Marked by Darkness

Walking down into the bowels of the castle, along dark corridors lit only sparsely by the occasional flickering torch, made her feel increasingly nervous. The only thing keeping her going on her journey into the unwelcoming clamminess of the dungeons was the prospect of a warm fire and sinking into the arms of the alluring dark Slytherin she hoped to find there. A sliver of light penetrating from the gap under the door to Snape's office alerted her to his presence there. Her heart was beating fast, both with apprehension and excitement, as she stood in front of the forbidding heavy oak door. It took all the courage she could muster to raise her hand and knock clearly. The sound of her knuckles banging against the wood echoed eerily through the cavernous corridor, but for an excruciatingly long moment there was no response.

Suddenly, the door flew open and Snape stood towering in front of her. She could hardly make out the expression on his face against the meagre glow of light emanating from the room behind him, but she could almost feel the piercing gaze from his unfathomable eyes.

"What do you want?" he demanded, his voice as cold as the dungeon air.

"I – I wanted to see you," she stammered.

There was a long moment of silence, in which he seemed to be trying to figure out what to make of her reply. His face remained stony, but she felt as if there was a trace of that longing in his eyes again. As he made no move to invite her in, she seized the opportunity to just walk past him into the dimly lit room. He did not protest, quietly shutting the door, watching her as she took in the surroundings.

So this was his office. The walls were lined with bookshelves upon bookshelves, giving the small room a crowded appearance. There was only a single small window, high up the bare walls, and underneath it stood Snape's desk. Unlike hers, it was free from any clutter, with nothing more than an ink jar, a quill, and a neat stack of parchments upon it. Her curiosity was roused by a cauldron that stood on a work bench in the corner, surrounded by jars and bottles of potions ingredients, drawing her closer.

"What are you working on?" she asked, well aware that it was seldom a good idea to pester the Potions master with unsolicited questions.

By now he had caught up with her, as if worried that she might touch or break anything.

"An experiment," he replied, surprising her with the lack of impatience or exasperation in his voice. So perhaps it was O.K. to keep probing?

"An experiment on what?"

"An antidote for Polyjuice Potion."

"Doesn't the effect of Polyjuice Potion wear off quite quickly anyway? What use would anybody have for such an antidote? Would you feed it to your students to prevent cheating in OWL exams, Severus?"

"That application had not occurred to me, but it's an excellent suggestion."

She laughed. "Even you would not go that far!"

"You underestimate me. I have a certain reputation to uphold."

A slight twitch around his mouth told her he was joking. It was nice to see that Snape was capable of humour in a way not meant to hurt or belittle.

"But surely you did not come here to ask me about my little project?"

"No. I came here to give you the opportunity to make up for last night."

She held her breath, watching him intently, wondering how he would take the open invitation she had just extended. Her directness seemed to have bewildered him and left him somewhat lost for words. She noted that he was dressed unusually casual, wearing only his black trousers and a white linen shirt. His hair appeared silky and soft, unlike the unkempt curtains that often framed his face. She concluded that, while her visit may have been unexpected, it had certainly been hoped for. Finally, he must have decided that a verbal response was not required, and instead stepped closer to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, drawing her towards him. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, and slightly parted her lips in anticipation of his kiss. Then his mouth was upon hers, warm and soft, gentle and restrained. He seemed a lot more confident this time, here on his own territory, and she was only too happy to let him take control. She could feel his heart beating against his chest, hard, but unhurried.

It was a magical moment. His black eyes beheld her, their gaze unblinking and penetrating as always, but in the soft flicker of the fire, they appeared softer, more akin to black velvet than unyielding obsidian. His sharp features equally seemed to benefit from the low light. There was something attractive about them, although it was not beauty. Perhaps this creature of the dungeons was best appreciated in his natural surroundings, rather than in the harsh light of day. Or maybe it was that he was growing on her, the way dark chocolate did, bitter and almost unpalatable at first, but with repeated exposure, increasingly complex and satisfying, revealing a hidden sweetness. Yes, this man was an acquired taste, like a good Scottish whisky.

"Perhaps we should move somewhere more comfortable."

His voice, too, was deep, smoky, and mellow, like a well-aged highland malt, and caused a similar warmth to spread through her. She had no objections, letting him guide her towards a door she had not previously noticed, revealing the sanctuary of his bedroom. With a wave of his wand, flames sprang to life in the fireplace, filling the room with enough light for her to admire the place fully.

