Lured to the Night (The Brotherhood Series Book 4)

by Adele Clee

  Ivana contemplated his words before shaking away any doubts. “I’m convinced the lady we seek lives here. The dreams are too real, Leo. When Nikolai died, and I regained my memories, somehow remnants of his thoughts found their way into my mind. Now that I am cured and can sleep again I cannot stop the flow of vivid images.” She had seen the vision of a woman with golden hair, sharp fangs and a thirst for blood. The similarities to her own colouring were too coincidental to ignore. She could not explain how or why, but she felt the woman’s sorrow. The sense of hopelessness was all consuming. Ivana had no choice but to find the mysterious lady and try to ease her pain. “I know you’re tired of hearing me say this, but fate draws me to her. I am convinced Nikolai turned her too.”

  Leo folded his arms across his chest. “I suspect the fact Talliano mentioned there is a mine located on this land makes the idea plausible.”

  Ivana sat forward, her desire to discover the truth evident in her eager actions. “This is the place where Talliano found the haematite.” Indeed, a further search of the crypt had uncovered another hidden notebook. “If Nikolai turned me to protect the cure, then perhaps he turned the lady who lives here for a similar reason.”

  “That is if the lady you mentioned does live here.”

  Ivana flopped back into the seat. “In my dreams I have walked these lands. I have seen images of the lady with her clansmen in their Highland dress.” She sighed. “I just wish you would believe me.”

  Leo crossed the carriage to sit at her side. “I would not have agreed to come all this way if I did not have faith in you.” He stroked her cheek. “We will find her, this mysterious lady you dream of at night. We will offer her the cure and then we will go and share our good fortune with my brothers.”

  Ivana’s heart swelled with love for him. “I know you are impatient to tell them we are cured. I know you long to be reunited with them again, and I love you all the more for the sacrifice you have made to make me happy.”

  “Making you happy is what I live for.” He gave a wicked grin. “And hearing your sweet sighs of pleasure, of course.”

  She batted him on the arm, but her gaze drifted over his shoulder to the group of men entering the forest with their lanterns held aloft. “What do you think they’re doing out here at night?”

  Leo followed her gaze, shuffled over to the window and stared out. “I have no idea.” He offered a shrug and an amused chuckle as he turned to face her. “It is probably a local hunting ritual or an ancient ceremony to assist with fertility. I’ve often found that those who live in remote areas have rather antiquated methods of doing things.”

  “There is nothing wrong with tradition,” she said raising a disapproving brow. “Sometimes the old ways are the best. One can learn a great deal from previous generations.”

  “Tell that to Herr Bruhn when he boasts about brewing his new beer. The old method produced a drink that is far too bitter and cloudy.”

  The carriage came to an abrupt halt. With the excessive rocking and swaying it was evident Sylvester had climbed down from the box seat and that they had reached their destination. They heard the squeak of a rusty gate before their coachman climbed back atop his perch and guided the conveyance across the narrow bridge.

  Ivana had expressed some reluctance in allowing Sylvester to accompany them on their trip. She’d wanted him to stay behind to care for the Bruhns, to guard their home. But her trusted servant had experienced the horrifying consequences of the blood affliction. Without the ability to compel another driver to keep their secret, should they find the woman who haunted her dreams, it had been imperative they bring Sylvester along.

  They rattled through the stone gatehouse and into the bailey. The loud clattering would certainly alert the castle’s occupants of their arrival. As soon as the carriage rumbled to a halt, Leo opened the door and vaulted out.

  “Good Lord, it feels wonderful to stretch my limbs.” He offered her his hand. “Allow me to assist you, my lady.”

  She nodded, but rather than lower the steps his nimble fingers settled on her waist, and he lifted her down slowly until her feet touched the ground.

  After a quick attempt to shake the creases out of her dress, Ivana glanced up at the dull grey facade. “If you had covered my eyes or put me into a deep sleep and brought me here, I would think I was home.”

