Chapter 1
A tavern in Schiltach, Bavaria, 1820
Leo Devlin stared out of his bedchamber window at the dimly lit street below. The first faint ripples appeared in the puddles, spots of rain that would soon make the muddy thoroughfare impassable.
Peering out over the canopy of fir trees lining the hills before him, he could see the outline of the castle’s conical spire thrusting up towards the heavens. He sneered at the irony of it all. Did the Lord know Satan carried out evil atrocities just a short distance from his door?
With the thick black clouds heralding a heavy downpour, the streets were deserted, abandoned. All the wooden shutters on the windows had been closed in anticipation of the storm. His was the only face pressed to the glass, the only one desperate enough not to fear the weather.
The stillness of the night surrounded him, penetrated his clothes to seep into his bones. But his heart had been empty for weeks. Even the fair-haired woman warming his bed had failed to bring the relief he desired.
And he knew who to blame.
Leo glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping maid. It wasn’t the first time he had joined with her. But she had been the last woman he’d taken as a mortal man and consequently he had a burning desire to compare the two experiences. Most amorous encounters were barely memorable, but the memory of the night he’d been turned was seared into his brain — up until the moment the devil woman had spoken her mystical words and sent him tumbling into a deep sleep.
The screech of an owl drew his attention back to scanning the desolate road.
Two nights he had waited for her to come to the tavern. He had laid his trap. Like the night she’d sunk her sharp fangs into his neck, he frolicked with buxom wenches, was openly crude, walked the lonely streets with his usual arrogant swagger.
Nothing.
No sign of his quarry.
He contemplated strolling up to the castle and rapping on the door, act the wandering stranger seeking sanctuary after being caught in the unexpected storm. Would her servants notice the sword strapped to his back? Would they question him, be quick enough to stop him exacting his revenge?
With some reluctance, Leo pushed away from the window. A warrior was only as good as the weapon he wielded. He walked over to the crude wooden bed, stretched his arm out under its base, tapping the dusty boards until his hand settled on the cold metal handle. A frisson of excitement coursed through him as he pulled it out from its hiding place.
The weary maid did not stir.
The slicing sound penetrated the silence as he drew the sword from its scabbard. He held it up to parry with an invisible opponent, twisting his hand to examine the way the blade cut through the air with ease. The candle flame flickered on the reflective surface. The beauty of the polished steel forced him to catch his breath. Leo had fought many men. He’d sliced through linen, scratched skin, but had never cut deep into flesh. Calvino tutored in the art of swordsmanship as a sport, not with the intention of using it as a lethal weapon.
It seemed a shame to sully the metal, to spoil it with her tainted blood.
But he would make the devil woman pay for what she had done. He would do whatever it took to prevent her from building an army of night-walking monsters.
The distant rumbling outside forced him to move back to the window. The thunder sounded more like a growling snarl as the first crack of lightning flashed behind the castle’s spire.
Had the Bavarian temptress felt his presence? Did she know of his plan; could she feel the depth of his disdain?
Leo tried to listen for threads of her thoughts, but with his mind plagued by feelings of bitterness and resentment he could barely hear his own internal voice.
A flicker in the corner of his eye caught his attention. This time, the rumbling came from the wheels of a carriage. His heart lurched at the familiar sight. He would know the blood-red conveyance and the black team of four, anywhere. It haunted him during his waking hours. If he were able to sleep, he knew it would appear in his nightmares too.
The woman lying sprawled across his bed yawned. “What time is it?”
“Shush.” He strode over to her, stroked her cheek, altered his tone as he repeated, “Go back to sleep. Sleep now.” He could not risk the maid seeing the sword. She would be quick to regale the tale of the murderous warrior, and he did not want anyone to know of his private business.
“But I’m not tired.”
“Shush. You will sleep now. You will sleep until I wake you.”
By the time he returned to the window, the carriage had gone. He punched the air in frustration, only stopping when he noticed the grey shadow of a figure hurrying along the street below. Shrouded in a cloak, the person gripped their hood as they battled against the wind.
The pounding in his chest vibrated in his ears, a gasp catching in his throat as a strand of golden hair whipped around the dark material.
She had come for him.
She had read his thoughts; she knew what he had come to do. The need to maintain her dominance and control was important enough to force her to flee her evil domain and brave the harsh elements.
As he watched her approach the tavern, Leo swallowed down the hard lump in his throat. His hands were shaking; his racing heart caused him to feel dizzy, a little dazed and disorientated. Perhaps he had underestimated his opponent. Perhaps he would be the one to lose his life tonight.
The Marquess of Hartford defeated by a woman?
Never!
Taking deep breaths to calm his agitated spirit, he focused on the importance of his mission. He would avenge his friends, no matter what the cost.
Shrugging into his coat, followed by the leather back harness, he tight
ened the straps on his shoulders and sheathed his sword before hiding the evidence beneath a full-length cloak.