Apparently, Hogwarts did well for its Heads of Houses. His room was considerably more opulent than hers, furnished entirely in intricately carved dark wood and rich green fabrics. The centrepiece was a mighty four-poster bed, surrounded by a luxurious dark green carpet runner, whose ornamental pattern on closer inspection turned out to be made up of intertwining snakes. The only signs that the room was occupied were his black coat and robes hung carefully over the back of an armchair in the corner, and a worn leather-bound book on the bedside table.

Charity sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to decipher the faded silver lettering along the book's spine. 'L'Art de Varier les Plaisirs de l'Amour.' She barely managed to suppress an astounded gasp. She wasn't sure what would surprise her more – the thought that Snape's own collection of literature included such works, or for him to have picked it up from the Restricted Section of the library. Then the Slytherin seemed to have become aware of the subject of her preoccupation, and the book vanished from sight with a movement of his hand.

She smiled inwardly. So Snape had read up on the subject... Well, he was more than welcome to practise his newly gained knowledge on her. She kicked off her shoes and slid back into the centre of the emerald sheets, reclining, looking at him expectantly. His intense eyes remained fixed on her, their black depths never revealing the mystery of what went on behind them, as he moved on top of her to kiss her passionately. She sighed deeply, relishing the sensation of having a man between her legs, the feel of his weight on her, substantial but not crushing. Then his lips moved on to her neck, making her squirm with pleasure. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, feeling the lean firmness of muscle and bone underneath the fabric of his shirt, wishing away those layers of garments separating them, yearning to feel him deep inside her. Then he freed himself from her embrace and sat back on his heels.

"What are you going to do with me, Severus?" she asked, looking at him flirtatiously, stretching in a way that gave him the best view of her curves.

"You shall find out soon enough," he replied in his deep, seductive voice as he pulled off her skirt and underwear and moved down between her legs. "But you shan't be disappointed."

And disappointed she was not. As his tongue, soon joined by a long, slim finger, transported her to a place of pure bliss, she couldn't help but thank the old French masters of erotic literature.

As the fire was beginning to burn down, the fierce flicker and crackle was replaced by a peaceful warm glow. Charity let out a deep contented breath, enjoying the pleasant tiredness weighing down her limbs. She couldn't recall ever having felt so completely satisfied. Severus really had made it up to her, first bringing her to climax with his mouth and hand, before making love to her hard until she came again.

She looked up at the dark green velvet canopy over the bed, admiring the silver embroidered crest of Slytherin in the centre. She'd never have imagined that one day she would find herself in bed with someone from that House. Representatives of the House of Salazar were said to be as opportunistic as Hufflepuffs were loyal, as cunning as Hufflepuffs were honest, and as ambitious as Hufflepuffs were easy-going, and any romantic association between these two Houses was believed to spell disaster.

And yet she felt strangely at ease in the arms of this particular Slytherin. She turned around to face him and snuggled up to his chest, burying her face against the crook of his arm, inhaling his intoxicating scent. She trusted him. Maybe it was because of the way he looked at her, as if she were the most amazing thing he'd ever seen, or because of how he touched her, with a sort of shy admiration that bordered on reverence. It gave her confidence that he would be as careful and gentle with her heart as he was with her body. And there was every chance that she would lose her heart to him.

It was astounding how her perception of him had changed in such a short space of time. Yesterday, he had still been the ill-tempered, uncongenial colleague, an asexual being except maybe for a certain element of dark allure. While she had enjoyed the thrill of going to the ball with him, she would never have considered him a prospective lover. Now, however, she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life getting to know this fascinating man, to listen to the seductive timbre of his voice and lose herself in the intense black depths of his eyes.

She sat up and looked at him. He was still wearing his shirt. He had allowed her to unbutton it to expose his chest and abdomen, but she had respected the unspoken boundary to not take it off. But now she really wanted to overcome that last barrier preventing her from getting as close to him as possible; she wanted to not only feel, but see those sinewy arms and the broad expanse of his shoulders. What was it that he felt so reluctant to reveal, a disfiguring scar, an ugly skin mark perhaps? She reached out, gently stroking along his collarbone in an attempt to brush the fabric over his shoulder, but he recoiled, a look of alarm on his face as he inched away from her towards the edge of the bed. She sighed inwardly. Obviously, this was a very touchy issue; she would have to be patient and considerate.

"Please, Severus, I want to see you. Don't deny me..."