  Leo followed her gaze. “It does bear a striking resemblance to the castle in Bavaria. You said the woman in your dreams had golden hair. Perhaps these things are not coincidences. Like most men, it appears Nikolai had his preferences.”

  Ivana shook her head. “Nikolai always had an ulterior motive for everything he did. I doubt hair colour and the place one rests their head had anything to do with it. Trust me. It is a coincidence.”

  “Or it is fate.” Leo quirked a brow. “After all that has occurred, I think we both have some faith in that possibility.”

  “Well, we will know the answer soon enough.” She glanced around the empty bailey, scanned the dark, dreary facade once more. The absence of light in any of the windows suggested no one was home. Then again, they could be expecting a storm and had consequently closed the shutters. “Do you not think it is odd that no one has marched out to question our right to be here? Or at the very least, attempted to establish if we have lost our way. In such a remote location, I suspect they rarely have visitors.”

  Leo rubbed his chin. “The affliction can make one nervous of strangers. What would you do if faced with a similar situation?”

  Ivana contemplated his question. Living with such a terrible secret often made one delusional, overly suspicious. A solitary existence was far preferable than risking discovery. “I would hide in the shadows, refuse to open the door, hope they would grow tired and leave.”

  “Then we must assume the residents here feel the same way. Indeed, any reluctance to address us, only adds credence to your belief that we might have a sister living here.”

  “A sister?” Her heart fluttered at the prospect. Despite drinking the cure, Ivana knew a part of her would always feel a kinship towards those suffering from the blood affliction. To come to the aid of another woman who shared her awful experiences, a woman Nikolai had branded in such a degrading way, would make the effort of struggling to replicate the cure worthwhile.

  “I know it is rare for us to be able to read a person’s thoughts now,” Leo said, “but intuition tells me you might find what you’re looking for here.”

  “What if she won’t open the door? How can we help her if she won’t let us inside?”

  Leo straightened. “Then we shall just have to keep knocking until she does.”

  After barely recovering from their hostile encounter in the village, Lachlan had left her in the Great Hall while he went to search for Douglas. His sole intention was to gain permission to stay the night at Castle Craig. Isla thought it a ridiculous notion on many levels. She was mistress of the castle. She was a married woman. Even if people did choose to slander her for improper behaviour, she was beyond caring. Nothing could be worse than the malicious gossip she had heard already. Besides, the baobhan sith were known for using their womanly wiles to prey on innocent men. Not that Lachlan could be considered innocent.

  The unexpected rattling of carriage wheels charging into the bailey caused her pulse to beat rapidly in her throat. If one considered the recent turn of events, her racing heart could be attributed to a fear of the villagers returning with a battering ram to take down the castle door. But the sudden sense of trepidation, the sudden realisation that only one person would arrive in a carriage without warning and in the dead of night, caused a debilitating feeling of dread.

  Nikolai had returned.

  She froze, her feet rooted to the spot. She opened her mouth to speak, to call out, but no words could ever be sufficient to convey the extent of her anguish.

  What if Nikolai discovered Lachlan at the castle? He would see it as a sign of disrespect. He would use it as a reason to destroy everything she hel
d dear.

  Forcing one foot in front of the other, she found the courage to shuffle to the window. Peering out, she was shocked to find two people had alighted from the carriage. The couple staring at the large arched door looked disfigured through the thick square panes of glass. Their faces were misshapen and distorted: their cheeks too fat or too hollow depending on which way one tilted their head. The absence of any light made it impossible to distinguish their features. The gentleman had long hair that skimmed his shoulders. The last time she had seen Nikolai he’d had long hair too. The woman’s flowing golden locks were identical to her own.

  Isla jumped back.

  Suddenly it all became clear to her.

  Her hand flew to her heart in a bid to stop it pounding out of her chest. Nikolai had spent the last three years searching for a woman who possessed an uncanny likeness to her own form: a ghostly apparition of herself. He had used his evil magic to lure another devil to unseat her. But she knew enough from old tales of folklore to know that they could not both exist in the same world; to see an identical spectre was a premonition of death.

