Page 32 of Shifting Hearts
PROLOGUE
A s a dusky haze settled over the cobblestone lane outside Jasper Conrad’s tavern, the little village was lulled into slumber.
An eerie chill hung in the air, as the barmaiden drew the shutters closed, plunging the interior into near darkness, not that the clientele was bothered by the abrupt change.
The man closest to her smacked her ass, as she reached to light extra candles.
She rushed off, having learned it was better to ignore the disheveled regulars, to avoid being forced into someone’s lap.
When they weren’t actively reaching beneath her skirt, they occasionally came to blows in a drunken haze.
Conrad, who was already in a foul mood, scowled as he surveyed the dreary atmosphere.
“We need to replace barrel two,” the barmaiden explained.
He refused to crack open the barrels for these drunkards who wouldn’t know a good drink from arse water. He swiped his rag across the wooden bar top he’d built himself when he took over the tavern years ago.
Tonight, he secured a meeting with a potential investor who could help his business grow exponentially. Age had its advantages in life, but so did power. He craved power and continually sought after it.
The clip-clapping of hooves and rumble of a carriage echoed down the lane, causing every head to turn toward the door, waiting anxiously as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the tavern.
A horse’s winny preceded the door banging open.
The barmaiden, who’d been pulled into a patron’s lap, squeaked in fright.
A hooded figure stepped inside.
“Announcing, His Grace, the duke.”
Surely it was a coincidence that the candles flickered and the temperature dropped several degrees, as a man with an otherworldly grace glided through the door.
His skin was deathly pale in the soft light, in sharp contrast to the crimson coat he wore.
His footfalls were light on the wooden blanks despite his boot-clad feet.
The man rarely left his estate, adding to the pressure Conrad felt. He wouldn’t cock it up. Selling his wares to the duke would provide him the coin to open a second tavern in another province, one that would provide him with the profit needed to expand throughout the country.
The barmaiden quickly climbed off the lap of a patron and fixed her skirt before curtsying. “Your Grace.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet such beauty,” he whispered harshly.
She winced and backed away quickly, bumping into the man behind her, whose lap she’d just been astride.
“I’m looking for the proprietor of this establishment.”
Conrad cleared his throat and stepped out from behind the bar, wiping his hands on the same rag he’d just been using to clean. He approached the nobleman and bowed before him in respect.
“I’m the proprietor here. Conrad is my surname. Your presence is an unexpected pleasure, Your Grace.”
The duke’s footman snapped his fingers expectantly. “We require a sample of your finest wares, Mr. Conrad.”
Nobility was an exception to crack open a fresh barrel of bourbon.
He deftly placed a screw against the center of the wooden bung and tapped it a few times with a mallet.
Once the wood cracked, he twisted and yanked the handle quickly, to avoid splinters falling into the liquor.
If he were serving the barrel to his patrons, he would install a spigot.
To serve the liquor over time, instead, he scooped the amber liquid with a ladle and gingerly poured it into the cup.
Sweat beaded across his brow, as he passed the cup to the duke’s man along with a smaller cup. The young man took a sip of his cup first, in a gesture that was recognized. Conrad didn’t produce poison, but any liquor could kill a man in excess.
The duke gracefully lifted the metal cup to his thin lips and took a fair sip. Conrad’s eyes lowered to his Adam’s apple as he swallowed the sample. The man made a noise of appreciation.
“Rich and well-balanced,” he noted. “Perfect for indulging oneself. What is the age?”
“This particular barrel is aged four years.”
“How many barrels do you have in store?”
“Five, sir,” he provided.
“Very well,” the duke replied. “Deliver them to my estate on the morrow.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“I’m hosting a dinner party in the evening. Dress in your finery and serve us. If my guests enjoy your wares as much as I have, you’ll be welcome as my guest.
Conrad bowed. “You honor me, sir. I shall deliver promptly to your estate.”
The duke was gone in a flash, like a thief in the night. Conrad stood in the doorway and watched as the carriage, drawn by strong black stallions, disappeared into the thick fog.
A sale this big was worth celebrating. The unmarried tavern owner took one of the serving wenches to bed that evening. His carnal appetite was barely quenched and the poor girl wouldn’t be able to sit down for days after he was done with her.
The next evening, Conrad dressed in the only suit he owned.
It was neither tailored nor dapper, but he hoped that it was met with approval.
He hired two strong men from town to help him with his delivery, as well as a large carriage pulled by six horses.
It was another dark and gloomy evening, though not unusual for the season.
The carriage was halted by a guard at the gate.
After explaining why he was there, the man moved aside, but the horses refused to trot further.
Though frustrated, even Conrad felt the menacing energy that seemed to surround the duke.
He swallowed his apprehension as the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Conrad,” the guard assured him. “Our servants will assist your men in unloading the wares. It’s best if you continue on foot and not keep His Grace waiting.”
The guard pointed in the direction of the manor.
With each step, Conrad was sure he should turn around.
The moonlight illuminated his path as there were very few torches lighting the side of the packed lane leading up to the home.
An unnatural haze settled over the grounds, adding to the sense of foreboding.
He was informed it was an intimate gathering, even then, the grounds seemed devoid of the jovial atmosphere he expected. Conrad was led to the manor’s front door, while the casks entered through the kitchen and were stored in the cellar.
Before Conrad could be announced, a young, shrieking maiden collided with his broad chest.
“Please, sir,” she pleaded as he grabbed her arms to steady her. “Help me. These wicked devils took me captive.”
“Are you all right?” he asked, searching her frightened eyes.
“Please,” she wheezed. “Save me.”
Her disheveled hair stuck to her cheeks, cemented by tears. Terror adorned her tear-streaked face as she trembled against him.
“Mr. Conrad,” he hissed seductively as he entered the foyer. “Now that our guest of honor has arrived, the party may begin.”
“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.