Page 2 of Bewitched By a Vampire

For once, he would like his brother to notice the great things he did, not the mistakes he made. He chuckled at that. Hell would freeze over long before Bastian praised him for anything. His brother didn’t have it in him.

He stared at the elegant Georgian sandstone mansion as it came into view ahead of him.

A golden glow emanated from most of the sash windows on the two levels, especially those closest to the double-height portico in the centre of the long building. Lights set into the ground illuminated the façade, including the Grecian columns that supported a triangular pediment with a beautiful carved frieze set into it. He stared at the figures and blew out his breath.

It looked more like a prison than a home to him as dread pooled in his stomach.

A whole week of putting up with Bastian and whatever fawning vampires his brother invited over.

Sometimes he wished Grave had succumbed to bloodlust and gone as nuclear as their cousin had, finishing the job Snow had started that dark night by murdering the rest of his family. Except for him, of course. Snow had spared his brother, Antoine. Night was sure Grave would do the same for him, clawing his sanity back in time to save him.

Or maybe he should just let his brother finish the job the witch had started on him.

Grave would never do it, though. His brother was cold and ruthless, but Night wasn’t as blind to his feelings as others were. His brother loved him too much to let him die. Proof of that was the fact Grave had reassigned him to the mortal world soon after the incident, using some excuse about him commanding a new black-ops type team that would be responsible for carrying out covert missions. His brother had wanted him out of Hell and away from danger. He wanted to keep Night safe.

Maybe his brother’s desperate desire to keep him alive was the reason Night had been seeing less and less of him over the decades. Night wanted things between them to reach a point where Grave wouldn’t stop him.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and crushed those dark thoughts, putting them out of his head. He had important missions to complete for Grave. He was vital to Grave’s plans to become the most powerful man in Hell. Someone had to watch his brother’s back.

And who better to do it than his shadow?

Night frowned as the door of the mansion opened and Bastian hurried out of it, one of his owned humans following him.

With a lot of bags.

Night parked his car and stepped out, the golden gravel crunching under his black leather shoes. “What’s this?”

Bastian spared him a glance and then pointed at the boot of his enormous black Bentley. “Put the luggage in there. Hurry.”

The young man dipped his head and rushed to comply with his master’s orders, and Night strode towards his brother. Something was wrong. It wasn’t like Bastian to be flustered and his brother looked close to doing something terribly undignified, like running his hand through his neat dark brown hair.

Or losing his temper.

“I asked, what’s this?” Night stopped close to him, but Bastian moved away and did something very unlike him.

He opened the rear door of the car himself.

“Things must be dire if you’re not waiting for a servant to do that for you. I’m a patient man, Bastian, but it looks a lot like you’re leaving and I would like to know why.” Night steeled his nerves when Bastian paused and his head swivelled towards him. It wasn’t wise to demand anything of his eldest brother, but he was tired and had come all this way to see him, sacrificing a hunt to be here.

“I have business I need to deal with.” Bastian’s baritone was as smooth and calm as ever, but it didn’t fool Night. His brother was harried and the crimson ringing his pale blue irises told Night that the business in question had angered him, or maybe something else had.

Night’s own impertinence, perhaps.

He couldn’t be sure.

Bastian went to get into the car and Night gripped the top of the door, stopping him and earning himself another look that warned him he was treading on thin ice.

“I shall be back before the end of the week, Night. Make yourself at home.” Bastian looked over his shoulder as the servant shut the boot and the driver started the engine. “Stay here and look after the house.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

While Night felt he should be aggravated by the fact his brother was demanding he stay in his home for the week despite the fact he wouldn’t even be there, he actually felt as if he had hit the jackpot. By the time Bastian returned, his week of torture would almost be up, and he had the huge mansion to himself.

He was already planning parties in his head. Not elegant balls, but debauched gatherings. Lavish affairs at his brother’s expense. Bastian could afford it. He was a shark. Bastian had a head for business that was more terrifying than Grave’s head for bloody mass murder on the battlefield. He had made billions since the mortal world had begun advancing, and the bastard kept it all to himself.

Bastian was a firm believer in making your own mark, which Night knew really meant he was a frugal son of a bitch who wanted to keep all his money to himself. Night couldn’t really hold it against him, because he knew where this side of his brother had come from. Their father had always been absent, far more concerned with his business dealings than his own family, leaving their mother to raise them.

In response to that, Bastian had started pushing Night and his siblings to make their mark on the world and live up to the Van der Garde name, foolishly believing that if he made a big enough impression that their father would take notice of him.

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