Lost to the Night (The Brotherhood Series, Book 1) (23 page)

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I always knew he was hiding something. He was always far too affable. It’s not as though it’s a great shock to discover he was only interested in money.”

“There’s something else,” he said a little hesitant. “Charlotte Sutherby is not his sister. She’s his accomplice, his … lover. Although she had no idea that he’d kidnapped you. Greed prevailed over loyalty, and he was reluctant to share the money.”

Evelyn gasped, although nothing shocked or surprised her after the trauma of recent events. “No wonder she was so keen to see us wed. Goodness, is there anything else you need to tell me?”

Alexander’s face turned ashen and his gaze fell to his lap.

There was something else.

She’d only said the words in jest. But of course, he was referring to the reason he’d locked himself away, to the terrible scandal she didn’t give a hoot about.

His expression turned grave. “Eve … I … there is something you need to know. Something about me.”

He looked so terrified she felt nauseous.

“No!” The word came out as a shriek, and she was suddenly overcome with a strange sense of foreboding. No, stronger than that … more akin to dread, to panic. “Don’t tell me. I don’t need to know. Let us leave it in the past. Let us leave here, forget everything that has happened before this moment and never speak of it again.”

“We can’t.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters a great deal.”

She heard anguish, a deep sense of sorrow and her heart was beating so loudly she feared her chest could not contain it. Perhaps fear had clouded her vision for she failed to notice Mr. Sutherby lunging at the bed.

“You’ll not take her,” Sutherby yelled, slashing at Alexander’s arm and face with his knife. The material of Alexander’s coat took the brunt of the damage, yet she noticed the thin line of blood across his cheek.

With a loud roar, Alexander flew off the bed, knocking the knife to the floor.

Mr. Sutherby shuffled back, his eyes large and wild, his bottom lip quivering. “No … no … don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me,” he muttered, but Alexander grabbed him and sank his teeth deep into his neck.

Evelyn screamed as Sutherby’s eyes rolled back in their sockets, as he gasped and heaved in sheer terror.

The door to the chamber burst open, and Lord Markham rushed in, stopping dead in his tracks. “Bloody hell.” He raced over to Alexander. “That’s enough,” he bellowed. “Leave him, Alexander. Leave him be.”

Alexander ignored his plea.

She could see trails of blood trickling down Mr. Sutherby’s yellow waistcoat.

Lord Markham grabbed Alexander’s arm. “Don’t do this. You’re scaring Miss Bromwell.”

Evelyn scrambled off the bed. If he killed Mr. Sutherby, their lives would be forever tainted by such an evil deed. “Please, Alexander. Let him go.”

The sound of her voice seemed to have some effect. He released Sutherby, the man collapsing to the floor, limp and listless. Lord Markham bent down and examined the wound, licking his fingers and dabbing at the holes in Sutherby’s neck.

Nothing could have prepared her for the terrifying sight that greeted her when Alexander turned around.

His beautiful blue eyes were a lifeless black, the rest a mass of scrawny red veins. Blood dripped from the points of two sharp fangs, running down his lips and chin, staining the collars of his white shirt. His breathing sounded wild, hoarse, a dreadful hissing.

She shrank back from him in horror.

“What … what are you?” Her voice was barely a whisper, and she gulped down a breath to stop a sob from escaping.

He took a step towards her, and she backed away, her legs and arms shaking so violently she felt dizzy. She rubbed her wrists, the stinging pain proof that the devilish vision before her was real and not some figment of her overwrought imagination.

“Eve. Let me explain.”

His voice sounded strange, far too deep, foreign to her ears. “Stay … stay back. Stay away from me,” she stuttered, her hands held out in front of her as she backed out of the chamber door.

He blinked rapidly, and she saw faint flickers of blue streaking through his eyes. The blackness passed quickly, and he appeared more like himself. Yet he was changed in her eyes. The man she knew and loved was now lost to her, relegated to a pile of distant memories.

The pain in her chest grew more intense, choking as it rose up to her throat and her only thought was to run, to run far away from the evil nightmare. Turning on her heels she raced out into the hall and down the stairs, checking over her shoulder in case he followed her. Relief coursed through her as she ran out into the cool night air.

But she didn’t stop — she couldn’t stop.

The need to be free from the ache in her heart was overwhelming, and she kept running, across the dew-soaked grass, through clusters of shrubs and trees — for a mile or more. When her legs could no longer support her weight, she collapsed in a heap on the forest floor, the world around as dark and as black as her soul, and she sobbed until the tears stung her skin.

“Why!” The mournful cry echoed through the forest, and she glanced up at the thick canopy, hoping to find a ray of light.

Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she rocked back and forth in a bid to calm her breathing. The grief was immeasurable. A vast hole had opened in her chest. She felt so cold, so utterly alone.

“Alexander,” she whispered. “I love you.”

But the words brought with it fresh tears aplenty. She understood it all now. His need to hide away. His reluctance to commit. If only he were debt-ridden. She would have lived with him in poverty. She would have done anything.

I can’t be the man you want me to be
.

The words shot straight to her heart like a barbed arrow, ripping into the weak, flimsy flesh.

Love was unconditional — she’d told herself that many times. Love was not blind to one’s faults and imperfections. Love accepted them as part of the complicated whole. She’d said as much to Mr. Sutherby. But this … this was …

What was this strange affliction that would see a man become a monster?

I don’t want to hurt you?

Those words made sense now. He would never hurt her; she knew that. Perhaps the essence of the man still existed deep inside the abhorrent form. Despite his monstrous countenance, she recalled catching a hint of sorrow in his dark eyes; she recalled a hint of self-loathing.

Guilt tore at her heart.

