Prologue
December 1879
Adrian Strathmore sat upon the hard stone floor, his knees drawn to his thin chest. Lightning flashed through the tower windows of the oldest part of the Earl of Winters’s ancient manor house, illuminating the pale, terrified faces of his two brothers. He hated that they were there.
Their mother had remarried nearly two years ago, but Morgan and Lucien had been away at school except for the holidays. Tonight was the first time their stepfather, Nigel Croft, the Earl of Winters, had tried to hurt Adrian when they’d been home. Lucien, who was only fifteen, but had become the Earl of Hawkesmere after their real father’s death, had tried to protect Adrian, only to be brutally debased and humiliated himself instead. Adrian wanted to hide himself away somewhere and weep with shame.
“Are you all right, Luke?” Thirteen-year-old Morgan, Adrian’s twin, broke the silence, his voice tentative. “Do you need a doctor?”
Lucien shook his head, obviously horrified at the thought of anyone else, even a doctor, knowing what his stepfather had done to him. “I’m fine,” he muttered. “In a few days... I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“We should tell Mother,” Morgan persisted. “She won’t let this happen again. She’ll take us back to Hawkesmere. She’ll never let that bastard touch you again.”
“She can’t leave,” Lucien said. “He’s her husband. And she’d never believe us anyway. She’s in love with him.”
Adrian remained silent, shrinking farther into himself with each word Lucien said. He’d been badly burned in the fire that had taken their father’s life three years ago. Terrible scars covered the left side of his face, as well as his chest and left shoulder. For many months after the accident, he’d clung to the precipice between life and death. The experience had changed him. He’d become a creature of shadows, observing but never participating. He hadn’t spoken a single word since his father’s death.
When the twins had turned twelve and were old enough to go to boarding school with Lucien at Abingdon, Winters had gently reminded their mother that the school was reserved for Britain’s best and brightest. He’d assured her that Adrian, with his burns and silence, wouldn’t fit in. Their mother had agreed, and Adrian had been forced to remain in the nursery, with baby Allison, which was humiliating for a boy his age.
Adrian’s silence had triggered their stepfather’s latest attack. Earl Winters made no secret of his hatred for his stepchildren, except when their mother was around, but he saved most of his anger for Adrian. Tonight he’d dragged all three boys, and his own son, seventeen-year-old Roger, to this tower in the oldest wing of his ancient house, where no one could hear their cries. Then he and Roger had set about breaking Adrian—demanding that he speak, calling him horrible names. When their nasty insults had failed to elicit a response, the earl had proceeded to beat him, as he so often did, while Roger looked on with barely disguised glee. Unable to bear it, Lucien had gathered his courage and dared to step between them, only to have the earl turn that fury against him.
“How can she love him?” Morgan asked, his voice laced with bitterness. “He’s nothing like Father.”
Adrian didn’t want to think about their father. Even after all this time, the pain of losing him was fresh. And he didn’t see the need to point out the obvious. Their mother was a weak-willed, foolish woman who needed a man—any man—to be happy.
“Adrian,” Lucien whispered, his voice raw with suspicion. “What happened to me tonight—does he do that to you all the time?”
Adrian squeezed his eyes tightly shut, then nodded and buried his ruined face in the crook of his arm. His slim body shook, buffeted by an icy wind drifting in through one of the windows. Another round of thunder split the air around them as the storm continued to rage outside.
Morgan made a wordless sound of denial and moved to Adrian’s side, wrapping him in a fierce embrace, murmuring to him in the strange, made-up language the two of them had spoken as toddlers. This comfort, after so many months of loneliness and despair, finally spurred Adrian to speak. He had to tell them. He couldn’t keep it all locked inside any longer.
“There’s a Greek story I read once...”
At the sound of Adrian’s rough, stuttering voice, Morgan pulled away. He and Lucien stared at their usually silent brother as though they’d seen a ghost.
“About Prometheus,” Adrian continued. “Do you know it?”
After a long moment of stunned surprise, Lucien gave a jerky nod. “Isn’t he the fellow who stole the fire from the gods?”
Adrian lifted his head and wiped the tears from his cheeks with a shaking hand. “I was thinking more about how he was chained to a rock and got his liver eaten out every day by an eagle.”
“Is that what it’s been like?” Morgan put his arm around Adrian’s thin shoulders again, his face filled with anguish. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“What good would that have done?” Adrian shrugged away, embarrassed and ashamed. “He’s just going to keep hurting us. There’s nothing we can do.”
“Alone, none of us can do anything,” Lucien said slowly. “But there are three of us. Together, we could do anything.”
The twins listened attentively as Lucien outlined a plan that would free them from their stepfather’s tyranny, yet allow them to remain anonymous if things should go wrong. Together they would create a masked crusader, a powerful facade they could don at will.
Quiet intensity vibrated in Adrian’s voice as he volunteered to contribute his rather stunning scientific knowledge to the endeavor. He spoke of designing weapons and other amazing gadgetry. The prospect of slaying his dragon had brought about a transformation. Gone was the frightened, silent little boy. His voice grew stronger with every word he spoke.
Not to be outdone, Morgan found a piece of charcoal in the fireplace and sketched a remarkably detailed image of a masked man upon the crumbling wall.
“What shall we call ourselves?” Lucien asked, the horror of the evening dissipating in the rush of excitement their planning had caused.
Morgan and Adrian shared a look and came to complete agreement.
“Prometheus,” Adrian answered.
