Abandoned to the Night (The Brotherhood Series, Book 3) (2 page)

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.

But which one?

“Before I leave, may I use some paper and your ink pot?”

Herr Bruhn nodded. “Of course, of course. Come this way.”

Ivana followed him to a room that had once been the man’s study, a place to relax, to enjoy the solitude. Now, it served a multitude of functions: playroom, schoolroom, a place to dry wet boots.

“Over here.” Herr Bruhn rushed to the desk, set about clearing away letters, books, brushed the dust away with his sleeve. “You’ll find paper in the drawer and ink in the pot. Use what you will.” Offering a bow, he shuffled backwards. “I shall leave you in peace.”

Ivana needed but a minute to complete her task. Blowing on the scrawled note, she went in search of Herr Bruhn.

“In case there should be any doubt,” she said handing him the paper.

He scanned it quickly, glanced up at her and then read it again.

“It is proof of the provisions I have made for the children. Should Sylvester not call tomorrow with the funds you need, you are to seek him out and present this letter to him.”

The man stared at her, a frown marring his brow. “You are starting to make me nervous. Are you sure you are not ill? Are you leaving, going away somewhere?”

Ivana placed her hand on the man’s arm. “No. I am not ill and you know I would never leave the children.” She gave a light chuckle to ease his fears. “With the storm, the roads are treacherous. One never knows their fate. My only concern is to know that you have everything you need.”

Herr Bruhn appeared mildly satisfied with her explanation.

“Now,” she continued, wrapping her cape firmly across her chest. “I must be on my way.”

The old man walked her to the door. “Sylvester
is
waiting for you?” he asked, his tone revealing his concern.

“He is.” Herr Bruhn knew she liked to walk for a few minutes, and that she rarely brought the carriage into the village. When one lived for the night, one took every opportunity to feel free, to feel normal. “He will be waiting in his usual place.”

She doubted she would get far before the hunter struck. There was no point putting off the inevitable. She had always known the day would come. Indeed, she had expected one of them to come much sooner. The passing years had given her a false sense of security, but she would soon know of his intention.

As soon as Herr Bruhn opened the door, the wind came rushing in, blowing her hair about her face, causing her to wince as she stepped over the threshold. “Quickly, shut the door behind me.” She sounded breathless, perhaps even a little fearful. The stubborn man refused to listen, holding the door a foot away from the jamb. “Please, Herr Bruhn.” She did not want him to witness her demise. “I cannot leave here until I know you’re safely inside.”

Herr Bruhn nodded. “Hurry home,” he said as he closed the door. “Be safe.”

Ivana contemplated raising her hood as the wind whistled about her ears, biting at her cheeks until they stung. The rain had stopped momentarily, but the thunder still grumbled and groaned in the distance.

I know you’re there.

She sent her silent message as she continued down the deserted road. Ivana felt him walking behind her before she heard the sound of footsteps, before the sudden rush of emotion filled her chest. The hunter was in pain. A deep level of anguish permeated his thoughts. He felt lost and alone — had masked it all with anger and resentment.

Guilt flared, and she chastised herself for being so fickle.

The gentleman had deserved his punishment. The thought gave her the courage to confront her quarry and without any warning, she swung around to face him.

It was difficult to make him out in the darkness. With every shutter on every window closed, there was an absence of light spilling out onto the street. It didn’t help that he wore a thick black cloak, his face hidden in the depths of the hood.

“I did wonder which one of you would have the courage to return,” she said with an arrogance she only used with those she despised. With her attention drawn to the blade in his hand, she added, “If you’re going to kill me, at least afford me the courtesy of seeing your face.”

Don’t let it be him.

The words raced through her mind as the hunter stepped closer.

“Courtesy?” He stood just a few feet away. “Were you so generous of spirit when you took our humanity?”

She could see the sculptured line of his jaw, the full lips that formed the bitter words, just the tip of his nose peeking out of his black shroud. The sense of familiarity was strong. But then their affinity for the night would always bind them together.

“You will show me your face. You will not refuse me.” She drew on her ability to coax and persuade. He would try to fight it, of course, but would he be strong enough to disobey. Either way, she would not rest until she knew the name of her quarry.

“Do not think you can control me,” he sneered. “Do you think I will bend so easily to your will?”

Ivana smiled. No matter how strong, no matter how skilled in mind control, surely she would have an advantage. She had taken his blood, let it mingle with her own, let him suck from her pricked finger. Even if she did possess the strength of will to prevent him from taking her life, was this not the moment she had been waiting for?

Wasn’t death the thing she had been craving?

“Lower your hood.” Her icy tone sliced through the volatile air. The wind howled around them, swirling about their clothes, pushing, pushing in a bid to whip them away. “I will see your face.”

“In this, I will not fight you.” Confidence and arrogance infused his tone. “Perhaps you should know the face of the man come to put an end to your devilish deeds. Perhaps you should look upon the face of the man whose life you have ruined.”

The hunter tugged at his hood.

Ivana held her breath.

No! Not him!

It took a moment to drink in his features, for her mind to accept the vision standing before her. If God had sought to punish her, he had chosen wisely. Very wisely, indeed.

Leo!

His name echoed through her mind, over and over.

Why him? Her hands were shaking, the pain in her heart unbearable. Why not one of the others?

“Well?” He gave a disdainful snort. “Do you remember me? Do you recall the night you created a monster?”

The heavens opened in response; the first few drops of rain suddenly turned into a streaming torrent, saturating them in seconds.

Neither moved.

“Of course I remember you.” How could she ever forget? She had thought of him many times. She had broken her own set of rigid rules. Not that he would remember. “Welcome home, Leo.”

With anger and bitterness etched on his face, he cried, “This place is not my home.”

“It is the place of your birth, is it not?” she replied calmly. “Your rebirth. You are not the same man who came here three years ago.”

Her heart lurched when she thought of how slowly time had passed, how long it was since she had last seen his handsome countenance.

“No! I am not the same man. You destroyed him out of spite or for some other twisted reason.”

“And I am glad of it,” she yelled. She was starting to let her emotions control her. Wiping away the rivulets running down her face, she exhaled slowly.

She would not fight him. She could not tell him the truth.

The time had come.

He could have what he wanted — a chance to rid himself of the bitterness. A chance for revenge. Pulling the ties on her cape, she let the sodden garment fall to the ground.