delaney?”
“Same as you.”
“The same as … You were watching me?”
He wondered how she managed to sound prim, scandalized, and condemning at the same time. Not that he would bother to ask. With his back toward her he opened his buttoned fly, tucked in his shirt, and fastened his pants without apology. The sight of him wouldn’t shock the duchess. She said she’d been married. And if she had nothing better to do than stand and gawk at him, well, he wasn’t going to shy off behind some bushes.
Faith was gawking. She had seen the masculine gesture more times than she could count, but it was her father, her brothers, and Martin that had performed the task. Delaney made it … intimate. Faith hugged her arms around her waist to hold back the tiny curl of warmth that longed to unfold inside her.
Lifting his gunbelt from the saddle horn, he slid it around his hips and buckled it quickly. Delaney reset his gun in the holster. The narrow butt-base made it less handsome than either a Colt or a Remington model, but his Starr .44 was a highly efficient weapon since he could use it as a double-action gun by the use of one trigger, and a single-action by the use of another. The six-shot gun that Eben Starr made for the Union Army had become pretty common out here, but Delaney treasured it, since this one had belonged to his father.
With a smooth move he leaned forward and tied the thongs around his thigh, scanning the woods across from him. He grabbed hold of the reins and stood tall, sure that Chelli had gone.
“Seems to me, duchess, that you should be asking what Chelli was doing here before you start questioning me. Or doesn’t it bother you that he was watching you?”
Faith felt her skin crawl at his low-voiced taunt. She had not spared a thought to what Chelli was doing here. The sight of Delaney, the savagery of him, had wiped everything but him from her mind.
“Yes, of course, it bothers me,” she managed to say in a steady voice. “But you never answered me. Were you watching me, too?” Just saying it again should make her feel somehow violated, but Faith couldn’t summon that feeling.
Delaney turned around to face her. “Sure you want to know?”
There was a remote set to his features that once again reminded her of the rumors about him. Faith took a few steps back. Hard, unpredictable, and dangerous. But she no longer had to depend on gossip. She had seen for herself the violence he was capable of.
“Well, duchess?” He took a step toward her. “You want a lie or the truth?”
Suddenly Faith didn’t want to know. For a brief moment she met his direct gaze, then glanced down at the cynical set of his mouth. This time Faith was the one to turn her back.
“Don’t forget your father’s rifle. A good Springfield is worth its weight in gold in the territory.”
Reluctantly Faith picked it up and held the weapon clutched to her body. She ignored the tremor that weakened her legs. But she wouldn’t let him have the last word. “Will you still take us?”
Delaney was glad she wasn’t looking at him. His slow appraisal of the proud set of her head down to the damp edge of her hem brought to mind his earlier sight of her. A slow heat built inside him. He thought about the kind of taking that would bring Faith to him with sweet laughter, dark and light shadows, and nothing held back. He licked his lips thoughtfully, almost as if he could taste the smooth, cool glide of silver drops from her skin. Absently Delaney rubbed his stone and remembered his own vow. He wasn’t going to find out. But his lengthy silence had her glance over her shoulder at him. He couldn’t meet the startling blue clarity of her eyes.
“I gave my word. It won’t be me who breaks it. If you’re having second thoughts, say so.”
Faith was tempted to say yes. She didn’t want him near her. What could she tell her father? He was upset knowing that Virgil Earp waited in Prescott for his two brothers and their wives to come from Kansas. They had to leave quickly, and that meant they went with Delaney.
“No second thoughts, Mr. Carmichael. There’s coffee and biscuits waiting when you come.”
“Faith, there’ll be no trips alone to any water hole. You’re a sight to tempt a saint, duchess, an’ there ain’t many of them where we’re headin’.” She turned, giving him a glimpse of her flushed cheeks. Delaney had no satisfaction. He stood alone, wishing he had never agreed to take them.
