Abandoned to the Night (The Brotherhood Series, Book 3) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Books by Adele Clee

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Thank you!

  Lured to the Night

  Chapter 1

  Abandoned to the Night

  The Brotherhood Series

  Book 3

  Adele Clee

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be copied or reproduced in any manner without the author’s permission.

  http://www.adeleclee.com

  Copyright © 2016 Adele Clee

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9935291-2-2

  Lured to the Night (excerpt)

  Copyright © 2016 Adele Clee

  All rights reserved.

  Cover designed by Jay Aheer

  Books by Adele Clee

  To Save a Sinner

  A Curse of the Heart

  What Every Lord Wants

  Anything for Love Series

  What You Desire

  What You Propose

  The Brotherhood Series

  Lost to the Night

  Slave to the Night

  Abandoned to the Night

  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.

  When she didn’t find him sipping his ale would she be bold enough to come up to his room? Then again—

  All thoughts suddenly abandoned him. The golden-haired demon walked past the door and continued along the road.

  Was it a trap? Was it her intention to lure him away, out into the night? Would she draw him to the graveyard or to another deserted place where she could bare her teeth and control him with her mind?

  Either way, he refused to hide in the shadows.

  Leo listened for the sensual voice that had once dragged him from the warmth and security of the tavern, the voice that had promised a wealth of pleasure yet delivered nothing but pain. All he could hear was the maid’s soft breathing, the muffled din of the rowdy crowd below.

  “I’m coming for you,” he whispered.

  Making his way downstairs, Leo turned his back on the raucous laughter, boisterous antics, and drunken singing. Sneaking out through the back door, he raised the hood of his cloak as he navigated the dark alley. He almost tripped on the stuffed sack until the mound kicked out and delivered a slurred curse.

  Slipping out onto the street, he narrowed his gaze, blinking away the droplets of rain clinging to his lashes. He could see her walking ahead. Her strides were quick and purposeful. It took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to charge up to her and take her head clean off her shoulders.

  He should have been ashamed to think of harming a woman, let alone in such a callous, vicious way. But the golden temptress was a devil in disguise — not human; she had no heart, no feelings.

  When she stopped and rapped on the door of a house, Leo plastered his back against the wall for fear of her spotting him. He waited until she had gone inside before rushing to peer through the tiny gap in the shutters.

  Leo didn’t know what he expected to find. Perhaps she had woven her mind magic and held some other unsuspecting peer prisoner, her slave to command. Perhaps she was the thirteenth member of a coven and now sat amongst twelve other witches deciding who would be their next victim.

  As he gazed through the diamond-shaped hole in the shutter, he almost stumbled back in shock.

  Two things disturbed him deeply.

  The devil woman had removed her cape. With her hair no longer hidden, the golden tresses hung in glorious waves down her back. She sat in the chair by the fire as a group of children gathered round. One jumped up onto her lap and hugged her tightly.

  “And how did you get that bruise?” she said to a boy who pushed to the front to show her his knee.

  Leo strained to hear the conversation.

  “Frederick pushed me over.”

  She turned to another boy. “Is this true, Frederick?”

  The boy looked at the floor and nodded.

  “Then you must be a gentleman. You must hold your head up and say sorry,” she replied firmly.

  At her command, the boy straightened and delivered his apology with genuine sentiment.

  “And what of you, Edwin?” she said. “What must you say to Frederick?”

  Edwin gave a gracious bow. “I accept your apology.”

  “Excellent,” she beamed as another child walked towards her carrying a tray of sweet biscuits.

  They all watched as his quarry bit into one and swallowed the tiny piece, a host of wide eyes eagerly awaiting her reaction. Whatever she said, it received a joyous cheer from the excited faces.

  In a state of utter bewilderment, Leo stepped back.

  While he struggled to make sense of it all, he considered the second, most shocking thing. The sight of the golden-haired temptress had caused desire to explode through him like a firework at Vauxhall. The feelings were more powerful, more potent than anything he had ever felt before.

  Bloody hell.

  As he stepped forward to peer through the window, her gaze drifted to the closed shutters.

  She knew he was standing there.

  Obviously, she had set a trap, found a way to weaken his position. Devious minds use devious methods, he thought, as he chastised himself for being so fickle. The woman had no heart. Avenging his friends was the only thing that mattered. With a renewed sense of purpose, Leo drew his sword, pressed his back against the wall and waited to confront the golden-haired devil.

  Chapter 2

  “Is everything alright, Frau Lockwood?” Herr Bruhn sat down in the chair opposite, shuffled forward to warm his hands by the fire. “You seem preoccupied this evening.”

