Isabell lay in a large, ornate four-poster bed, the blankets heavy and chilled against her skin. Beside her, a man she knew well was sleeping, but his face was blurred, slipping further from her memory as shadows crept in. She watched him for a time her heart swelling at the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. She wanted to stay with him but something deep inside told her she wouldn’t be able to. The fire in the hearth had long since died, leaving the room shrouded in darkness. The only light was the faint glow from a small arched window near the bed.

She rose slowly, feeling a dull ache in her arms as she moved. She reached for the fire, intending to rekindle it, but a soft sound from down the hall stopped her in her tracks. A wave of dread bloomed in her chest, an instinctive fear she couldn’t place. The sound came again, and though a part of her knew what she might find if she left the room, she couldn’t stop herself. She turned from the fire and slipped out the door, closing it quietly so as not to disturb John.

Her movements felt slow, weighted, as though she were moving through water. Her bare feet padded down the hall, and she passed a familiar painting—one of herself and John standing behind their children. She squinted, trying to make out the details, but their faces blurred, slipping from her grasp like sand. A deep sadness came over her at that and she reached out to touch it, but her arm felt heavy, throbbing with a strange, dull pain.

As she entered the main family room, a bone-chilling cold swept over her as she spotted a tall dark figure near a corner of the room with his back to her. His hands were splayed on either side of the wall. His head was dipped and his body was pressing against a female figure.

Isabell inhaled in surprise and the night itself felt like it froze. Time slowed as the man lifted his head and brought his hands down to his side. The woman that was pushed up against the wall, fell in a lifeless heap. Isabell distantly registered that it was one of the maidservants, Amelia who now lay at his feet though her features too were nothing but shadow. A stab of pain and terror rose up inside her at the sight even as her mind had somehow braced her for what she would find.

The figure slowly turned to face her and her breath caught in her throat. The man had jet-black hair that was swept back from his face. He was tall and lean with smooth, pale skin and sharp angular features that looked carved from stone. His eyes were like black, bottomless pits, and running down his strong chin was thick, red blood. The man smiled revealing two sharp fangs that were glistening with that same blood and the air in Isabell’s lungs seemed to leave her entirely. What stood before her was the most beautiful and terrifying thing she had ever seen. An angel of death.

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“My, aren’t you a pretty little dove,” he murmured, his voice smooth and predatory. “You must be Isabell.”

A shiver ran through her, her heart pounding painfully in her chest as she took a step back.

“Who are…?” was all she managed to whisper, her voice trembling.

The man continued to approach, closing the space between them until she was nearly backed against the wall. He didn’t answer immediately, savoring her fear, his eyes never leaving her.

“I am Lucian,” he said at last, his voice a velvet caress. “But you, my pet, will come to know me as Master.”

The words slithered over her, and her body, despite her terror, responded. Her pulse thundered in her ears, but his gaze held her captive, and when he reached up to stroke her cheek, she couldn’t pull away.

“Shh,” he cooed, his touch deceptively gentle. “Don’t be afraid. Don’t scream. I won’t hurt you.” His voice was soft, wrapping around her like silk, yet she heard the lie beneath the words. Even so, her body seemed to relax, yielding to his command against her will.

Lucian took another step, his hand slipping under her chin to lift her face, exposing her throat. His fingers brushed her skin, and he traced his thumb over the pulse at her neck, watching her with dark satisfaction.

“I think I will enjoy you,” he breathed, his words sending a chill through her.

Every inch of her screamed to pull away, to fight, to run, yet she remained frozen in place. Why was this thing here? And what did it want with her?

As though reading her thoughts, Lucian whispered, “Your brother owes me a debt, Isabell. And I…” He leaned closer, his lips grazing her ear. “I have come to collect.”

Her anger flared, cutting through her fear like a knife. Who did he think he was, touching her like this and invoking her brother’s name? Her brother was dead. Lucian’s lips hovered close to hers, the metallic tang of blood sharp on his breath. Before he could close the distance, she brought her knee up, aiming for his groin.

Lucian didn’t even flinch. He merely smirked, catching her leg with a firm hand and pushing her back against the wall.

“You’ll change your mind someday,” he murmured, releasing her with an air of indifference. His gaze lingered on her, dark and knowing, as though he saw all her secrets laid bare.

Never.

She thought. She would never give an ounce of herself to this monster. She made to spit in his face but then white hot pain radiated from her side and the world swam, darkness falling around her.