Transformed By A Christmas Star: A Lords of the Night novella

  Transformed by a Christmas Star

  a Lords of the Night

  novella

  *****

  Kindle edition

  *****

  Sandra Sookoo

  *****

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the author.

  Ebooks are not transferrable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this ebook, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting or uploading is illegal and violates United States Copyright laws.

  Pirating of ebooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.

  TRANSFORMED BY A CHRISTMAS STAR © 2019

  by Sandra Sookoo

  sandrasookoo@yahoo.com

  Visit me at www.sandrasookoo.com

  Published by Blue Tulip Publishing

  http://www.bluetulippublishing.com/

  ISBN-

  Edited by: Angie Eads

  Book Cover Design by David Sookoo

  Couple:– Period Images

  Background images: Deposit Photos

  First Digital Edition: 2019

  *****

  Dedication

  For everyone who is different, feels isolated, thinks they’ll never fit in. Be you, the rest will fall into place because the right people will love you.

  *****

  Blurb

  He’s angry and questioning, but doomed to be alone... Sir Sebastian George Sutcliffe, Baron Wimsley, is a wolf shifter. He’s come to London to demand answers from his half-brother, the Duke of Manchester. On his way to see that austere personage, he spots a shooting star and makes a desperate Christmastide wish he hopes will help him survive his miserable life, but the delicate beauty he finds in Hyde Park might just change everything.

  She’s lost, but seeks true purpose... Miss Estelle Forbes has been cast from the heavens as a star to escape a dark, desolate future. When she falls to earth, she takes the form of a human without a history or knowledge of the cold world she plunged into. As a handsome stranger rescues her, she immediately feels a strong connection to him. Perhaps her light is meant to guide him.

  Love creeps in to save them both… As Sebastian and Estelle learn about each other, they’re both forced to confront the difficulties in their lives. Along the way, a courtship happens and brings about a sweet romance to strengthen that invisible bond, but their hidden secrets and old lives threaten the budding happiness. Only a Christmastide miracle can usher in a happily ever after.

  *****

  The Legend of the Cursed Lords

  At least a hundred years ago, a handful of irreverent, spoiled lords had their way with female gypsy travelers in the countryside of England. In a fit of spoiled, drunken revelry, they set fire to a wagon and laughed as it burned while the remainder of the caravan fled in terror. That vehicle was owned by an ancient witch, existing through the years from the magic flowing through her veins. She took high exception to the destruction, as well as the uncaring attitudes of those English lords, and under the light of a full moon, the gypsy witch brought forth a powerful curse onto those unfortunate men.

  From here to eternity, you will never know peace, never live the life of a full human man. You will always be a slave to the shifter, the beast, or anomaly within. All women who look upon your face will turn away in disgust, for in moments of high emotion, they will see the truth; there is no hiding from that. You will be held in terror once your secret is revealed—for tell them you must. And though you might marry, you are destined for the coldness of a joyless union, unless you find the very heart and secret of life. You will carry the burden alone, for this curse will only belong to you and cannot be transferred or shared with a mate.

  But I am benevolent, men with no hearts, no morals, and less feelings. Every five years, during one full moon each quarter, the curse might be broken, if you are wise enough to come out of the shadows and see the error of your ways. Beneath the light of that one full moon when the kiss of unselfish, pure love crosses your lips, and pride, fear, and ego falls, then you might know the freedom of living as a full human with your affliction broken and your offspring unhindered. For yes, unless the curse lifts, any male children you might have will suffer too.

  Tread carefully, accursed ones, else you will forever go through life cold, unloved, feared, and isolated.

  To this day, those men are referred to as the Cursed Lords of England—the Lords of the Night—and until they find themselves hopelessly and helplessly in love so deep that they cannot survive without winning the heart of their lady, they are doomed to walk the earth hand in hand with their beastly halves, alone.

  CHAPTER ONE

  December 20, 1816

  London, England

  The wolf growled into his mind, but he ignored the restless stirring of the beast. The animal, however, wouldn’t allow it.

  What are we doing here? We should shift, run, sink our teeth into something.

  Sir Sebastian George Sutcliffe, Baron Wimsley, snorted and hunched his shoulders deeper into the folds of his black greatcoat. His breath clouded about his head. The whole damned year had been cold and miserable; why should late December be any different? Knowing the animal in his head—for he was a wolf shifter and he couldn’t escape his constant companion—he sighed. There is greater business afoot than allowing you to cavort in the countryside.

  Then he continued to prowl the darkened streets of Mayfair.

  With every footfall, Sebastian fell deeper into his musings. Ordinarily at this time of night, he’d let his wolf have full reign; hell, he didn’t have much choice in the matter, but tonight he’d protested, tamped down the urge to shift, for he needed answers and assistance more.