  “Forgive me.” Ivana forced a smile. Having listened to threads of the old man’s thoughts, she knew they were filled with fear — for the children, for money, for his sick wife currently in bed with a fever. “I was just thinking that the children need new shoes, that I must increase your funds this month. The nights are too damp, and we must keep them warm. What of Frau Bruhn? Do you need more help here?”

  They were all genuine concerns though they were not what plagued her thoughts tonight.

  Someone hovered outside in the shadows.

  “You are far too generous, Frau Lockwood. As for Frau Bruhn, she’s a strong woman and is determined to fight the fever. Matilda nurses her during the day.”

  Ivana stared into the flames, lost in the vibrant orange glow. She had heard Herr Bruhn’s words, yet another man’s thoughts invaded her mind. But like the breathless whispers of the dying, she could not piece together the incoherent sounds.

  Herr Bruhn cleared his throat. “Are you well?”

  Ivana shook her head, blinked rapidly as she tore her gaze away. “Yes, yes. It is this awful weather. It is not good for the constitution, and I fear the roads will become impassable.”

  Herr Bruhn raised his chin in acknowledgement. “I often wonder if this is how the Lord delivers his punishment. Perhaps it is his way of culling sinners, those too weak to survive the harsh conditions.”

  A sudden chill passed through her.

  “A man with a heart as huge as yours should have nothing to fear.” Ivana would always be indebted to the couple for giving the children a secure, loving home. “I am certain Frau Bruhn will make a speedy recovery.”

  A strange sense of foreboding settled around her. Perhaps Herr Bruhn was right, and these odd voices in her head coupled with the heavy tension hanging in the air were signalling the demise of a sinner. Her demise.

  “Then neither of us have anything to fear,” Herr Bruhn said confidently.

  Ivana smiled again, despite the fact that wasn’t entirely true.

  They were silent for a moment until Ivana said, “I shall arrange for someone to relieve Matilda for a few hours each day. The child needs exercise, to breathe clean air, to focus on her studies.”

  Herr Bruhn clasped his hands together and held them to his chest. “That would be wonderful, as would the offer of new shoes and heating expenses. I cannot thank you enough for your kindness.”

  “It is I who should thank you. Without your tireless efforts, heaven knows what would have happened to the children.” She inclined her head out of respect. “I am eternally grateful.” She glanced at the window, drawn to the closed shutters. “And know, if anything should happen to me, provisions have been set aside for their care.”

  Herr Bruhn shook his head vigorously as tears formed in the corner of his eyes. “You are an angel, Frau Lockwood, sent to ease our woes.”

  The man would think differently if he witnessed the sharp fangs overhanging her bottom lip, if he stared into eyes blacker than the night, saw her drink blood.

  Ivana stood, feeling an urge to distract her overactive mind. “I shall go and read to the children, tuck them into their beds while you sit in peace and eat your supper. And thank you for allowing me to come when the hour is so late.”

  In the winter months, she came earlier and spent the whole evening with them. In the summer months, Herr Bruhn knew her duties at the castle monopolised her time — unless the weather brought clouds thick
enough to obscure the sun.

  “They would not wish to miss your nightly visits,” he said to reassure her. “It is only nine. Lately, they rarely rise before eight.”

  During the time spent regaling tales of errant knights and distressed damsels, she struggled to forget about the mysterious stranger lurking outside in the shadows. At some point, she would have to leave the Bruhn household. Only then would his identity be revealed to her. Only then would she know why the man wished to do her harm.

  Odd threads of his thoughts had interrupted her medieval tale, ruined the joy she gleaned from playing mother to the innocent. Hatred and loathing were the overriding emotions she felt from him. Bitterness and resentment buried somewhere within, too.

  Descending the stairs, she took a deep breath to regain her composure before entering the small parlour.

  “They are all sleeping soundly,” she said feigning a serene smile. “Well, so they would have me believe.”

  Herr Bruhn nodded from his fireside chair. “I shall go and look in on them in a short while. Will you stay for supper?”

  Ivana shook her head. It had taken all her strength not to choke on the sweet biscuit. But she could not refuse the children anything. “Another time, perhaps. I should get home before the road becomes a flowing torrent of muddy slush.” Her gaze flicked to the window. “Sylvester will call by tomorrow and bring the funds you need.”

  Herr Bruhn shot to his feet and followed her out into the hall. “God bless you, Frau Lockwood.”

  Ivana took her cape from the coat stand, draped it around her shoulders and tied it firmly at the neck. “And may he bless you, Herr Bruhn,” she said choosing not to raise the hood as she must be alert this evening. As she moved towards the door, she felt the stranger’s anxiety, felt the torment raging in his heart.

  I have come for you.

  The words rebounded back and forth in her mind.

  It could mean only one thing — one of the gentlemen had returned.