  The calm, reassuring voice of logic muttered away in a distant corner of her mind. It was foolish to believe in ancient stories. A vivid imagination could make the ridiculous seem plausible. But then she would never have expected to crave blood, or to shrivel in sunlight. Ignoring the incessant mumbling, she focused on the only thing that mattered. She would not let Nikolai sink his rotten fangs into Lachlan’s neck.

  The loud bang on the door caused the festering anger to flare inside. If they knocked again, they would surely alert Lachlan, and so she had no choice but to face them. When outnumbered, the art of surprise was always the best plan of attack. One must make the best use of whatever means one has at their disposal. The woman would be the weakest, the most vulnerable.

  With that in mind, Isla opened the door ajar. Without making eye contact, she slipped outside and closed it quickly behind her. The sharp tips of her fangs dug into her bottom lip, throbbing with the need to draw blood. Without hearing a word from Nikolai, or his pretty companion, she turned and flew at the woman. The affliction gave her the strength to overpower her quarry easily. Racing to stand behind the beauty, she held her to her chest, forced the lady’s head to the side and bared her fangs over the creamy column of her throat.

  Nikolai cursed.

  “Stay where you are,” Isla hollered before he had a chance to step forward. “I’ll not leave my home. You’ll not take that from me too.”

  “Let her go.” Nikolai raised his hands: a sign of surrender. It was so unlike him. “Please, do not drink from her. I beg you.”

  Beg? Nikolai would never stoop so low.

  His voice sounded less intimidating than she remembered. Perhaps he had spent the last three years in England. He had lost the strange intonation that made him pronounce words sharply as though they were weapons. With the whites of her eyes now littered with red veins, she blinked a few times in a bid to focus on the blurry form before her.

  The woman in her arms trembled. Guilt flared. She was not a monster, but Nikolai always brought out the worst elements of character. Survival, and protecting those she cared for, was her only motivation now.

  “Tell me why you’ve come back.” With her fangs bared, the words fell awkwardly from her mouth. “Tell me what evil trick you’ve used to conjure a devil in my form.”

  “You’re mistaken,” the woman panted. “We have not come here to hurt you. We understand your plight. Show her, Leo. Show her your mark.”

  Leo?

  Isla stared at the man opposite. He held his hands out in front of him once more. “We were once like you. We know of Nikolai, and we have come here to help you.”

  Isla narrowed her gaze. Nikolai’s hair was as black as the night. Now she stood a little closer, this man’s hair appeared more of a warm brown. How had she failed to notice the difference? Nikolai possessed a lithe, almost scrawny frame. This man’s muscular arms strained against the confines of his coat. She blinked again. “Tell me you’re not Nikolai. Tell me you’re not my husband. Let me hear the words fall from your lips.”

  The stranger’s eyes widened. They stared at each other.

  “I am not Nikolai,” the gentleman said. “I am not your husband. But I will prove to you that we are kin, that we once shared the same blood affliction.” The gentleman shrugged out of his coat, untied his cravat and threw them to the ground. His waistcoat soon joined the other garments before he parted his shirt to reveal the same branding mark that was seared into her hip.

  Still gripping the lady firmly, Isla shuffled forward. “How did you come by such a mark?”

  The gentleman shook his head. “Release my wife and let us go inside where we can talk.”

  “I have the same mark.” The woman gulped, the action evident in the pulsating in her neck. “Nikolai hurt me, too, in the same way he did you.”

  The mere mention of his name made Isla’s skin slither over her bones. “Do you know where my husband is? Have you seen him?”

  The gentleman nodded. “Yes. And you will be pleased to know—”

  The front door flew open. Lachlan and Douglas sprinted out, panic marring their faces.

  Isla froze. She did not want Lachlan to see the monster she had become. The hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach grew to cavernous proportions.

  Douglas took one look at her ugly eyes, and his face grew ashen, deathly pale. He turned to Lachlan. “It’s best ye stay inside. I’ll deal with this. Go. Go now and tell Malmuirie we have visitors.”

