Transformed By A Christmas Star: A Lords of the Night novella

by Sandra Sookoo

  “What if we aren’t given that chance?” Would he change his fate if he could? Absolutely, but how to rid himself of a wolf he’d never wanted?

  “Make your own chance, Sebastian.” She squeezed her fingers on his arm before a shiver racked her person. “A man doesn’t change the world by sitting back and letting it have at him.”

  “You are as wise as the philosophers of old.” When another shiver shook her delicate frame, he whipped off his evening jacket. “Here.” He arranged it about her shoulders. “Don’t take a chill on my account.”

  “How gentlemanly you are,” she murmured while shoving her arms into the sleeves and burrowing into the garment.

  His heart gave a mighty thud as if fighting its way out of a long dormancy. “I shouldn’t have brought you outside. It seems stars are more frail than humans.”

  “You need to change your thinking about stars.” Her smile was as brilliant as the stars twinkling in the velvet sky. “We have great power, guide ships, lead lost people home, provide markers throughout the heavens, light the way when there is no other illumination. It takes a great amount of strength to burn steadily in the sky.”

  How he adored her already. So easily could he let her be the strength he needed to endure his own life. “Ah, Estelle.” He drew his gloved fingertips along the sweet curve of her cheek that was rosy from the cold. “I think I—”

  “What have we here?” The ominous voice, coupled with the form of a stranger coming out of the shadows interrupted his speech. “To all intents and purposes, one would think it’s an average ton couple out for a stroll, but I know better.” The man came fully out of the alley. Dressed all in black, his clean-shaven face and dark eyes that glittered didn’t draw him as a friendly person.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Every instinct he had went on alert. Inside his head, the wolf stood to attention, hackles raised. “Perhaps you should go on about your way and leave us to ours.” As unobtrusively as he could, he encouraged Estelle behind him.

  This man means trouble, his wolf said with a warning growl. He will hurt us.

  “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” Even though the man’s voice was cultured and he was well-groomed, his expression twisted into a mask of hate. “You see, I am a member of a group of men who mean to eradicate the ton of what we consider abominations, and you, Baron Wimsley, half-brother to the Duke of Manchester, are one of them.”

  Cold terror snaked through Sebastian’s gut. He’d encountered ignorant men like this before in the country, those who meant to ferret the truth from the rumors of his sometimes odd behavior, but he’d put them all down without incident. Never had he encountered the threat while in London, though his brother had warned him upon arrival. “How do you know anything about me?”

  “It was my job to monitor the duke, and while I don’t have direct proof that he is what the rumors say, I do of you.” Slowly, the man pulled a pistol from a pocket of his greatcoat. He leveled the nose at Sebastian’s chest. “I have seen what you are, sir, and I heard you talking just now, which confirms it.” Then he shifted his attention beyond Sebastian’s shoulder where Estelle stood. “And what a boon when I discovered your doxy isn’t what she seems either.”

  “Leave Miss Forbes out of this.” He flexed the muscles in his shoulders as the urge to shift fell upon him. Every point of his body tingled. “In fact, let her leave. I’ll meet you right here and take you to task for your effrontery.” The last thing he wanted was for Estelle to have a ball through the heart. Her life would end and she’d not go home or know that he cared for her.

  “Oh, I don’t mean to harm her… yet.” The man chuckled, and the sound slid over him like oil. “Once I dispatch you, I’ll take her to the secret institution we run. She’ll prove useful in our experiments, for in one of my spying expeditions, I witnessed that glow of hers. We’ll wish to harness that power.”

  “Manipulate her, you mean.” Sebastian barely got the words out around a growl. Estelle’s hand, trembling on his back, gave him all the courage he needed. No matter what, he would defend her, protect her from this scourge.

  The man shrugged. “Semantics.”

  Shift now, human! He means to harm our mate. The wolf was pacing inside his mind.