As she approached him once more, she could see the warring emotions inside him from the uncertain expression on his face. She kissed his forehead and his nose with all the tenderness she felt for him.

"You're the most attractive and desirable man I know," she whispered softly. "And nothing underneath your shirt could ever change that. Trust me..."

Again, she reached out to undress him, and this time he did not move away when she brushed the garment off his shoulders, ever so slowly, like one might approach a flighty animal, kissing the perfect pale skin as she revealed it. His muscles felt tense, but he did not flinch as she started to unbutton his cuffs. She pulled the fabric lower down his arms, and he hesitantly withdrew his right arm from its sleeve, the look in his eyes a desperate plea. Tugging on the cuff of the other sleeve, she pulled the shirt free and tossed it aside, but when she looked back at his left forearm she froze.

He had the Dark Mark. For a moment, her breathing stopped, before her heart went into overdrive. The world came crashing down around her as she stared at the black skull burned into his skin in a complete state of shock. There was only one possible explanation – he was a Death Eater, an evil, cruel, murderous brute. It was like being in a bad dream, but there was no awakening. Fear and revulsion took hold of her mind as it circled around that fact, unwilling to believe, but only too aware of what it implied.

Suddenly, she was a little girl again, skipping back from the ice-cream vendor's carriage towards her family's tent. Only 20 minutes until the start of the game... She had to hurry back to her dad so that they could make it to their seats in time to watch England play against Germany in the quarter final. She felt giddy with excitement. It was the first time she had been to the World Cup. Mum had been dead against it, worried that it was too dangerous in the current political climate, but Dad had finally conceded. He had agreed, though, that it was better for Mum to stay back at home, fearing that she might encounter a fair bit of hostility in the wizard community.

Charity was in love with Quidditch. Well, not just Quidditch, but a little bit also with James Potter, the handsome Seeker on the England team, who smiled down at her from the poster hanging over her bed with a self-assured grin and a cheeky sparkle in his eyes. She couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts after the summer. As a third year, she would be allowed to trial for the Hufflepuff team. One day she would be like Imelda Staggering, the England Chaser. Never mind that her flying technique left much to be desired – she would practice... and Dad had promised to help her.

Suddenly, a high-pitched roar ripped through the air, stopping her dead in her tracks. Everyone around her was staring at the sky, pointing their fingers at a black cloud wavering above in a shape that resembled a skull with a snake coming out of its jaws. There were hysterical cries and terrified screams. Then panic broke out amongst the crowd as people started to run in all directions like headless chickens. She could see a group of black-cloaked figures with hoods and gleaming silver masks march towards the camping area. They carried blazing torches, setting fire to everything in their path. People came scrambling out of burning tents, screaming, some only partly dressed, some clutching babies and children, running as fast as they could. Charity started to run, too. Her heart was beating fast in her chest with fear as she hurtled along as fast as her legs would carry her. Then someone moved past her, pushing her aside, and she fell. She ducked, shielding her head with her arms as the crowd scrambled and jumped over and around her. It was impossible to get back to her feet without being knocked over again. She received a painful kick to her side by a hurried foot and winced, afraid that she would get trampled to death.

"Daddy! Daddy!" she whimpered, close to tears, but nobody took notice of her; everybody was too preoccupied with saving their own skins.

Finally the stampede passed. When she wiped the dust off her face to open her eyes, about to scramble back to her feet, she caught sight of a hooded figure standing right in front of her. The empty eyes of its mask stared at her from within its grotesque face, while its wand pointed straight at her. For a moment, Charity was paralysed with fear. She desperately wished herself back inside the crowd, but they had all but gone. She was alone with the Death Eater, who now took a step towards her and crouched down, examining her closely.

"See, see, what do we have here? A little Mudblood, hehehe..." A lewd male voice sneered. He pointed his wand at the ballpoint pen sticking out from the breast pocket of her blouse, making Charity realize with a pang of fear what had given her away.

"I'm a half-blood!" she replied, trying to make her voice sound firm.

"Ye're only half filth then – eh?" the man jeered with a dirty laugh. "Maybe if you're mated with a nice pureblood, you'll be almost fit for society, hahaha..."

His black-gloved hand reached out and groped the small mound of her breast that had started to bud on her chest during the last year, laughing lecherously when she shied away, terrified.

"Ye're old enough... hahaha!" he said, leering.

Then there were hurried footsteps coming towards them, and when she turned around, she almost burst into tears with relief.

"Dad!" she cried as her father approached, glaring furiously at the Death Eater, his wand drawn.