“We’ll head southwest following Walker’s Trail down the Peeples Valley,” an exhausted Delaney explained to Robert once supper was over. He hunkered back on his heels at the man’s side, drawing a crude map in the earth. “The first days will be rough going. From Date Creek,” he said, pointing with a stick as Keith leaned over his shoulder, “we swing south across the Hassayampa and the Agua Fría through low desert and mountains. We’ll stop in Wickenburg, then follow the Gilmer stage road to Phoenix. Again we’ll rest up a day there. Across the Salt River,” Delaney stated, making an X, then a long curving line, “down along the Santa Cruz to Tucson. This is the San Pedro, and your land, near as I can tell, lies across from Tombstone.” He tossed aside the stick, glancing at Robert, sure he still had questions.
“You figure it to be three, four hundred miles?”
“Never gave it no mind. If I was riding alone, I’d likely choose a different way. But this should be safe. Luck rides with us or not. We’ve got to figure delays for weather. And there’s always some talk of stirrings going on one of the reservations. Then there’s your leg. You may not be up to making five, maybe eight miles a day if the going is good. This here desert stretch will cost us time. We travel early, lay up a good part of the day, and then try to get in a mile or two before night falls.”
“Why’s that?” Keith settled himself on the ground closer to Delaney.
“The lay-up’s to protect the mules and us from the sun. Can’t be travelin’ much at night ’cause a wrong step down a rabbit hole and you lose a mule.”
“Your mare, too?”
“No. She’s the best little night rider a man could want.”
“With the extra water barrel and supplies you sent me into town for, we shouldn’t have to worry much.”
“I hope not, Keith.”
Robert used both his hands to shift the position of his broken leg. “What about the Apache, Delaney?”
“I told you I can’t give you a guarantee that we won’t run into them. But I’ll be scouting ahead most days, so I’ll be the first to cut their sign.”
“Ain’t you scared of them?”
Before Delaney could answer Keith, Robert leaned forward. “Ain’t a need for any of us to be scared. We got four new Springfield Trap Doors, boy.”
“There’ll be no killing, Becket.”
Robert’s mouth gaped open to argue, but he couldn’t find the courage to say a word facing the chilling gaze Delaney directed at him.
Nodding his head, he settled himself back. “Fine. I’ll leave them damn savages to you.”
Delaney held back the defense that jumped to mind. He’d met men like Becket before this and would likely run into more. Nothing he said was going to change their views.
“Boy, better get yourself off to sleep. If Delaney is satisfied with the stock, supplies, and wagons, I am, too. Faith fixed up a right comfy spot in the wagon bed with feather ticks, and that’ll do me fine.”
Delaney knew she had. He had seen her do a woman’s work and more this day. Much as he tried to spare Keith to help her, he needed to know the measure of the boy and kept him close helping him.
Standing, Delaney set his hat brim forward. “We’re set. I’ll be back at first light to help get the mules in their traces.”
Faith glanced up at him from where she sat apart. It was the first time she had looked directly at him since this morning. She had expected him to bed down with them for the night. Was he going into town to see Edna Mae? The thought annoyed her. She had no right to question him. She had no right to what she was feeling. Faith set aside her mending away from the fire and stood up. She ignored the glaring warning in her father’s eyes when Delaney walked by and murmured good night.
“Mr. Carmichael, please, wait a moment.”
Delaney stopped at the back of the wagon and waited. Faith warned herself she had no right at all to this man. Then, why in heaven’s name was she following him, likely bringing down her father’s anger on her head? Away from the fire the night air held a chill that had her rubbing her arms. She closed out the sound of her father calling her back.
Standing in full view of Robert Becket and Keith, Delaney watched her graceful walk toward him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to thank you for being so kind to Joey and Pris. Joey especially. I know that Beula will slow us down, but Joey loves that cow, and he feels he’s doing something to help by caring for her.”
“No need to thank me. I like them both. Was Joey always blind?”
Faith closed her eyes. She should have been ready for this, but she wasn’t.
“If it pains you, forget I asked. It’s not important.”
When Faith looked at him, he was leaning against a tree, deeper into the woods away from the wagons. She glanced back, hesitating, but her father didn’t call her again, so she went to stand near Delaney, out of her father’s sight.
“Our cabin wasn’t finished, but we wanted to spend the night there. Martin and I didn’t know that Joey had fallen asleep in the wagon until we were home. It was late and a ways from my parents’ house. Martin carried him inside to the sofa in the parlor. Later, Joey … he saw my husband die.” Faith twisted her hands together, trying to still the images in her mind. She wasn’t really lying to Delaney. It was close to the truth. “When I finally got Joey to sleep, he seemed all right. But in the morning he couldn’t see. The doctor wasn’t sure what had caused it or if my brother will ever be able to see again.”