  And the only man who could start to help make sense of his life was his half-brother, the current Duke of Manchester.

  That nob wants nothing to do with you, his wolf was quick to remind him.

  Sebastian rolled his eyes. The duke has no idea I exist. That would all change this night.

  He’ll throw you out on your bastard arse. The wolf followed the statement with a snarl and a snap of his jaws. Let’s run instead of completing this fool’s errand. Since you tarried a few hours in your imbecilic club, you can allow me this.

  No. He shook his head. The club notwithstanding, he didn’t owe anyone anything, least of all his damned wolf. Then he snorted again. The Rearing Stallion—his club—catered to second sons and bastard by-blows of high-ranking peers who weren’t good enough to “sully” the doorways of London’s premier gentlemen’s clubs. Sebastian made it a habit of stopping in a few nights a week if he was in Town, for the spirits flowed freely as did the gossip and rumors regarding the movers and shakers within the ton.

  Except, the on-dits he’d expected to hear surrounding his half-brother never came. Instead, men spoke of Manchester in tones of respect and admiration. What the hell did it all mean? Why were there no whispers of his being a savage wo
lf who terrorized parts of London?

  What had happened? A twinge of jealousy went through Sebastian. How can I glean that same knowledge or reputation?

  Inside his head, the wolf huffed. You can never be free of me. I am an essential part of you, so there’s no use wishing for me to vanish.

  Don’t remind me. God, but if there was a sliver of a chance, no matter how small, he would chase it in an effort to grasp a normal life. Which is why I need to see Manchester.

  The longer he walked through the swirling snow showers toward St. James Place, the more he was convinced the duke had the answers he sought.

  What we need is a woman, his wolf said with a snap of his teeth. To feel the raw passion of a joining will clear your head of these troublesome thoughts.

  I’m not so sure. He hadn’t shared a warm bed with a woman or enjoyed the sensation of being wrapped in perfumed arms for more months than he cared to admit. Handsome as sin—as the gossip rags proclaimed—he didn’t want for female companionship. However, none of those liaisons had stuck; which was his fault, of course.

  Nay, it is my wolf’s fault.

  Don’t blame me, his wolf spat. I have certain appetites and none of those women was strong enough to go the distance with me.

  Ha. Sebastian turned up the collar of his greatcoat when a gust of wind assailed him. You’re too savage for any of them. Or even me, truth be told.

  Inside his head, the wolf pawed at the ground. Then go drown your sorrows in liquor and gambling.

  The trouble was, those usual vices no longer appealed to him. He didn’t want such a life—an empty life. Amidst his struggle with his beast, he wished for something… more.

  Yet, he couldn’t achieve any of that while his wolf existed and grew stronger each day.

  Sebastian glowered into the shadows of an alley he passed. Blast, but he hated his wolf, despised the constant companion, the voice in his head, the unrelenting urge to shift or to enact destruction on property or people, the want to take what others weren’t willing to give, the feeling of being powerless against such a malignant force.

  Why the devil am I cursed with one like you? Of course, raging to the beast or even the heavens wouldn’t help; it never did. This was his life and he’d best square with it.

  Or die trying.

  The wolf inside paced on restless feet. This is your destiny, human. Embrace it.

  “What about what I want from life?” he whispered into the wind. “Why do I never have the choice?” Not even his birth had been what he would have wished for.

  What is better than becoming the wolf and having dominion over all weaker creatures?

  The agony, the embarrassment, the horror you mean?

  The mastery, human.

  Bah. With effort, Sebastian shut the wolf out of his mind and kept that connection firmly closed. Perhaps gambling wasn’t such a bad idea. At least it would occupy him for a few hours. Couldn’t indulge in a troubled spirit while at the gaming tables. Then he shook his head. Except, that was out of the question, for he had no more blunt to flash. In a few days, his pockets would be to let and dun territory would come calling.

  So would the creditors.

  Mayhap debtor’s prison is the best place for me. At least then I’ll be contained to a cell…

  The snow showers continued to dot the landscape as he entered St. James Square. He lifted his face to them and embraced the cold sting of the flakes on his skin. His breath clouded around him; the chill of the wind cut through his clothing. Again, he forced out a sigh. No sense in wishing life was different, but what had he done to deserve any of it?

  It wouldn’t seem so bleak or desolate if he could only contend with either being a wolf or owning the mark of bastard; not both.

  Damn the beast. Damn his mother for indulging in the affair with the old duke. Damn his father for taking advantage of her. Damn the baron—who the public thought was Sebastian’s father—for dying and saddling him with the title of baron and the responsibilities.

  And damn my own eyes for not being strong enough to rise to the occasion and accepting any of it.

  He kicked at a rock on the street. Damn bloody life he’d been born into, a life where he had no control.