"Take your hands off my daughter, you piece of scum!" he shouted.

The Death Eater didn't waste a second before he attacked.

"Expelliarmus!"

Her father's wand flew through the air and landed somewhere between the flaming tents. A look of shock briefly registered on his face, but he didn't flinch, throwing himself between his daughter and the attacker.

"Run, Charity, run!" he whispered in a tone that betrayed his fear. He pulled her up from the ground and shoved her in the direction of a group of tents. Charity didn't want to leave him, but the urgency in his voice told her to obey. She ran away a short distance and took refuge behind a tent. She didn't carry her wand. She had no reason to, as she was not allowed to do magic outside school. If only she could find her father's. It had landed somewhere around there...

"You better watch yer mouth. We don' look kindly on yer sort with yer Muggle-lovin' ways," the Death Eater snarled. "Crucio!"

There was an earth-shattering scream. Her father collapsed to the ground, his face contorted in agony, convulsing in the dust. Charity cried out in desperation, tears flowing from her eyes. She hid her face in her hands, unable to watch, praying for it to stop, while her heart was torn apart by the sound her father was making, screaming with pain in a way that didn't sound human.

"That'll teach you respect, blood-traitor!" the cruel voice growled.

Then she became aware of another man in the vicinity, scanning the surroundings for the source of the cries. He was an Auror, wearing the robes of Magical Law Enforcement officials and a gleaming gold badge.

She jumped up from her hiding place, waving her arms in the air, and cried, "Here! Help!"

The Auror turned towards her and managed to assess the situation in a heartbeat, raising his wand.

"Stupefy!"

But as soon as the Death Eater had caught sight of the wand aimed at him, he had spun around, Disapparating in a whirl of black smoke, while the red flash of the Stunning Spell crepitated in the air.

Charity rushed over to her father, who was lying on the ground, panting. She clung on to him, crying hysterically, afraid that he might die or never be the same again. Meanwhile, the Auror had secured the surroundings and walked over. He kneeled down beside them, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Your father will be all right," he said softly.

She looked up at him through the veil of tears clouding her eyes. He was a young man, barely in his twenties, with curly dark hair and smiling brown eyes.

"Frank Longbottom, Auror," he introduced himself. "Are you hurt? Did he do anything to you?" he asked earnestly.

She shook her head, sobbing violently, "My dad, he hurt my dad..."

"Your dad is a brave man. He will be fine. It's too bad that scum got away, though."

Then the Auror helped her father get up. He managed to stand with shaky legs and a faint groan, but insisted he was fine. Charity hugged him fiercely, and he pressed her against his chest, sobbing helplessly.

"Charity!"

Dumbledore's voice was firm and commanding and brought her back to her senses. Only then did she realize that she had been running, in a manner hardly appropriate for a teacher, a role model and figure of authority. Remembering where she had just been, she blushed, but noted with immense relief that she had somehow managed to get dressed. At least she was wearing her skirt and jumper, though one stocking was missing, and her jumper was inside-out, a fact that would hardly escape the old wizard's keen perception. His sky-blue eyes looked down at her with deep concern, as always seeing so much more than other people would.

"You and I need to talk," he said gravely. "Accompany me to my office."

Charity could do nothing but obey and follow him. As they walked along in silence, her mind went into overdrive, as if it had to make up for the black-out it had suffered earlier. For a moment, she wondered what the school rules stated with regard to the sort of intimate involvement amongst staff that she had shared with the Potions master, and whether it was sufficient grounds for dismissal. She was in no doubt that she was about to be reprimanded. But regardless of whether she would still have a job after the impending conversation with the Headmaster, her overriding concern was something else entirely.

Snape was a Death Eater! There was a Death Eater hiding at the school, and Dumbledore had no idea... It explained a great deal, including the strange occurrences earlier that term. Had Snape manipulated the Goblet of Fire? Had he tricked it into pronouncing Harry Potter a Champion so that he could harm him, kill him even, in an inconspicuous way? She had to warn Dumbledore, and the issue of how she had come by this information was secondary. If she was going to be sacked, so be it. The safety of the students was all she cared about.

Once inside the circular room of the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore motioned her to sit down in the visitor's chair opposite his desk. He lowered himself into his high-backed chair, facing her with a heavy sigh and a weariness that suddenly showed his true age. His eyes surveyed her from behind their half-moon spectacles without a trace of their customary twinkle. Charity wondered how to tell him, but decided it was best to wait and let him deliver whatever disciplinary action was waiting for her.