  Lachlan ignored him. His confused gaze fell to the clothing discarded on the ground before shooting up to the gentleman’s open shirt. “Who are you? What do you want here?” Lachlan turned his attention to her. As he narrowed his gaze, it took a moment for him to express any sign of emotion. “Isla?” The sharp gasp was accompanied by wide, horrified eyes and a gaping mouth. “What … what is wrong with you?”

  Douglas stepped in between them and grabbed Lachlan’s shoulders. “Go inside and we’ll talk about this later.”

  Lachlan shrugged out of the old man’s grasp and stepped to the side. “What has happened to your eyes, to your teeth?”

  She could not bear to look at him. His horrified expression reminded her so much of the last look to grace her father’s face. Feeling nothing but shame and mortification, she released the woman she’d held pinned to her chest. The woman scurried over to her husband who embraced her in his arms and kissed her tenderly on the temple.

  Isla buried her grotesque face in her hands and sobbed. “I thought Nikolai had returned. My … my mind … I cannot think clearly. I do not know what is real anymore.”

  “Nikolai?” Douglas snorted. He came over to her, placed a comforting arm around her shoulder. “Could ye not see yer mistake, lass? Hell, I’d know that heathen like I’d know my own mother.”

  “Will someone mind telling me what on earth is going on?” Lachlan’s voice held no hint of anger, no hint of disgust.

  He deserved to know the truth.

  Isla sucked in a breath, let the air travel calmly through her body to bolster her courage. She straightened her spine, gave Douglas a weak smile.

  “I am not human, Lachlan.” She came to stand in front of him, ignored the way his brows knitted together when he looked at her face. “I’ve not been human since Nikolai infected my blood. I have no choice but to live like this. I must drink fresh blood else I will die.” She ran her tongue over the points of her fangs. “I am the creature the villagers fear. I am their worst nightmare come true.”

  He took a step back. “You killed their cattle for their blood?”

  “No!” She shook her head vigorously. “Good Lord, no. Everything I have told you has been the truth. You saw the real culprit yourself. It is just that there is more to the affliction than I led you to believe.”

  Douglas stepped forward. “She’s still the same lass you remember. You dinnae have to look at her teeth.”


  She would have laughed at her old friend’s words had she not been so utterly heartbroken. As though powered by her sorrowful thoughts, the fangs she detested shrank back into their sheath.

  Lachlan jerked his head in surprise. “My mind refuses to accept what my eyes are seeing.”

  “This is who I am now, Lachlan. I cannot turn back time. I cannot go back to how things used to be. I am cursed, and there is nothing I can do but learn to live with my affliction.”

  The gentleman cleared his throat as he picked up his coat and shook it out. “That is not entirely true.” He shrugged into the garment and took his wife’s hand. “I am Leo Devlin, Marquess of Hartford. And this is my wife, Ivana. We have travelled all the way from Bavaria to see you.”

  “Bavaria?” Isla gasped. Good heavens. She did not know what was more shocking. A marquess stood in the bailey — a peer of the realm — and he had come hundreds of miles to see her.

  The lady rushed forward, her warm countenance in no way reflecting any resentment for her earlier mistreatment. She took Isla’s hand and rubbed it affectionately. “We have come to tell you that Nikolai is dead. We have come to bring you the cure for your blood affliction.”

  Chapter 7

  Isla’s knees buckled, and she crumpled to the ground.

  Nikolai was dead. She was a widow. The strangers spoke of a cure for her debilitating disease. The Lord had listened to her prayers. It was all too much for her to absorb.

  Lachlan reached for her arm; the lady assisted him in helping to haul her to her feet. She sensed an element of hesitancy in Lachlan’s movements: a reluctance to touch her coupled with an air of apprehension one often saw when someone held a newborn child that wasn’t kin.

  Douglas wrapped his arms across his chest. “I say we continue this conversation in front of the fire. The night’s as cold as Malmuirie’s—” He stopped abruptly before his tongue ran away with him and he said something to offend their illustrious guests. Waving a hand towards the door, he said, “Please, come this way, my lord.”