  Shock plowed into him. Was she his life mate? No time for that now or why his wolf had suddenly changed his mind. I will, indeed. But first, he had to give Estelle a fighting chance. With an eye on his adversary, Sebastian half-turned. He pulled her to him, and against the shell of her ear, he whispered, “Run, Estelle. For the love of everything you believe in, run back to the ball and find Manchester. Tell him what occurs. He’ll know what to do.” And he would whisk Estelle to safety, even if his own was put into jeopardy.

  “But—” Her eyes were wide with fright, the silver dimmed.

  “Go!” He gave her a shove and hoped to God she took the hint, for the shift was upon him, and he didn’t want her to see him this way with violence on his mind. Not sparing her another thought, Sebastian gave himself over to the transformation. Agony ripped through his body as his bones, sinew and muscles reordered themselves into the form of the beast.

  Now to give you the comeuppance you deserve.

  He sprang at the man in black, who took aim and fired the pistol before turning tail and running into the alley.

  The ball embedded itself into Sebastian’s fur, high on his left shoulder, but only grazed the skin beneath. He shook his wolfish head and gave pursuit. This man would die for what he’d hoped to perpetrate on them both.

  A deep growl echoed through the air. He launched himself through the darkness, his muscles tense, his teeth bared, and he caught the man, plowed into his back and knocking his opponent to the cobblestones. The pistol flew from the man’s hand to skitter harmlessly into the shadows.

  “Get off, you spawn of Satan.” The man struggled, kicking and fighting, his limbs flailing, but Sebastian’s weight on his back prevented much movement.

  Let him up. It is no challenge to kill him like this, his wolf urged.

  True. I’ll let him think I’ve granted mercy.

  Sebastian eased off the man’s form, and when the human scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with fear in the dim light, he allowed his wolfish lips to stretch into a grin that showed the bulk of his teeth.

  “If you kill me, others will come. We know about you and your kind, you Lords of the Night.” The man backed further into the shadows until a brick wall prevented his retreat. “We won’t allow your continued existence.”

  All the more reason to put you down.

  He growled and made certain it was something menacing out of a nightmare. Slow by slow step he approached the threat, this weak man who meant to make sport of Estelle and subject her innocent self to horrible experiments. There might be more like him, but this one wouldn’t live to threaten his friends of family another day.

  Hot anger surged through his veins. A red haze fell over his vision. With his heart pounding and his wolf urging him onward in his mind, Sebastian’s muscles bunched, tensed, and then he sprang into motion, running, rushing through the inky shadows and finally launching himself at the man.

  He landed square on his opponent’s chest and knocked him hard into the wall. They bounced off it and fell to the cold ground. When the man attempted to crawl away, Sebastian darted again, and this time he caught the man’s coat sleeve in his teeth, dragging him away from the shield of the wall.

  “Have mercy on me,” the man pleaded, his eyes wide with fear as he looked at Sebastian.

  Why should I when you haven’t shown the same to others like me? How many had his circle killed or imprisoned for merely being different?

  The rage and anger he always lived with shot up to a level he could no longer control. As the man squirmed on the dirty ground, Sebastian pounced. He planted his front paws on the man’s chest and shoved, putting a stop to any escape this scourge thought to make. Then, opening his jaws wide, he attacked, going straight for the human’s
neck. Flesh ripped and tore. The jugular was sliced. Blood spurted and flowed, even more so when Sebastian shook his head with the intent to break the man’s neck. He kept his jaws clamped about the flesh until finally the life drained away and the struggles ceased.

  Only then did sanity return to him and he stared at what he’d done. I killed, again, in the height of anger, when I could have let this man go free. He was nothing to me, and because of the wolf, I ended his life.

  He deserved it, his wolf rebutted.

  No. He didn’t. Scared off, certainly but not killed.

  Remorse and self-loathing poured in as he backed slowly away from the site of the kill. The metallic scent of blood clogged his nose, choked him as it hit his throat with every swallow. The thick liquid clung to his fur, his lips, his teeth, an ever-present reminder that he was nothing more than the beast inside, and he would never be good enough for someone like Estelle.

  As the enormity of that thought slammed into what he’d done, Sebastian shifted back into his human form. Tears of rage and apology poured from him while he knelt on the cold ground. Why couldn’t he control his beast and anger to prevent such things? When would it stop?

