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My pulse thundered. I clenched my jaw. My fingers turned to stone as I pushed the door aside and stepped through. A shiver tore through me the moment I closed the door behind me. Jesus. It was cold in here.

I didn’t go to her.

I poured scotch instead.

A heavy one.

The bottle clinked softly against the rim of the glass, the sound too sharp in the quiet room. The burn never reached the place that hurt.

A fire.

I carried the glass to the hearth and knelt.

Kindling.

Wood.

Fire.

I struck the match.

Please.

The word hit first.

Not Nyssa.

Saint-Clair.

Alaric’s FOR GODS SAKE!

Light exploded at the edge of my vision.

Orange.

Gold.

Fire.

For a second I saw it.

The rain.

The mud.

Malcom Saint-Clair on his knees.

Then it was gone.

Darkness rushed back in.

I turned my focus toward the bedroom door. Toward the hallway that led to Nyssa.

Memory.

Sight.

Obsession.