Lured By Shadows (The House of Scarbrough #1)

Prologue

The first time I watched her sleep, I understood why men destroyed cities for devotion.

I delighted in watching her. Even the smallest motions of her life held me captive: the faint furrow of her brow as fatigue began to claim her, the quiet, unthinking grace of her hands as they continued their work long past reason.

The paper clung lightly to the side of her wrist where warmth gathered, though she did not seem to notice.

She remained too committed to whatever mortal insistence urged her to finish one more line before surrendering to sleep.

Humans possessed an absurd loyalty to exhaustion, as though collapse were something noble.

If only I had drawn her into my orbit sooner.

Decades of solitude would have dissolved beside this single evening, rendered insignificant by the weight of her presence.

But truth rose between us, as it always did, immovable and unwelcome.

I would frighten her. She had already confessed her suspicions, the tremor in her voice when she named me a menace, a killer.

The accusation was not misplaced. Some wretch had already planted that fear within her, had dared to shape her perception of me with careless words.

Even the thought of their voice reaching her stirred something dark within my blood, a territorial instinct honed by centuries spent guarding what was mine against those too ignorant to recognize the danger they invited.

Yet I could not tear that influence away.

Not yet. Too soon, and she would turn her heart from me entirely, as Soroush once had from Rupert.

Rupert’s failures were my inheritance. For all his insufferable company, he had given me one invaluable lesson.

Through him, I learned what not to do, how not to uproot a human’s life and expect devotion to take root in its place.

That was why I had orchestrated her arrival with care.

I wove circumstance and opportunity together until she stepped closer without realizing she had been guided there.

Every thread had been measured against the long arc of time rather than the urgency of a single night.

I wanted her to belong to me without ever feeling confined.

It would have been easier to simply take her.

Easier and unforgivable are often one and the same.

I could not endure her loathing, not when the eternity before me required a bond forged through choice rather than conquest.

I remembered Rupert’s unraveling with Soroush, the way it consumed him piece by piece, the way it ended.

The memory remained etched into me, a warning I refused to ignore.

Control was not optional. So when she finally sagged forward onto her papers and sleep claimed her, I exhaled once and stilled my lungs.

With a mere flick of thought, the lock on her door eased open.

Only I could do this unseen. Only I dared.

I stood over her in silence, allowing myself the indulgence of proximity.

Even in sleep, she kept one hand loosely curled near her papers, as though unwilling to relinquish the task entirely, as though effort itself had become too ingrained to abandon.

She called to me like a siren across centuries of emptiness.

All the years I had spent alone were nothing compared to the first hour I watched her exist. They became little more than shadows beside her.

Even now, her nearness and the steady pulse beneath her skin eclipsed everything I had ever known.

It stirred a devotion deeper than the fleeting passions of mortal hearts.

Something long dormant within me shifted quietly awake beneath her warmth.

Mates were the reason Rupert had raged and clawed at Soroush, and immortality did little to prepare us for such a truth.

No eternity equips you for the sudden narrowing of the world to one living, breathing soul.

The infinite becomes intimate. Everything narrowed around them with unbearable clarity.

Even now, as she shifted in sleep, her pulse changed beneath the delicate column of her throat.

The sound struck me with such force that my hand tightened against the edge of her desk before I realized I had moved.

I vowed again to be different… patient. She was already mine, whether she sensed it or not.

As she slept, her features softened into something almost peaceful, and for a fleeting moment, I believed wholly in my control.

Still, the question remained, pressing and inescapable.

When she learned I was the architect of her life, the one who bent her path toward mine, how far would her terror reach?

I measured it carefully, considering each fracture point with the cold clarity of one who had watched empires fall for far less.

The memory of Soroush’s discovery lingered.

His instinct to flee. Rupert’s instinct to hunt.

The flash of claws, the burn of inhuman eyes, all the truths that rendered us something to be feared.

Yet even without those signs, humans always knew.

Their hearts betrayed them first, stuttering and quickening in our presence.

I could trace every shift in rhythm with a predator’s awareness, each beat mapping fear and allure in equal measure.

That sound alone held its own intoxication.