  Not until I’m dead, or he is.

  “Damnation, Sebastian.” Then Manchester arrived on the scene with the Earl of Devon at his side. “You must do better in the future, or not even my influence can help.”

  He tuned out everything around him. Reaction set in and left him shaking violently in his naked form, vulnerable and fearful. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing if he didn’t have peace and acceptance of who he was.

  Quietly, the duke instructed his friend to remove any identifying items from the slain man. They would report it as a crime, that a footpad had attacked; it wasn’t unheard of in London. In fact, an officer already waited in the parlor of Manchester’s residence. “Perhaps he has information on his person that can help us identify the nest of vipers who wish to hunt us.” Then, as one entity, he and the earl helped Sebastian to his feet, supporting him to a carriage waiting at the curb. In silence they bundled him into the conveyance. A lap blanket was wrapped about him and the vehicle sprang into motion.

  In a haze, Sebastian regarded his brother. “I’m so sorry.” He swallowed heavily. “I’m a disappointment to you.” He bowed his head. “Let me return to my home and live out my miserable life until he kills me.”

  Manchester grunted. “Not while I’m alive. We will endure, find our way through this. Together. That is what family does.”

  With unaccustomed tears flooding his throat, Sebastian nodded. “And Estelle?” He could hardly force out the words.

  “Shaken, but at home, waiting for you. I think her faith in humanity was bent tonight.”

  Sebastian closed his eyes. “Did she see…” He couldn’t finish the question.

  “Yes, a bit. You’ve made rather a mess of things, but you are my brother. Perhaps you’ll prevail yet. Only time will tell.”

  Once at the duke’s townhouse, Sebastian was whisked upstairs. He declined a bath or any sort of comfort, for he didn’t deserve any favored treatment.

  No sooner had he fallen onto his bed than a timid knock sounded on his door.

  “Go away.” He certainly wasn’t in the mood for a lecture from the duke.

  Of course the caller wouldn’t listen, for the oak panel swung open enough to admit Estelle. Still clad in her ball gown, she padded across the hardwood floor to perch on the side of his bed while he scrambled to pull the counterpane over his still-naked body. “I had to know how you fared after… after you…” Her swallow was audible. “After that man attacked you.” Concern flooded her silver eyes as she looked at him. She sucked in a breath. “You’re hurt.”

  When she caressed her fingers over his face, brushed them through his hair matted with blood, he batted her away. “Leave me be.”

  “I want to help.” Again she reached for him, and again he thwarted her.

  “I’ll heal. It’s part of the wolf’s gift, if you can call it that.” He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness from his voice.

  “My gift is quicker.” Showing a will stronger than she had before, Estelle bent closer. She closed her eyes and held his head between her palms. Soon, the glimmer danced over her skin. While she sparkled, heat moved through his person, accumulating in his face. The aches and pains from the bruises and the gunshot faded beneath her tide of healing. When it was over and she slumped against his chest, he had no recourse but to wrap an arm around her. “I was so worried about you,” she admitted, her voice low and muffled by the bedclothes.

  It was odd, this having a woman care about him. His heartbeat thudded hard behind his ribcage. “I prevailed. That is all you need to know.”

  She lifted her head. A few tears slid down her cheeks that retained a hint of a shimmer. “Did you kill that man?” There was no censure in her voice, only curiosity.

  “Yes.” And he hated himself all the more. “I couldn’t control the beast’s bloodlust.”

  Another tear fell and this one he caught with his finger. “Is it always like this when you become the wolf?”

  “I wish I could say it wasn’t true.” It was painful to swallow, to admit he was a murderer. “Until I learn to override his commands… to say no…” He shook his head, unable to finish the thought, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from hers. “I’m sorry.”

  Damnation, but he wasn’t worthy of her. Not like this. The knowledge pushed him deeper into the mire and muck of his thoughts.

  “Never stop trying to be a better man. You are not your circumstances.” Then she pushed upward and pressed her lips to his. It was such an innocent kiss, borne out of her concern for him, that suspicious moisture sprang to his eyes.