He had tried to tell her, tried to explain; but she’d refused to listen.

All the promises she’d made, all the love she’d professed — now she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had let him down. She had turned her back on him when he had needed her most. But she’d been so scared.

“Miss Bromwell.”

The gentle voice penetrated the madness. She looked up to see the dark figure of Lord Markham standing over her.

“Come,” he said softly, offering his hand. “Let me see you safely to the inn. Let me help you. Let me help you forget your pain.”

Chapter 24

Lord Markham hired the private parlour at the inn, the room being small with a low ceiling and thick timber beams supporting its five-hundred-year-old history. Evelyn settled into the chair by the fire, the heat doing nothing to ease her trembling limbs as she cupped her hands around the goblet and sipped the wine.

“Don’t worry,” Lord Markham said, nodding to the pewter vessel. “I watched him wipe it clean with a napkin. Would you like me to call for a blanket?”

“No. I’ll be fine. I’ll soon warm up.”

A knock on the door brought a serving wench who plonked an earthenware flagon and mug on the table, giving the lord a cheeky grin to suggest she had more to offer than refreshments.

“You don’t need to stay,” Evelyn said, aware of his wandering gaze following the sway of the woman’s hips as she left.

“I can’t leave you here alone. Apparently, I’m to try a mug of cider. Mr. Harlow was adamant. It’s the best I’ll find for miles around.”

Evelyn forced a weak smile before turning to stare at the golden flames dancing in the hearth.

She had lost everything tonight.

All her hopes and dreams had been ripped from her fingers. Now, a feeling of utter hopelessness consumed her, shrouded her in grief and misery. She glanced at Lord Markham, who still appeared unperturbed by the horrifying events of the evening.

“When … when you saw him, when you saw Alexander’s strange countenance, you were not shocked or afraid,” she said trying to find the courage to talk about the devastating moment when her whole world changed.

“No,” Markham replied, his expression turning solemn. “It is nothing new to me.”

“You have witnessed it before?”

Markham shuffled in his seat and gazed into the fire. “In a manner of speaking.”

The terrifying image came flooding back: the blood-soaked fangs, the devilish eyes. “No matter how hard I try, I cannot make sense of it. It defies all reason and logic.”

“There are many things in this world that cannot be explained,” he replied cryptically.

“But I watched him change before my eyes. How can that be?”

Lord Markham stood and walked over to the table, pulling the stopper from the flagon and filling the mug. He took a large swig and winced. “Good heavens, I’ve never tasted anything so sour. No wonder he’s trying to get rid of the stuff.”

“No doubt he saw your fine clothes and charged you double. But you’re avoiding my question, my lord.”

The corners of his mouth curved up. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“The story is not fit for the ears of an innocent lady.”

Innocent? She’d given her virginity to her lover. She’d been kidnapped by a madman, was now sitting in a private room with an unmarried gentleman. Her reputation was beyond saving. Indeed, her broken heart cared for nothing but easing the pain.

Lifting her chin, she said, “Perhaps I am not as innocent as you would believe.”

His gaze drifted over her. “Perhaps. But why should I tell you?”

Because she wanted to understand what had happened to Alexander. Because her heart still ached for him. “Because I love him. I think I deserve an explanation.”

“Ah, love. Is it not just a fairy tale for the weak-minded?” He went to take another swig of cider but changed his mind and placed the mug on the table. “I think the events of the evening have proved that love is nothing but torture and pain.”

“That’s not true,” she said, drawing on the love she felt for Alexander. She recalled the way his touch ignited her soul, the way his words eased her fears, the way his body took her beyond this mundane world to a distant magical plane. “Love cannot be defined. It is God’s greatest gift. Sustenance for the soul. Love is caring for another so deeply—”

“Caring?” Lord Markham scoffed. “Where is your love now, Miss Bromwell? I shall tell you. He is wallowing in his grief, lost to the night that has claimed him as his own. He is hurting, and he is alone. Forsaken.”

The blunt words caused her tears to fall.

She imagined Alexander sitting on the bench by the fountain, weeds curling up around his boots, a ghostly mist clawing at his shoulders. In her vision, he looked so sad and tortured as he begged for the Lord to release him from the Devil’s curse.

Pain turned to anger and resentment. “Do you think I want it to be this way?” she cried, jumping to her feet. “Do you think my heart is not crying out in pain?”

They stared at each other for a moment before Lord Markham bowed his head and said, “Sit. Sit down and I will tell you.”

Evelyn flopped down into the chair and tried to calm her ragged breathing. “Help me to understand, my lord. That is all I ask of you.”

Lord Markham sat opposite her, stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “There is a woman in Bavaria. A woman beautiful enough to send a thousand legions into battle to fight for the right to possess her. But her heart is tainted, her body plagued by a demon. One bite from such a woman brings about a devastating change that can never be undone.”

Evelyn sat forward. “Are you saying Alexander received such a bite?”

Was this the terrible event Alexander referred to?

“Not just Alexander. There are a few of us.”

Us!

Evelyn tried to swallow down the solid lump in her throat. She scanned the gentleman before her, aware that her eyes had grown wide. “You … you mean that you are one of these creatures? You have also been a recipient?”

Lord Markham smiled. “Yes, Miss Bromwell. I do not fear Alexander because I understand his torment … because I suffer from the same horrifying affliction.”

Her heart missed a beat.

“So, you are able to make your eyes turn black?” she said digging her nails into the wooden arms of the chair. “You’re able to grow teeth sharp enough to kill a man?”

“I am,” he nodded. “But there is more to it than that. We cannot go out in the daylight. Our skin is too sensitive to the sun. We cannot eat and drink as you do, but must supplement our diet with blood.”