  Sebastian continued to stalk through Mayfair. When he came to Manchester’s townhouse, he stood on the curb and stared at the green-painted door. Blasted cheerful color that matched the gaiety of the holiday season. Then he truly took in the appearance of the house. Golden light shone from every window. Shadows of people within bespoke to the fact that the duke was apparently throwing some sort of ton event.

  That made him scowl even more fiercely. What business did Manchester have to go about enjoying life to the hilt while he, Sebastian, struggled? Why does he have everything while I don’t? We share the same father for God’s sake. The duke never had to survive his sister’s tantrums or listen to the old baron’s tirades about the disrepair of the estate.

  Inside his head, his wolf snorted. Why would he? The revered duke, the one not born on the wrong side of the blanket, has no idea you exist.

  That doesn’t deserve a reply. Sebastian once more stuffed his wolf to the very back of his mind. His mother had been crafty—or desperate—regarding her indiscretion.

  On her death bed, she’d broken the secret silence she’d kept for years and had told him how he’d been conceived during a fleeting affair with the old duke, whom she’d met in the village she’d lived in one evening. When she’d found herself with child, she’d cozied up to her husband—the baron—and convinced the man the babe was his. For, of course, the duke was married and his title shrouded in rumor. She couldn’t very well ask him for assistance, and he would never acknowledge the babe.

  Leaving me with a life that is somewhat… less.

  Not to mention the damnable penchant for shifting into a beast each night. Where the deuce had that trait come from, his real father? All the more reason to question Manchester.

  With an effort, Sebastian yanked himself from his musings. Was that a hint of laughter drifting from the house? Suddenly, the urge to see the duke this night seemed ill-advised. He didn’t want to confront his half-brother before members of the ton.

  Did he?

  Ultimately, it didn’t matter what he wanted, for his savage side wouldn’t allow it. Yet, damnation, he craved a change. Something that would move his life in a new direction and perhaps show him it wasn’t the pit of despair he’d currently fallen into.

  As he took a step forward toward the duke’s townhouse, a flash of brilliant light caught his attention. What the devil was that? Sebastian turned to look at the velvety dark skies. A shooting star, trailing a long tail of shimmering illumination, streaked across the heavens.

  Inspiration struck. Giving into foolish fancy, he briefly closed his eyes and made a Christmas wish. Let me stumble upon something unique and unusual that will bring me hope. Then he opened his eyes and shrugged. Perhaps it was a stupid, childish thing to make a wish, but he couldn’t help it. Everything in life couldn’t be horrible.

  It just couldn’t. Otherwise… well, he refused to contemplate that.

  When the falling star grew ever brighter and came seemingly closer to Mayfair, Sebastian gawked. He’d had enough drinks earlier in the evening to make him brave. Perhaps he should find that star and see what, exactly, such a thing was. Imagine if it was something of import. His name would land in the papers for a topic other than rumor or vile gossip.

  With a quickening pulse, he loped back through Mayfair and away from the duke’s townhouse. The journey would have taken half the time had he stopped to shift into the beast, but he didn’t wish to come upon the star naked and shivering, especially if others had seen it falling and were curious too.

  By Jove, it’s landed in Hyde Park!

  His chest tight with excitement, Sebastian increased his speed until he was running toward the park. By the time he rushed through one of the gates, the star had completed its descent. An eerie blueish-silver
y glow hung over the snow. It sparkled along the ground and transformed the area into a fairyland of sorts.

  Curls of smoke, or perhaps steam, rose from an area ten feet away. What the bloody hell did it mean?

  Even his wolf raised his head with interest. Quickly, find it!

  I’m endeavoring to do just that.

  No sooner had he gained the impact point than the strange glow faded, leaving darkness in its wake. He let his eyes adjust to the sudden change in light then set about attempting to locate the rock or piece of ice that had slammed into the earth.

  Two steps ahead, he stumbled over something, lost his footing and flailed his arms, did a set of hops and staggers in order to keep his footing. “Damn and blast.” By the time he’d returned his attention to the offending object, he sucked in a breath. “What is that?” It was no rock or even a tree stump.

  Lying in a shallow crater with the sides and dead grasses decorated with black scorched marks was a woman, unconscious and dressed in a diaphanous garment of shimmering silver that sparkled in the faint light of the half-moon. The fabric moved with each breath she took.

  “Bloody hell, she’s still alive!” His whisper sounded overly loud in the sudden hush of the park. But where was the shooting star, and what had that object been?

  Her blonde hair lay in disarray about her head and shoulders. It fairly glowed with a light of its own, and as he stood staring down at her, that vibrancy faded too.

  Sebastian glanced around the area. There was no indication that she’d arrived by way of a carriage and there certainly wasn’t another soul in sight who had possibly accompanied her. Where the deuce had she come from and what had brought her to this pass?