  “That very well may be so, but I cannot escape them, and neither can you.” He snaked a hand about her nape and pulled her in for another barely-there kiss before encouraging her from him and the bed. “Go, Estelle. Leave me before I do something else I’ll regret.”

  Like pouring out the turbulent contents of his heart to her and having every tender, budding dream trampled.

  CHAPTER NINE

  December 24, 1816

  Estelle was beside herself as she paced the floor of her bedchamber. Too many human emotions buffeted her body, filled her heart, and she didn’t know if she liked it. She touched a hand to her upswept hair that her maid had recently transformed with twists and curls into a beautiful coif held in place with sparkling combs and diamond stars on pins. Each time she moved, the brand new dress the duchess had insisted upon swirled about her ankles. The white satin was cool against her skin, but the silver net overlay sparkled as if she’d regained her place among the heavens. Dainty silver satin slippers graced her feet. There were even silver elbow-length gloves to match

  But nary a glance into the cheval mirror could relieve the sense of disquiet inside.

  Last night, seeing Sebastian transform into the beast and then spring at their attacker had both terrified and fascinated her. But when the duke had brought him home battered and bleeding, her heart felt crushed beneath a surge of compassion and the need to help him.

  With every minute that went by, every breath that she drew, something else grew within her, something foreign and wonderful and odd, and it all stemmed from thinking about Sebastian himself. Never had she experienced anything like it before, and perhaps it was time to seek out some advice.

  The rustle of her skirting whispered along the quiet halls as she traversed the length of the corridor. At the end of the hall, a door opened and the duchess stepped out.

  “Hello, Estelle. Excited to attend the viscount’s Christmas Eve ball?” Alice asked with a soft smile on her face and the baby snuggled in her arms.

  They were scheduled to attend the event at Viscount Mountgarret’s home in an hour. He was one of the duke’s best friends, and each time Manchester spoke of them, she wished that Sebastian had that tight circle to fall back on or commiserate with.

  “I
am… anxious.” The last thing she wanted was to circulate within London society. Again. For some reason she longed to burrow beneath the bedclothes and hide from the world, perhaps cry. Was that a typical human reaction?

  “Why? I’m told we’ll cap the evening off by singing carols in the drawing with a bowl of wassail punch.” Then Alice frowned. She clutched at one of Estelle’s hands with her free one. “You are at sixes and sevens.”

  “If that means anxious, then yes.” Estelle touched the baby’s cheek. A yearning so sharp that it felt like a stabbing pain went through her insides. Would she ever know the joy of holding an infant of her own? Not if she didn’t stay here.

  “About the ball?”

  “No.” She shook her head. Then she met the duchess’ somewhat distant gaze. “I was hoping you could help me make sense of thoughts and feelings I keep having each time I’m around the baron.”

  “Oh. Now I understand. Wait here.” Alice vanished to her suite. From inside, the low murmur of voices drifted to Estelle’s ears as Alice spoke with her husband. Seconds later, she appeared in the doorway. “Follow me. We’ll talk in the private parlor. I asked Donovan to settle the baby in the nursery before we leave.”

  The room, done in soothing shades of blue, beckoned to Estelle. She sat on a low settee and the duchess perched on a cushion beside her. Then she truly looked at Alice. Faint smudges pooled beneath her eyes and exhaustion lined her face.

  “Are you ailing, my lady?”

  “No.” Alice’s laugh tinkled as before but it sounded tired. “The baby has a touch of colic, which means the duke and I aren’t sleeping well. Nothing I do soothes the child, and I worry.”

  “Isn’t that normal with babies?” She didn’t know much about the tiny versions of humans other than she’d like to have one… with Sebastian.

  The thought made her breath catch. Was that true?

  “It is, but that doesn’t make me worry less.” Alice grasped one of Estelle’s hands and squeezed. “I’m learning every day how to be a mother, and I’m concerned that I’m not doing well at it.” She shrugged. “My attention is also divided, for my sister-in-law, or rather the Countess of Devon, is battling grief.”