The thought tightened my throat. I realized I had inhaled unconsciously, and now her scent filled me completely, warmth, sunlight, the unmistakable pulse of the living.

Her heartbeat answered at once, quickening as though some buried instinct recognized me even in sleep, and my jaw set hard enough to ache.

No creature born of the Gods’ world had ever smelled like her.

My fangs ached. Craving was too shallow a word for what stirred within me, a primal hunger contained only by the discipline forged over centuries.

Even my body responded in crude, human ways.

I shifted the weight of my cock to ease the pressure building against my trousers and released a slow breath.

Sex had never been more than appetite, a distraction easily satisfied amid the ceaseless passage of time.

Yet she unsettled even that certainty. One breath of her, and I was undone.

I inhaled again, more carefully this time.

Fear threaded through me, invasive and unfamiliar, a rare intrusion into the stillness of my control.

She was divine, a convergence of fate woven through time itself.

The Gods had placed her here for me. Their design revealed itself in every quiet alignment.

The day I first saw her through the screen, I had not understood the weight of her presence.

When I saw her in person, I knew I would never forget it.

The world itself seemed to settle around her, as though confirming something greater than either of us.

Even now, I found myself offering silent thanks for what had been placed before me.

A low hum left me without thought, and I stilled as she shifted, my senses heightening to the slightest change in her rhythm.

Her pulse faltered first, then climbed. Not fear.

Only instinct responding before her waking mind could follow.

She lifted her head, paper clinging to her cheek, and for one irrational moment, I considered remaining where I stood.

I wondered whether sleep-heavy eyes might find me beautiful before terror inevitably took hold.

Humans rarely woke with any measure of dignity, yet she managed better than most. She drifted toward the bathroom, still unfamiliar with the edges of this house, pausing once in that half-aware confusion that lingered when sleep had not fully released its hold.

Mortal creatures placed remarkable faith in doors, as though wood and brass had ever truly kept anything out.

I moved within her blind periphery, my steps guided by instinct and silence.

I longed to meet her gaze, to allow her to see me without distance, but I knew what would follow.

Fear. Panic. The inevitable plea for me to leave.

Even the thought carved something unpleasant through my chest.

If only I were strong enough to end the charade, to shatter the veil with the authority of my years.

If I stepped into her path now, everything I had built would collapse at once.

She would fear me, question me, and hate me.

Her rejection would become a wound echoing through the endless nights ahead.

Or I could withdraw and continue as planned, patient as stone worn smooth by water, ensuring her path aligned with mine without fracture.

The water fell silent behind the bathroom door.

The knob turned. For one reckless heartbeat, I nearly remained where I stood.

Her hand touched the door, then stilled, and though she could not see me, her pulse betrayed her hesitation.

It rose enough that even I felt its pull.

I almost spoke. I almost chose ruin. The impulse passed as quickly as it came.

Control prevailed, not from weakness but from calculation.

At the last instant, I moved past her and settled into the tree beyond her window, my presence folding seamlessly into the night.

From there, I watched her hair lift in the wake of my passing and saw her eyes widen as she noticed the open door.

Her quiet alarm held my attention completely.

Foolish. I had lingered too long, a small misstep within the careful design I had set in motion.

She stepped into the rain wearing only a thin tank and shorts, her bare knees already touched by water.

I wished she would retreat. Her vulnerability stirred something deeply protective within me.

Still, she searched anyway, trying to make sense of what had disturbed her space with quiet determination.

She would never see me concealed within the shadows.

Her human sight was too limited. At last, a shiver overtook her, and she retreated inside.

It was a small but necessary victory. That was my cue.

I moved to the balcony and settled along the railing as she peeled the damp fabric from her skin, my gaze unwavering and attentive to every detail of her form.

When she slipped beneath her blankets in an oversized shirt, a low, possessive satisfaction settled within my chest.

Her eyes continued to flick toward the door, searching for what she could not name.

I noted every subtle shift in her unease.

Yet there was nothing in me she needed to fear, only the guardian shaped by centuries of conflict.

I was her protector. Her guide. The one who waited in the dark, bound to her by something far greater than time itself.

My little lamb, and already her pulse answered me in ways her mind could not yet understand.