"Severus Snape is no Death Eater," he finally said, leaving her dumbstruck by just how perceptive he was. How did he know?

"But – he has the Dark Mark! I saw it with my own eyes!" she protested.

"Yes, he has the Dark Mark," Dumbledore replied calmly, while his blue eyes fixed her sternly. "But Severus is no more a Death Eater than you or I."

"But – I don't understand... He has the Dark Mark!"

The old man slowly rose from his chair, and walked over to the leaded window overlooking the grounds. He stroked his long white beard pensively as he stared into the dark night with his back turned to her.

"Imagine a young man," he started, his eyes still fixed into the blackness beyond the window pane, "a boy of less than favourable upbringing, full of passion and anger... Imagine a young man, who is not only talented, but single-minded, and regrettably, somewhat arrogant and over-ambitious... Imagine this arrogance and ambition turn him towards the Dark side and lead him to make a grave mistake..."

Dumbledore paused, supporting himself against the window sill as if the weight of a million years rested on his shoulders. The tension in the room was almost palpable. Charity hardly dared breathe. How could he suggest that joining the Death Eaters was a mere mistake?

The old man turned to look at her, slowly walking back towards the desk. As he lowered himself into his chair once more, leaning forward and folding his hands on top of the table, his eyes bored into hers with a piercing look that rivalled Snape's.

"Then imagine this young man, through his own misguided actions, brings about a tragedy so agonisingly painful to him that he cannot bear to go on living. Imagine that he comes to regret his actions so utterly and bitterly that he fears not torture, nor death, finally turning his back on his Dark master at great personal risk..."

Dumbledore's clear blue eyes were holding her gaze in a way that made it impossible to avert her eyes. She stared at him transfixed, no doubt with a big question mark on her face. She remembered the deep sadness in Snape's eyes, sensing that there was a connection to the tragedy Dumbledore had mentioned, trying to imagine what horrors the past held for the enigmatic Slytherin.

"What... what happened? I mean... the tragedy?" she asked hoarsely.

"That – I cannot tell you. Severus would not want me to divulge his secret. But rest assured that I... know everything." Dumbledore's eyes were looking at her unblinkingly. "And I trust Severus. Completely."

Those were strong words, especially coming from Dumbledore. The finality in the way he had said them told her that he would not discuss this matter any further or give her any more information. She would have to take his word for it. The wise old wizard trusted Snape and expected her to do the same. So how could she not? If only she knew his reasons though. It would make it so much easier. The image of the ugly black mark on Snape's pale skin was still vividly fresh in her mind. Severus Snape is no more a Death Eater than you or I... Dumbledore had complete faith in the Potions master, and nobody could fool Albus Dumbledore, something that had just been demonstrated to her most convincingly. It was a relief, of course. Harry and the students were not in danger, at least not from Snape. And her feelings for him... Well, they should just be the same, shouldn't they? There was no reason they should change. And Dumbledore didn't seem to mind... At least he hadn't said anything, even though he knew, for sure...

"I don't need to stress that what I have just told you stays between you and me," the Headmaster said, interrupting her thoughts, looking at her expectantly.

"Of course not," she managed to whisper, her voice still hoarse.

"Then we understand each other." Suddenly the twinkle was back in the blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. "You should try one of these. Honeydukes' Cinnamon Stars – Christmas special – my favourites," the old wizard said cheerfully, offering her a bowl of the sugar-glazed confectionary. "They are nicely warming, should you be heading back to the dungeons..."

Charity obediently took a sweet and put it into her mouth before thanking the Headmaster and leaving his office. The sweetness on her tongue was in stark contrast to the bitter dryness at the back of her mouth as the realisation sank in. Severus... What had she done? You're the most attractive and desirable man I know, and nothing underneath your shirt could ever change that. Trust me. These had been her words. And he had trusted her, maybe trusted her more than he ever trusted had anybody else. And she... she had screamed and run away in disgust... Oh, gods, oh, gods, oh, gods... She had hurt him.

Her heart started to race, and cold sweat formed on her skin as guilt and dread knotted around her stomach. What could she do now? She had to talk to him straight away. She had to try and fix this somehow. Oh, gods... Her knees felt week and shaky. What a dreadful person she was. What could she possibly say to undo this damage? The poor man had been through unimaginable heartbreak. Then for the first time after years he had found the courage to open up to another person, and that person had rejected him, wounded him... Oh, gods... She had to make this right somehow.

