Lured to the Night (The Brotherhood Series Book 4) by Adele Clee Page A

levels. She was mistress of the castle. She was a married woman. Even if people did choose to slander her for improper behaviour, she was beyond caring. Nothing could be worse than the malicious gossip she had heard already. Besides, the baobhan sith were known for using their womanly wiles to prey on innocent men. Not that Lachlan could be considered innocent.
    The unexpected rattling of carriage wheels charging into the bailey caused her pulse to beat rapidly in her throat. If one considered the recent turn of events, her racing heart could be attributed to a fear of the villagers returning with a battering ram to take down the castle door. But the sudden sense of trepidation, the sudden realisation that only one person would arrive in a carriage without warning and in the dead of night, caused a debilitating feeling of dread.
    Nikolai had returned.
    She froze, her feet rooted to the spot. She opened her mouth to speak, to call out, but no words could ever be sufficient to convey the extent of her anguish.
    What if Nikolai discovered Lachlan at the castle? He would see it as a sign of disrespect. He would use it as a reason to destroy everything she held dear.
    Forcing one foot in front of the other, she found the courage to shuffle to the window. Peering out, she was shocked to find two people had alighted from the carriage. The couple staring at the large arched door looked disfigured through the thick square panes of glass. Their faces were misshapen and distorted: their cheeks too fat or too hollow depending on which way one tilted their head. The absence of any light made it impossible to distinguish their features. The gentleman had long hair that skimmed his shoulders. The last time she had seen Nikolai he’d had long hair too. The woman’s flowing golden locks were identical to her own.
    Isla jumped back.
    Suddenly it all became clear to her.
    Her hand flew to her heart in a bid to stop it pounding out of her chest. Nikolai had spent the last three years searching for a woman who possessed an uncanny likeness to her own form: a ghostly apparition of herself. He had used his evil magic to lure another devil to unseat her. But she knew enough from old tales of folklore to know that they could not both exist in the same world; to see an identical spectre was a premonition of death.
    The calm, reassuring voice of logic muttered away in a distant corner of her mind. It was foolish to believe in ancient stories. A vivid imagination could make the ridiculous seem plausible. But then she would never have expected to crave blood, or to shrivel in sunlight. Ignoring the incessant mumbling, she focused on the only thing that mattered. She would not let Nikolai sink his rotten fangs into Lachlan’s neck.
    The loud bang on the door caused the festering anger to flare inside. If they knocked again, they would surely alert Lachlan, and so she had no choice but to face them. When outnumbered, the art of surprise was always the best plan of attack. One must make the best use of whatever means one has at their disposal. The woman would be the weakest, the most vulnerable.
    With that in mind, Isla opened the door ajar. Without making eye contact, she slipped outside and closed it quickly behind her. The sharp tips of her fangs dug into her bottom lip, throbbing with the need to draw blood. Without hearing a word from Nikolai, or his pretty companion, she turned and flew at the woman. The affliction gave her the strength to overpower her quarry easily. Racing to stand behind the beauty, she held her to her chest, forced the lady’s head to the side and bared her fangs over the creamy column of her throat.
    Nikolai cursed.
    “Stay where you are,” Isla hollered before he had a chance to step forward. “I’ll not leave my home. You’ll not take that from me too.”
    “Let her go.” Nikolai raised his hands: a sign of surrender. It was so unlike him. “Please, do not drink from her. I beg you.”
    Beg? Nikolai would never stoop