“I shouldn’t’ve asked.” The words were cold and stilted. Delaney didn’t know what else he could say. He knew what seeing a man killed could do to a child. Knew firsthand. Some carried visible scars, and others hid them. Delaney had both. He took his time building a smoke, lit it, and gazed skyward. Through the leafy branches the sky appeared clear, the moon just spreading its light to soften the night edges. But where they stood, it was deeply shadowed. He drew the smoke into his lungs and exhaled it slowly. He wasn’t sure what the duchess wanted by coming after him. He didn’t really care.
“Best I’d be gettin’ on.”
“What if Chelli comes back?”
“He won’t.”
“You sound sure.” Faith wished he would take a drag of his cigarette. She wanted to see his face, and the trees effectively blocked the moonlight.
“I could tell you I’ll make sure of it, or I could say I know he won’t. Either way, you won’t believe me.”
“I want to. I should have told you that I thought someone was moving around behind the wagons last night.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“By morning it didn’t matter. Then Chelli came.”
Delaney reacted slowly to the underlying fear in her voice. He pinched off the lit end of his smoke, crushed it beneath his boot and put the cigarette in his pocket.
“What are you hiding, duchess?”
“Nothing. I’m not hiding anything.”
Delaney let the lie pass. He lifted one leg to plant his boot against the trunk, cupped her chin, and urged her closer to the spread vee of his legs. “What makes you sure it wasn’t me?”
“I just … know.” This close she could smell him, the animal heat of his body, dark and potent. A strange, frightening excitement knotted her stomach and set her heart pounding. She couldn’t admit to having covertly watched him all day while he worked around their campsite, greasing the wagon wheels, redistributing household goods and the supplies in the wagons and oiling the leather traces. He was a quiet man, soft-spoken, easy moving. No motion was wasted, no noise was jarring, no matter what he had been doing. She started to shake her head in denial, but the rub of his callused fingertips against her skin stopped her.
“I was afraid, Delaney. I called out, and I know you would have answered me to set my mind at ease.”
“Maybe. Then again, maybe I want you to stay afraid of me.” He released her chin only to brush his thumb over her cheek. A fire began to smolder in his belly. He could feel the length of her legs barely touching his and wondered if they’d be strong enough to lock around him, no matter how wild the ride. “Go back where it’s safe for you, calico. I’ll scout around before I leave.”
“I’d feel safer if you stayed.” It was as close as she dared come to pleading. Faith wasn’t sure if he moved or she did, but the long hard shape of his thighs were now pressed against her. To keep her balance, she raised her hands to his chest and tried to keep some space between their bodies.
Delaney encircled her waist with his left hand. Her voice was hardly more than a whisper but firm with conviction. It bedeviled him that she seemed so sure of him. “Don’t ever count on being safe with me, duchess. I’m a man, same as any other. I’ll take what’s offered and never look back.”
Faith tried to pull away. His fingers bit into her waist holding her still. “I’m not offering you anything. And I don’t want anything from you.”
“Don’t you?” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, and she jerked her head back as if he burned her. He couldn’t stop himself from sliding his fingers into her hair to cup the back of her head, forcing her face up toward his. She was rigid against him, but he could feel her the length of his body, a feeling so strong and wrenching it flooded him with heat and made him grow hard.
“Tell me, calico, were you wondering all day what I saw this morning? How I felt? What I thought? Is that why I caught you sneaking looks at me six ways to Sunday when you thought I wasn’t watching? Is that why you followed me tonight?”
“No. No, it wasn’t like that at all.”
“Then what was it like? You can feel what you’re doing to me now, can’t you?” His voice dropped to a murmur. “You’ve got eyes that could slide inside a man’s guard and steal his soul if he’s not careful, calico.” He could feel the tremors that rode her body. Or were they his own? He didn’t know, didn’t care. With every word he had lowered his head until his mouth hovered over hers. He inhaled the scent of woodsmoke and a faint bit of something sweet from her hair along with the richer tease of a woman slowly becoming aroused.
