ALWAYS BY NIGHT
Unwilling to marry Lord Bloodworth, the wealthy landowner her father has chosen for her, Bryony flees her home in the middle of a storm and takes refuge in what she thinks is an abandoned house made of stone. What she believed was a refuge becomes her prison when she wakes in the morning and discovers neither the doors nor the windows will open.
Her fears rise when she meets the strange man who appears always by night. He has remarkable powers that she attributes to witchcraft, only to learn to her horror that not only is Stefan a witch but a vampire, as well. Though he refuses to release her, he treats her kindly, providing her with books and paints and anything else she desires -- except her freedom. As the weeks pass, Bryony's fear and revulsion turns to trust and she discovers a kindred spirit in the man who holds her fate in his hands.
As the love between Stefan and Bryony grows, he decides he wants her to stay with him of her own free will and sends her home to decide her own fate. To her horror, Bryony discovers that her father is a vampire hunter, determined to see Stefan dead, and equally determined to see her wed to Lord Bloodworth. As Bryony realizes the depths of her love for Stefan, she prays that she will find a way to save the life of the man who has stolen her heart and save herself from the loveless marriage her father has arranged for her.
Chapter One
Hands fisted on her hips, her blue eyes flashing fire, Bryony Barrett stamped her foot on the white marble floor. "I will not marry Lord Timothy Bloodworth and you cannot make me!"
"You think not?" Her father glared at her, his face mottled with fury at her stubbornness. "You will marry him when I say, where I say, or I will send you to the convent until you change your mind."
Bryony glared right back. "Do it! I would rather be a cloistered nun for the rest of my life than be the wife of that fat, old, ugly, bald, addle-pated penny-pincher."
Her father's eyes narrowed ominously. "Go. To. Your. Room," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "And don't come out until I send for you."
Bryony bit down on her lower lip. She knew that look. She'd gone too far this time. But she would not back down. She would not marry the odious Lord Bloodworth. Mouth set in a grim line, shoulders back, head high, she marched up the winding staircase to her bedchamber and slammed the door behind her.
A moment later, she heard the key turn in the lock. It sounded like a death knell in her ears. For a fleeting second, she was tempted to call her father and tell him she had changed her mind. But then she imagined herself as Lady Bloodworth, forced to share her husband's bed, and bear his children. It was a future too horrible to contemplate. Better to die a chaste virgin than surrender her virtue to a man she despised. A man who was twice her age and possibly the most boring, unattractive man she had ever met.
Firm in her resolve, she threw herself face down on her bed and dissolved into tears. When her tears were spent, she sat up and dried her eyes on the edge of the bedspread. Her father thought there were only two choices—marriage or the convent. But if she had the courage, there was a third choice, and she took it late that night. Clad in a long, black dress, hooded cloak, and black boots, Bryony climbed out her bedchamber window, took a deep breath, and shinnied down the ancient oak that overshadowed her bedchamber window. Her legs and arms were covered with dozens of scratches by the time she reached the ground, but she paid them no mind.
Keeping to the deep shadows, she ran to the barn and threw a bridle on her favorite mare. Grabbing a handful of Daisy's mane, she swung onto the mare's back and fled her father's estate. A silent prayer of thanks rose in her throat a short time later when the heavens opened and unleashed a torrent of rain that would quickly wash away her tracks.
Huddling deeper into her cloak, she rode for what seemed like hours until the mare slowed and stopped of her own accord. Lifting her head, Bryony glanced around. She had never been this far from home before and she had no idea where she was. Peering through the heavy rain, she saw a large edifice in the shallow valley below. Perhaps she could find shelter there for the night.
Bryony was shivering now. Refusing to think of her warm room and soft mattress, she clucked softly to the mare and rode on. Gradually, as she drew closer to the building, she saw that it was a large, two-story house hewn from grey stone. Reining Daisy to a halt, Bryony slid to the ground, stumbled through the thick mud to the door, and rang the bell, hoping to find a kindly soul who might provide her with lodging and a bed for the night. She waited a moment and when there was no answer, she knocked on the door. Again, no one came.
She glanced at Daisy, hating to leave her outside. But there was no help for it now. Chilled to the bone, the rain pummeling her head and shoulders, she lifted the latch, pushed the door open and called, "Hello?"
No answer. Unable to stand the icy chill any longer, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Moving cautiously, she made her way further into the dark house, cried out when she hit her knee on a piece of furniture, which turned out to be a high-backed couch. Sinking down on it, she huddled in a corner, her arms wrapped around her waist, her knees drawn up to her chest.
Overcome with weariness, she drifted off to sleep, wondering if she would ever be warm and dry again.
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He moved through the deep shadows of the night, a part of the impenetrable darkness that shrouded the land. A soulless monster, hated and hunted by humanity. A creature with no hope of redemption or forgiveness in this life or the next, destined to be always and forever alone.
He paused as he materialized inside his lair, his nostrils filling with the scent of woman, the tantalizing promise of hot, fresh blood. He followed the scent and came to an abrupt halt when he saw the female asleep on his couch. She had a wealth of honey-colored hair, tawny skin kissed by the sun, lips that were pink and perfect. Her lashes lay like dark fans against her rosy cheeks. She had been crying, her cheeks still damp from her tears.
He rocked back on his heels, wondering what twist of Fate had brought an angel to his door even as he felt his fangs lengthen in response to the slow, steady beat of her heart.
Kneeling beside the couch, he brushed her hair aside and gave in to the sweet temptation of her life's blood.