Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Luther had thought... Well, he didn’t know what he’d thought. The moon called to him like it always did, and he couldn’t fight it. The damned month had passed too quickly.

He’d drunk half a bottle of whiskey before the sun even set. But of course he did. What else was he supposed to do while he waited for the inevitable? He could stay in his room and work. He could sign all the paperwork like his father used to do because signing his name repeatedly on documents of extreme wealth and property had reassured his father that no one knew what he was.

But that didn’t reassure Luther.

None of this was reassuring to the forgotten son who had stood in the room’s corner and watched his father turn into a monster every full moon.

The first time he’d told his nursemaid what he’d seen happen, she had laughed at the childish stories. And then she’d disappeared. The second nursemaid he told dragged him in front of his father and told the Earl that his son had turned into a little liar.

That had gotten him beaten. And then his father had dragged him to that room below the ballroom every single month to watch what happened to men like them. Men who didn’t have the right to be a person, not anymore. Not any longer.

He gripped the neck of the whiskey bottle and stared at the ballroom doors. The candle in his hand flickered, spluttered, and then died out because of course it did. Everything he touched eventually died.

With a soft curse, he gulped three mouthfuls of the whiskey before it burned too much. Then he set it on the floor and fumbled with the matches in his pocket. Lighting the candle took a while, and he didn’t even need the damned thing to see. He’d already spent the money to put in electricity and yet, here he was. With a candle in his hand like a damned idiot.

Sighing, he relit the candle he always brought with him like a ritual of hope and light. He’d assumed that having a candle might remind the beast of why they didn’t do what his father did. Maybe that flame was the fear that kept his demon in check.

Of course, it also lit the way to the basement. But by the time he would descend those stairs, Luther would already be able to see in the dark.

He put the candle down on the floor in front of him and focused on the flickering flame. It was beautiful. Alive. He reminded himself that even after all of this, he would also be alive.

The ritual was simple. He stripped his shirt off over his head. The air was too cold on his chest right now with all the sweat slicking his skin. Nervous sweat. He smelled like an animal that had been cornered in the woods. Acidic and with a bite of stench that no creature made unless it was in a life or death situation.

Rotating his head left to right, he eased the tension in his neck for what he would have to do next. Flexing the muscles of his back, he stretched out his shoulders and glared at the portrait on the wall in front of him.

His father.

The man had been the worst father and the best at the same time. But he supposed a lot of children felt like that about their parents. His father had been more interested in teaching his son how to be a good earl rather than how to be a good man. Every choice had to be made for the good of their lineage. For the sake of being an earl, he had to do whatever it took for their name to remain clean. Honorable.

That’s why his father’s portrait hid the stairs into the basement. Luther could already smell the damp odor. It was a horrible place full of chains and whips and blood that had crusted over in layers so thick, no one would ever be able to clean the room once this house finally left his family’s hands.

When he was a boy, his father would bring him to this very spot. He’d strip down farther than Luther ever chose to, and then he would stare down at the open hole leading into darkness.

“This is for the family,” his father always said. “This is for you and your mother and for all the earls that came before me. This is for the good people of Dead Man’s Crossing and for every single person who desires to live here. We are the sacrifice, Luther. You and I will always be the ones who have to bear the burden of making this choice for everyone else.”

“I don’t want this burden,” he’d said then, and now said aloud to his father’s portrait. Every time he stood here, he wanted nothing to do with this life.

He lifted his hands, staring down at the palms that soon wouldn’t be his at all. He’d thought about taking his life with these hands, but he’d never been able to do it. Why? Luther assumed because he didn’t have the courage. If he were another man, a better man, he might have been able to take those last steps forward.

His father’s portrait glared at him, as it always did.

He shrugged his shoulders, rolling them one more time before sighing. “Yes, Father, I know. You’re disappointed in me and you’ve never been proud. Not a single moment of your life and certainly not a single moment of your death.”

Any other son might have done what the Earl wanted. But Luther wasn’t like the others. He’d never wanted to be either.

He took a step toward the basement, only to freeze when the ceiling above his head cracked. Luther looked up in time to see a dark shadowy form staring down at him like some demon from old before the glass shattered.

He crouched down, holding his arms over his head and trying to protect whatever parts of his body that he could from the rain shower of shards. Yet in his mind, he still saw...

Her.

A woman on the roof of his ballroom. She was completely clothed in black, so he hadn’t the faintest idea what she looked like, other than those big green eyes that had widened with fear as the glass below her caved in.

When he didn’t hear the wet slap of a body striking hard tile, he stared up to see that she’d caught herself on the metal support that made up his ceiling. How long could she... There it was. Her fingers slipped. Blood splattered brightly down on the floor even as she tumbled toward him.

