Lost to the Night (The Brotherhood 1)

The name sounded familiar to her. A warm feeling flooded her chest as she repeated the words and she wondered what it would be like to be on such intimate terms with him that his given name would fall so gently from her lips.

Evelyn glanced up at the array of windows covering the facade, sensing his presence lingering in the shadows but seeing nothing. Despite everything he said and did, she felt comfortable at Stony Cross. Her mind was engaged with fanciful notions of tending the garden, of restoring it to its former glory. In her dreams, the sound of laughter and gaiety would echo through the cold, dark passages and Alexander Cole would smile not frown.

With a loud snort, she shook her head. Perhaps the accident had left her brain swollen, too tender. Perhaps she was desperately trying to cling onto any other thought rather than one involving her betrothal to Mr. Sutherby.

Alexander stood away from the window. As he listened to the sound of the carriage rattling down the drive, he tried to come to terms with the range of conflicting emotions plaguing him.

The first, most shocking discovery was that he wanted Miss Bromwell to stay.

Perhaps it had something to do with his mistrust of the Sutherbys. They appeared exactly as Miss Bromwell described: kind, friendly, well-mannered. Yet he had picked up threads of their thoughts, small fragments of feeling suggesting a discord between their words and their motives. In that respect, Charlotte Sutherby reminded him of the golden-haired devil who’d lured him away from the tavern. Even when Miss Sutherby flashed a coy smile and attempted to soothe him with her pretty eyes, he felt disdain burn in his belly.

He felt the same way about her brother. He couldn’t imagine the fiery-tempered Miss Bromwell being happy with a man like Mr. Sutherby. Maybe it was the reason his mind roused murderous thoughts when the gentleman brought Miss Bromwell’s bare hands to his lips.

Luckily, he’d fed his craving. Still, he contemplated ripping out their throats with his teeth even though the thought of drinking their tainted blood made him nauseous.

The next surge of emotion occurred when he’d heard her name — Evelyn — though he preferred to think of her as Eve. A daughter of God lured into sin by the Devil’s own beast. The thought conjured a series of lascivious images to flood his mind; her soft breasts squashed against his chest, her tongue dancing dangerously with his. Indeed, for the first time in two years, his cock had grown so hard he almost felt human, and he’d been forced to sit as far away from her in a bid to dampen his desire.

That thought led to another emotion, one far more damning — he actually cared what happened to her. It was the only logical conclusion he could draw from the tight feeling in his chest, from the stone-like lump in his throat. He’d thought all human emotions lost to him, buried beneath a solid block of ice. But he’d sensed the cracks appearing, felt the plates shift under his feet.

Perhaps Miss Bromwell was to be his salvation.

Although she truly would despise him when she knew what he was.

Mrs. Shaw’s discreet cough disturbed him.

“They’ve gone, my lord,” she said hovering at his side, “and Peter has followed them down to lock the gates. There’ll be no more disturbances.”

Alexander turned to face her and raised a brow. He had known the woman his whole life and knew there was something hanging on the tip of her tongue waiting for permission to burst out.

“You may say what you will, but do not expect a reply.”

She pursed her lips and then took a deep breath. “I know what you say about being in company, but you’ve spent a day with Miss Bromwell and survived. I’m sure if you started going about in society you could control your urges.”

“She survived, you mean. I did not ravage her neck and drain her blood.”

In Miss Bromwell’s company, he found his human emotions suppressed the animalistic appetite that clawed away at him. It would not be the case with others.

“One day is not enough time to make a calculated decision,” he continued. “I would rather a life of solitude than live with something I regret.”

“Why don’t you call at Mytton Grange and spend an hour with them, I’m sure —”

“I’m not spending another minute with the Sutherbys.” He could feel his rage returning.

“You’d have the perfect excuse as you could say you’re checking on Miss Bromwell and her aunt.”

“And what would you have me say when they offer tea? That I prefer something darker, thicker?”

“Miss Bromwell liked you,” she added with a hint of desperation in her tone.

“No, she didn’t. She thought me rude, arrogant and brash.”

Mrs. Shaw did not argue with his assessment. “Well, I still think you should go and check on her. That’s what a gentleman would do.”

Alexander put his hand to his stomach to show his displeasure at her comment. “That was a low blow. I ceased being a gentleman two years ago, as well you know. Next, you’ll be telling me to grow up and be a man. Well, how can I when I’m a bloody monster?”

He had lost everything that night in Bavaria. The memory was akin to a crippling disease ravaging his body, each visit gnawing away at all that was left of the man he remembered.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Mrs. Shaw said, her face flushing.