“Duchess, I’ll warn you, I’m not your kind of man.”
Faith had been holding her breath, and it escaped in a rush. She could feel what she was doing to him. Just as she felt the power of his hands holding her. Her every tremble acted like a stroking caress from her body to his and back again. He was violent. Dangerous. She couldn’t forget. He even warned her. But the warning disappeared, and the words seemed to drum excitement into the heated flow of her blood.
Delaney burned. Her breathing was suddenly labored as if she had run a long way. Every rise and fall of her breasts pushed them against his chest. He was tempted … so damn tempted.
Temptation curled its lure around Faith, too. She wanted his kiss. Wanted to taste the reckless slant of his mouth on hers. The desire was so powerful that she was shaking from it. But not like this. Delaney was angry, for all that he spoke softly. She pushed against the unyielding strength of his shoulders, certain it was anger and not desire that kept him holding her.
“Let me go. You don’t really want me, Delaney. You’ve made your feelings plain enough.”
“I have, haven’t I?”
The fractional move he made against Faith stroked her in a long shuddering caress. His breath mingled with hers, and she parted her lips as if he had commanded it. The thud of his heartbeat matched her own. Slow. Heavy. Fierce. It had been so long since someone had held her. So long since Martin had died. Her lashes drifted down. She didn’t want to think, or reason. Her warnings to herself were forgotten. A warmth unfurled inside her, spread slowly to every nerve ending, and Faith heeded its call.
“Why not?” he whispered to himself. “Why the hell shouldn’t I?”
Delaney took her mouth.
It was more than taking. His lips seized and dominated her mouth to punish. His tongue thrust deep inside to overwhelm any resistance she could make.
Faith went stock still. He was ravishing her mouth without desire, almost scornfully sure of himself. But he incited hunger to taste the forbidden, and she couldn’t seem to fight him.
His kiss changed subtly, his grip no longer hard, for his splayed fingers stroked her back as if he would pull her inside himself. His hand entangled in her hair tilted her head toward his shoulder, his knee thrust itself between her legs, rocking gently as he crushed her body to his.
She had never felt such a wild, exploding assault on her senses. The low, hungry sound he made before his tongue swept her mouth again, hot and fierce as if he couldn’t get enough of her, made her cling to him, trembling helplessly. His teeth held her lower lip captive, and she moaned to feel the lightning streaks that rushed to storm her skin, even as he guided her hip against the blatant ridge of his aroused flesh.
Faith curled her fingers into his shoulders, arching closer to the incredible heat of his body, his groan eliciting one of her own. He was hard: the only giving softness she found was in his lips, which urged her into a fever. A hot, wild mouth that tasted of tobacco and him. He was so dangerous. She knew that, for the night seemed to belong to him like the desire he called from her, dark, forbidding, and unknown.
Her breasts swelled, heavy with wanting. The force of his kiss bent her neck back, and her hands slid into his hair, drawing his head down, his tongue thrusting deeper, increasing the intensity of feeling that surrounded her until it was frightening.
His breathing became harder, faster, and there was nothing but hunger. She didn’t know desire could burn this hot. She never knew she could want more of the shuddering press of their bodies, more of the kisses that devoured her mouth, more of the hard rocking thrust of his body, more of Delaney. She was empty, aching, and tormented by the need to be touched.
He could take her now. Delaney knew that. He wanted to. He wanted to know if she’d fit him so damn tight that he would be the one to go wild.
His prim, sodbuster duchess was soft and hot, coming to him with nothing held back. His lips ground hard against hers. He needed to drink her woman’s passion to ease the raw ache in his soul. He lifted her closer, pressing her tighter, and her shoulder dug the skystone against his chest. His gut twisted with burning need. Needing a woman had brought betrayal.
Abruptly Delaney shoved her away from him.
She stood swaying like a delicate blade of grass caught in a sudden windstorm. Her eyes opened slowly, and she reached up to touch her swollen lips. She could still taste him, feel him. Bewildered, Faith couldn’t speak, she could only stare at him.
“Stay away from me, duchess. You don’t know me. You don’t want to.”
Faith recoiled from the savagery in his voice that effectively squelched any protest, any question that she thought to make.
The dark shadows swallowed him as if he’d never been there.