Luther would never know what made him move. He’d stood frozen in shock for a moment, but then he launched into action. He caught her midair and rolled with her, tumbling through the shards of glass and to the opposite side of the room. Bright blooms of pain spread across his upper back and down his spine where the glass had dug into his skin, but then he rolled on top of the woman to stare down into her pretty, ridiculously attractive face.

Or well, what he could see of her face was attractive. A cloth binding covered most of it.

Why would she be wearing an outfit like this? His mind struggled to give her a reason to be dressed so horribly, even as his heart knew why she was here. She was a thief. She’d come here to steal from him, and made a very nearly fatal mistake.

And he’d saved the woman who clearly needed to be locked up.

The beast in his chest rose to the occasion. The creature stretched out its claws and reached through the very fabric of his flesh, ready to tear and rend and rip. It wanted to kill her for what she’d done, or planned to do, because it hadn’t killed in such a long time.

Yet... He couldn’t.

Luther stared down at her and every muscle in his body locked up as tight as a drum. He was frozen, staring down at those wide green eyes that saw right through him and into his very soul. To the beast within who immediately stilled, a low rumble of approval echoing through his mind.

He wanted to know who she was. He needed to see her face, all of it, so that he’d never forget what she looked like. This woman who tamed his beast.

They both held their breath as he reached for the cloth binding that covered her face. And slowly, ever so slowly, Luther pulled the covering underneath her chin.

The thin fabric had hidden strong features and angular shapes. Her square jaw was already ticking as she ground her teeth, staring up at him with defiance as though he had no right to do what he was doing now. Perhaps he didn’t. Luther was lying on top of a strange woman while pulling at her clothing like the beast he was.

Her high cheekbones were sharp enough to cut glass, and the dark slashes of her eyebrows were drawn down in anger. If he’d released her, he had no question that she’d have at least tried to strike him. Or worse. He could easily imagine a thief had tricks up her sleeve that would leave him writhing on the floor in pain.

Those eyes, though... Those eyes burned with a fire that green shouldn’t be able to portray. And yet, here she was. Burning him up from the inside out and he didn’t know why or how that was possible. She glared at him with the heat of a thousand suns in those bright emerald eyes. Luther had the strangest feeling that he would let her burn him alive if only she kept looking at him like that. He’d gladly endure the pain, if only to see that fire a little longer.

A droplet of blood worked its way over his bare shoulder and slid down his chest. She tracked the movement, then glared at him again as though he had done something wrong. As though he had caused the injury, and not because she had been sitting on his ceiling waiting for the right moment to descend into his home like a spider seeking her prey.

What had she seen?

The icy chill of fear slid between his shoulders as he realized she could have seen everything. She might have watched him endure his curse and then see all his secrets unfold before her eyes. She would have been the only person to know... outside of his family, of course.

Luther looked up, making sure the portrait remained where it was supposed to be. It hadn’t budged, and he hadn’t revealed the secret passage. Not yet, at least, but he would have to. Already he could feel the moonlight dancing on his skin and calling out to the beast deep inside his flesh.

He’d waited too long. They had such a small amount of time now before everything went up in flames, burning eyes or no. And then he’d have to... what? He didn’t know.

Luther had always followed his father’s rules. He’d always been the obedient son and done what it took to keep this family safe. But if he missed getting down to the basement, then his beast would run free the rest of the night until the sun kissed the horizon once more.

Such pain that monster would cause. He didn’t know what the beast would do, considering it had never once been free in its life.

The woman struggled in his grip. Luther hardly even reacted, although he shifted his knees so that he was kneeling on her arms, forcing her to stop moving while he thought about the next steps.

He couldn’t let her go.

She had to be punished for breaking into his home. He should call a servant and have them keep her hidden away until he returned. But that would risk the servant as well, and they were already in enough danger by living in this house with him. Let alone helping him while the beast was so close to his skin.

Where could he put her?

A closet? No, someone would hear her screaming for help. Then maybe someone would think he was a kidnapper, and he didn’t have the time or the energy to deal with those accusations right now. At best, all he could do was maybe knock her out. Or lock her up with him?

His beast paced in the cell of his body, and he could almost hear the whispered words of the monster. It wanted him to throw her down into the dungeon with it. The creature wanted to taste her, to torment and torture until she didn’t know if she could breathe anymore for fear of what the creature would do. It wanted to unravel what made her so strong, and that was not something Luther would ever let it do.

He had little choice. But there had to be another way. Another plan that he hadn’t thought of.

“Let me go,” the woman snarled beneath him, twisting her body with a bucking heave that almost sent him flying off of her. “Or I will make you.”

Make him?

Luther stared down into those haunting green eyes and once again lost himself in that gaze. The wolf grasped hold of his tongue and suddenly he snarled, “Go ahead and try.”