Broken Wing by Judith James

liquor cabinet, heedless of the crystal crunching under his bare feet, he crossed the room and picked up a shard, examining it, holding it to the light, admiring its shape and the feel of it between his fingertips.
    He sat cross-legged in front of the fire, grimacing only slightly, a half smile on his face as he pressed the razor-thin glass against his wrist until the blood welled ruby red. Carefully he drew a line, and then stopped for a swallow of whiskey, another line, another swallow, continuing until something eased inside him, allowing the whiskey and brandy to do their job, allowing him, finally, to escape into nightmares and a troubled sleep.
    Cold rough hands stroked him awake. “Réveille toi mon ange.” An icy, amused whisper. He was running, running as fast as he could, down twisting corridors. Ancient doors yawned open as he hurtled past, hissing voices calling
him, arms reaching out to grab him, voices grunting with twisted passion and sick promise as he searched frantically for the door that would let him out, but he couldn’t find it. There was no escape from the terrible, hungry thing closing in on him. He saw her up ahead, drawing away, preparing to leave. He shouted and she turned to look, her eyes cold, condemning, and he knew he was damned. A frigid vice closed around his ankle, dragging him screaming and kicking, down, down, down
…

C HAPTER
6
    Gabriel rose late the next morning, bleary and sick, grateful someone had come and cleared away all traces of last night’s excess. He was almost relieved when, late in the afternoon, a servant came to tell him his presence was required in Lord Huntington’s study. He’d known she would tell her brother. He’d assaulted her, held her by the throat in her own home just steps away from her family. He’d been waiting for it all day. He was about to be exiled from a home where he’d never belonged in the first place.
    Unaccustomedly nervous, fighting to armor himself for what was to come, he took several deep breaths before knocking and entering the study. The room was hung with seascapes, maps, and charts. There were several models of ships of various types on display, as well as a magnificent globe. Ross stood behind his desk, framed by the window and the late afternoon sun. He held a whip in one hand. Gabriel swallowedand concentrated on breathing. He didn’t know if he could accept it. Not from this man, not from any man ever again, but he knew he deserved it. He was seized for a moment by a wild hope. Perhaps the punishment would suffice. Perhaps he would not be sent away. Wordlessly he removed his coat.
    Ross was stunned, speechless. Surely to God the fellow didn’t think he had called him here for … to … Good God! What kind of depraved creature had he let into his home? He clutched the whip convulsively in his hand, and it was only then he understood. The lad had seen the whip and thought he’d been called for punishment. Relieved and horribly embarrassed, he quickly tossed it onto the desk and spoke in his sternest voice, “Your pardon, young man. I have business to discuss with you, and though I am aware that everyone in this household takes a slapdash attitude toward dress and deportment, I feel it is reasonable of me to expect a degree of formality in what
is
in effect, my place of business. Kindly put your coat back on and take a seat. When we are done, you may gambol about the halls, dressed as you please.”
    Seating himself, he added sourly, “Frankly, Gabriel, I had not expected
you
to be learning bad habits from my sister.” He was aware he sounded like a pompous ass, but really, it was the best he could manage under the circumstances. He wondered fleetingly what misdeed the fellow had committed that he imagined warranted a whipping, but chose not to pursue it.
    Gabriel, whose face had been white and drawn,now flushed a bright pink as he sank slowly into a chair.
She hadn’t told him. She hadn’t said a thing!
    Having rescued