The fog rolled off the Thames like a living thing, crawling over the cobblestones of Blackthorn Lane with a suffocating embrace. Evelyn adjusted the collar of her wool coat, shivering despite the heavy fabric. The gaslamps lining the street flickered ominously, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to claw at the edges of the pavement. She clutched her reticule tighter, the iron skeleton key inside pressing sharply against her palm.
It had been three days since her uncle's mysterious demise. Three days since the solicitor had handed her the deed to Blackthorn Manor—a sprawling, decrepit estate that London society whispered was cursed. Evelyn didn't believe in curses, only in the debts her uncle had left behind, and the desperate need to find whatever fortune he had allegedly hidden within those walls.
As she approached the wrought-iron gates, a silhouette detached itself from the gloom. The man was tall, dressed in impeccably tailored mourning clothes that seemed too expensive for a common street prowler. His silver-tipped cane tapped lightly against the stone as he stepped into the pallid pool of light cast by the nearest lamp.
"Miss Vance, I presume," his voice was a low, velvet purr that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. His eyes, completely black in the dim light, locked onto hers. "You are trespassing on a history you do not understand."
Evelyn raised her chin, refusing to be intimidated. "I hold the deed to this property, sir. And I do not recall making your acquaintance. Kindly step aside."
A slow, wicked smile touched his lips. "I am Lord Alastair, and my family held the blood-tithe to this land centuries before your uncle stole it. If you turn the key in that lock tonight, Evelyn Vance, you invite the dark back in. And I assure you, it is hungry."
She hesitated, her hand hovering over the ancient lock. The wind howled through the twisted ironwork, sounding almost like a chorus of weeping voices. Alastair stepped closer, his scent a dizzying mix of bergamot and old magic. He reached out, his gloved hand covering hers on the cold iron gate.
"Leave now," he whispered, his face inches from hers. "Or belong to the shadows forever. The choice is—"
Community Comments (3)
Oh my god, Lord Alastair is already my favorite character. That cliffhanger is cruel! Grabbing my credit card right now.
The atmosphere in this chapter is incredible. You can really feel the fog and the cold. Great start to the series.
So glad I have a Vault subscription so I don't have to wait! Chapter 2 is even better, you guys are not ready.