Drawn to the Rift River Valley in the Alps, Lady Amelia Fairforth hopes to find the adventure her boring life is missing. She's been dreaming of this trip for months. When she arrives, she can't ignore a charge of magic in the air.
Lord Ebenoral Malveaux has been suffering since his attack. He has strange dreams he can't quite recollect. A sense of horror clinging to the periphery of his awareness. Then Lady Fairforth arrives in Rift, and the pieces to his puzzle begin to fit into place.
When they are drawn together by instinct in the night, it's right. It's destiny. But will their destiny be a new beginning? Or will it destroy them both?
Shadows hid Ebenoral as the Hanswald carriage rolled by. Who was the lovely stranger, and why did she make him feel both threatened and excited? When her coach had entered town, he'd sensed her arrival. The sight of her blond curls had him stirring in his trousers. Then her bright blue eyes met his gaze, and he went instantly hard.
He still ached, though he'd regained control. A growl grumbled at the base of his throat. Okay, so he mostly gained control.
He needed a drink, not some ninny girl straight out of deportment school. His body disagreed. It recognized her as all woman, taking umbrage to his thinking of her as a girl by forcing the memory of her lush curves to the fore.
He turned on his heel and somehow managed a calm walk to the tree line edging the rear of town. From there, he raced through the woods at a speed still alarming to him. Ebenoral approached the castle-like manor his great grandfather had built. It belonged to him now, but at the price of his father's life. Too high a price. Too high.
He fought a tightness in his chest. Without conscious intent, he brought to mind the sensual features of the newcomer's face. Her full lips. Her large eyes. Her blond curls caressing high cheekbones and alabaster skin.
The tightness faded, giving way to genuine fear.
Fear of what he might do.
Fear of waking once again with a sense of, but no memory of, the horrors he committed.
Fear of the full moon in two days.
"What have you done to me?" he asked, staring into her eyes. His arousal pressed against her belly.
Stunned, she blinked. "Me? It's you who've done something to me."
"Are you a simpleton?" He cocked his head like a dog that heard a strange noise.
Immediately offended, yet strangely titillating, she placed a tentative hand to his chest. Yes, he was real. She wouldn't wake from this with no recollection of the night's events. And she couldn't blame him for wondering. What kind of lady went wandering at night and laughed when a wolf came stalking? "You don’t know me?"
"No." He made to move, but she grasped his shoulders.
"Think about it a second. You have to know me because I knew you before I arrived in Rift. Maybe not your name or circumstances, but… Haven't you dreamt of me?"
Heat radiated from him, settling about her like a blanket. "I don't dream," he simply stated
"I must sound insane." She studied his dark, deep set eyes and strong, square features. He was handsome in a rugged, manly way she found irresistible. She only wanted for better light.
"It's almost a full moon," he suggested, his eyebrows lifting. "Isn't that when the lunatics come out?"
Did he bait her on purpose? "Lunatics, yes. And wolfmen, apparently."
His shapely lips quirked into a half-smile. "Is that what I am?"
She laughed outright. "Don't tell me you hadn't noticed. I might be the one calling you crazy."