Page 59 of Shifting Hearts 1
“What is the meaning of this?”
“Please bring the girl back to me.”
“No, no, no!” The girl broke into hysterics, clinging to the lapels of his suit coat.
Conrad hesitated, shielding her in his strong arms. He intended to usher her to safety. But the cold hand of death landed on his shoulder, pulling him far from his facilities.
“This young woman simply doesn’t understand her role in this evening’s festivities Mr. Conrad. Bring her back and be forever more a welcome guest at my table and hearth.” His words of promise hypnotized the tavern owner. “After tonight, you will be a very wealthy man.”
He removed his hand from Conrad’s shoulder and stepped back. The girl continued to sob in his arms. Why was he hesitating when the righteous choice was clear? All he had to do was leave the home and send word of such wickedness to the king.
“Mr. Conrad,” the duke said, impatiently.
In a split second, Conrad’s hand twitched, as he sacrificed his integrity for ambition. He chose wealth and power over the young maiden’s safety and thus, sold his soul to the devil.
“Sorry love,” he murmured. “It sounds like you haven’t been excused from the table.”
The maiden wept and struggled valiantly against Conrad as he dragged her into the room she’d escaped from. Unfortunately, her slim figure was no match for his brawn. He placed her before Duke Alreadam.
“Please,” she begged.
With a quick flick of his hand, the girl was instantly silenced. Her tears stopped flowing, as she swayed slightly. Her entranced form no longer caused them grief.
“Lay her down on the table, Mr. Conrad.”
He complied and lifted her. Her spirit had been broken, making her no more combative than a sack of potatoes. Conrad observed the other guests—four men and two women—as he laid the girl on the table. The hunger in their eyes made his skin crawl as he took the last open seat.
He settled onto the velvet cushion on the ornate chair. The stools at his tavern were uncovered, occasionally leading to a man getting a splinter in the arse.
“Now that Mr. Conrad has joined us, we may return to our feast,” the duke hissed.
The pale man’s features twisted in a macabre expression as he opened his mouth. Conrad caught a glimpse of elongated teeth, like a canine. In a flash, he descended on the girl, biting into her neck, as she let out a guttural scream. The man growled as he pulled a hidden dagger from his person and slid it across her throat. Her legs twitched as blood coated the table. Dark crimson rivulets dripped onto the floor. The other guests descended on the still form.
Conrad’s chair clattered to the floor as he pushed away from the table. He hadn’t understood what was expected from the evening, but he was implicit in it. He backed away, intending to leave, but the duke blocked his path.
Dark veins bulged and pulsed beneath his ashy skin. The whites of his eyes were full of blood as the irises themselves were black. His hair and clothing were disheveled and stained from the girl’s blood.
His bloody grin made Conrad’s blood run cold. He suppressed a tremor, forcing the fear clawing at his throat back into his stomach. He would be next, and he had to come to terms with that after dragging that poor girl to her death.
A crooked grin spread across the devil’s face. “Be not afraid, Mr. Conrad. Join us. As a member of my line, you will be rich and powerful beyond your wildest imagination.”
He stretched his clawed hand out to Conrad, beckoning him forward. The man would not be able to claim he was bewitched or entranced in the moment as they shook hands. A moment later, the monstrous face faded back into the charming, pale duke once more. His wide smile still bared fangs like the deadly predator he truly was. Conrad’s gaze slipped past him to the poor girl’s body as the others continued drinking her blood.
Conrad swallowed the lump in his throat. “Will I become like you if I agree?”
“You will become a God!”
Duke Alreadam was wrong though, Conrad didn’t become a God. He became a cold heartless monster. He sold his soul to the devil, and for 200 years he reveled in that.
ONE
Seraphina
Excitement had Seraphina Chandler bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her optimism shone through her innocent expression as she arrived in the city. In mortal years, she was young, only twenty, but immortality wasn’t measured in years.
She came across her reflection in a mirrored surface. She’d been raised not to allow something as superficial as her features distract her, though she was stunning, from her porcelain-like skin to the plum locks without a single errant strand. Her hazel eyes were doe-like with long lashes and the tip of her nose was slightly upturned like a pixy. Her full lips were stained a shade of pink, leaving her without the need for gloss.
She wondered if this was how an angel should appear, as her curves garnered looks from passersby. She quickly descended from the train platform as it pulled away from the station, rushing toward its next destination.
