Prologue
This original work of fiction was written by lisa Ro and is subject to copyright All rights reserved © 2020
En
gland 1837
“Let’s celebrate my sweet Estevan.”
I remove my coat and join Devlin on the sofa. Her cheeks are bright with excitement as she sits in front of the radio.
“And what are we celebrating, love?”
She kisses my cheek like she does every day when I come in from the field.
“It’s a revolution… Victoria has become queen, and she’s only eighteen… Before long, the world will be ruled by women, and you men will have to listen.”
I laugh loudly and pull her onto my lap.
“Is that your dream, my love? Tell me, in this vision, do women walk their husbands like they do their dogs?”
She gasps at my humor, punching my arm.
“Oh, you! It’s equality I’m after, and you know it.”
My laughter dies when I glimpse down her shirt. Devlin can already sense my arousal, and her heart begins to pump wildly. I get lost in the rapid beat. My eyes shift to the pulse in her neck, and my teeth sharpen. No! With a shake of my head, I take back control.
I met Devlin four years ago when I was just learning to control my thirst after running wild for decades. Her kind heart and patience helped me blend in with the humans.
I was chasing dinner when I found her crying in the field. Her sweet scent drew me in, and I was going to drink her. Actually, I attempted it, but her acceptance of her fate stopped me. My teeth sank in. She struggled a few seconds before telling me… She forgives me.
She saved me from the savage I was. People became more than a meal that day. It’s her kindness that changed me. Now I farm. She was crying because her husband passed and she was going to lose his legacy. Devlin was alone at thirty-nine. Her parents long gone, and she was an only child born barren.
I never pitied her. I looked up to her. She was dealt a sour hand, and she was still sweeter than any human I’d ever come in contact with.
“How shall we celebrate love? Would you like me to liberate you on the sofa?” I ask while trailing kisses from her hand to arm.
She turns bright red; the color casting her pale blond locks pink.
“Oh, you scoundrel… I believe it is I who will take charge.”
She climbs onto my lap, and I lean back, ready for her exploration.
“Once I am liberated. I would like to go dancing… Do you think you’re ready?”
