Unleash the Night by Sherrilyn Kenyon Page A

That had been his name. Like the others, he was staring angrily at her. He didn’t say anything while he put away clean glasses.
    It seemed to take forever before Aimee came back to beckon her through the doorway. “Follow me.”
    Marguerite let out a relieved breath as the woman led her into the large commercial kitchen. There were five cooks buzzing around pots and ovens while two men washed dishes in a large sink. None of the workers paid any attention to either of them.
    At least not until they reached another door at the end of the long steel tables. A tall blond man was standing in front of it, and he appeared less than pleased that Aimee wanted to take Marguerite through it. He looked just like the man who had thrown them out of the bar last night, except he didn’t seem to remember her at all.
    â€œWhat are you doing, Aimee?” he asked in a growling tone.
    â€œMove, Remi.”
    â€œBullshit.”
    Aimee put her hands on her hips. “Move, Brother, or you’ll limp.”
    He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t scare me, swan. I could tear your head off and not flinch.”
    â€œAnd I could hurt you in a much more permanent way.” Her gaze dropped to his groin. “Now move it or lose it.”
    Curling his lip, he reluctantly complied.
    â€œIgnore the scowl,” Aimee said as she opened the door. “It’s his natural countenance. Believe it or not, it’s far more becoming than his smile. That just looks creepy.”
    Marguerite didn’t know what to think as Aimee led her into a posh old-fashioned parlor. The house was absolutely beautiful. Weirdly enough, it looked as if it were in some kind of time warp or something. There was nothing on this side that looked modern at all. Nothing.
    Her eyes fell to the door that held five Stanley dead bolts and an alarm system that would rival NASA’s.
    Okay, not entirely antique. But other than those telltale items, it was like walking onto an old-fashioned movie set.
    Aimee led Marguerite up an intricate hand-carved stairway to the second floor, which was lined with mahogany doors. The waitress didn’t pause until they were halfway down the corridor. She knocked on the door, then cracked it open.
    â€œYou decent?” she asked, keeping her body so that Marguerite couldn’t look into the room.
    There was no answer.
    â€œYeah, well, you have a visitor. So you need to be human for a while, okay?” After a brief hesitation, Aimee stood back and opened the door wider. “I’ll wait out here until the two of you are finished. Just call out if you need anything.” Then under her breath she added, “Like a priest, cop, or lion tamer.”
    Marguerite frowned. What an odd thing to say, but then, she was quickly learning that everyone here was a bit strange.
    She stepped past Aimee, into the room, and froze as she caught sight of Wren lying on a large sleigh bed under a black comforter that matched the black curtains covering the windows. His skin was ghostly pale. The flowers she’d sent earlier were lined up on his dresser and before it, but other than that, there was absolutely nothing personal in the room to mark it as his. It looked as if he were nothing more than a visitor just staying a night or two.
    Her heart hammered as she went to him. His breathing was labored and a large Ace bandage was wrapped around his shoulder and upper chest. With the black comforter draped over his lower half, he was bare from the waist up, showing her a remarkably toned chest and arms. The man was incredibly well built, with a full six-pack of abs. The only hair on his chest was a small trail of dark blond hair that ran from his navel down to disappear under the covers.
    But what held her attention most was the amount of obvious pain he was in.
    Marguerite knelt beside the bed as guilt tore through her. This was all her fault. All of it.…
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me about