The cheerfulness left Albus' expression as soon as the door had closed behind the young Muggle Studies professor. He felt tired. With a heavy sigh, he took off his glasses and placed them aside on his desk. Resting his head in his hands, he ogled the Cinnamon Stars longingly. Perhaps he would allow himself just one more... He really needed it, after all this. This latest development should really have added to the Christmas cheer. Who would have thought? Severus out of all people! He should be happy for him. If anybody's life needed a sprinkle of romance, it was the bitter Potions master's. The warm-hearted young woman would do him good.

He sighed again, rubbing his eyes. Then why did it feel like another concern had just been piled on top of all the worries that had rested on his shoulders ever since this wretched tournament had started? Something was in the air... Something was very, very wrong, but he just could not put his finger on it. Sometimes he felt as if he had an inkling, but the more he concentrated on it, the more he tried to explore it, the more it slipped away. It was maddening. And it scared him. The recent events could only mean one thing: Lord Voldemort was gaining power again. He had always known that the moment would come, but now that it seemed to be drawing closer, he felt utterly unprepared. So many questions remained unanswered. And Harry was still so young, too young.

He needed Severus. He hated what he would have to ask of him, but there was no other way. This was a task only he could do. But could he really rely on him? Would the young Slytherin be ready to risk his life for a cause that was not his own? Yes, he had made a promise, but years had passed since then. Was his commitment to Lily still strong enough, or might the lure of the Dark side win him over once more? And would he be able to fool the best Legilimens of the age? Over the years, Severus had mastered Occlumency like no other. He could only hope that it would be enough.

Albus had not failed to notice how tense Severus had been lately. He, too, knew the time was approaching of course. He would be able to see it come closer every day by the colour of the Dark Mark on his skin. Sometimes it seemed as if Severus didn't quite trust his own steadfastness. Albus wondered whether the fear the Potions master was hiding so carefully behind his mask of cold aloofness was fear of his Dark master, or fear of the darkness within himself. Would he be strong enough to face his own demons?

Only time would tell. Until then, there was only hope. Yes, he needed Severus. And Merlin knew the responsibility he would have to place on his shoulders was more than any man should carry. He wouldn't be able to afford any distractions, especially not those with warm brown eyes and a curvy figure...

Charity was once more standing in the poorly lit corridor outside the Potions master's office. She shivered, unsure whether the chill she felt was due to the clammy cold down in the dungeons, or her embarrassment about the manner in which she had left this place what could only be twenty minutes ago, but in reality seemed like another lifetime. Once more she raised her hand and knocked.

"Severus, I'm sorry, I got scared for a moment. Please let's talk."

There was nothing but stony silence on the other side of the door, but the small ray of light shining through the keyhole told her that he was still there.

"Severus, please... Open the door. I'm sorry."

Nothing but silence, a long, long silence, interspersed only by the sound of water dripping onto cold stone floors somewhere in the dank darkness of the dungeons.

"Severus, please..." She made another attempt. "Dumbledore told me everything."

Finally, the sound of footsteps, followed by a tortured creaking of the hinges, before the door opened a small amount to reveal Snape's dark form obscuring the faint light from the room behind. His face was stony, his eyes cold and hard.

"So you think you know everything? But what about the things he didn't tell you... "

His voice, dark and silky, was heavy with insinuation. Charity knew that she had only heard part of the story, but it didn't help to be reminded in this way.

"He told me that he trusts you," she replied firmly. "And so do I," she added with more conviction than she actually felt.

"Do you?" he sneered. "Why do you think it makes any difference?"

There was something in his eyes that reminded her of a wounded animal. She swallowed, searching for something more she could say, but not finding the right words.

"You don't know what I've done," he continued, his tone lowering even further, until there was a dangerous quality to it. "You have no idea what I'm capable of." His black eyes glared at her menacingly. "I am not a good person. Stay away from me."

She stared back at him, her mind drawing a blank. She knew she had blown it. Her reaction had hurt something deep inside him, making him slam shut like an oyster. She also noted with sadness that the spell seemed to have been broken. The magic that had existed between them for a short time was gone, and she could no longer look at him without seeing a hood and a mask.

Seeing that he had effectively silenced her, a triumphant glitter went through his eyes, and he closed the door in her face with a thud.

That night, alone in her bed, Charity cried for the gentle and sensitive man with the softly smouldering eyes and the witty sense of humour, and who now seemed forever lost to her.