“Pray, forgive the lateness of the hour.” The voice carried the refinement of centuries past. “I find myself quite lost in this tempest.”
She clutched her shawl. His pallor, shadows clinging to his form, produced an alarming aspect, for all his elegance.
“Perhaps you might direct me to the inn?”
“I fear it closed an hour since, sir.”
“Ah.” His smile revealed teeth like winter moonlight. “Then I am indeed in most desperate straits.” He stepped back into the storm. “But I would not presume to impose upon your hospitality. Good evening, madam.”
The wind shrieked, driving rain against his retreating form.
“Sir, wait!” cried she. “I would not that you perish on such a night. I implore you—come inside at once!”
“Madam, you are too kind.” His eyes blazed with ancient hunger. “I am most grateful for your… invitation.”
The threshold yielded to his step and instantly he stood within.
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