The first raindrop hit her cheek like a shard of ice, but the cold radiating from the shadowed archway ahead was far deeper, far more alive. Elena knew she shouldn't cut through the abandoned churchyard, knew the stories whispered about St. Lysandra's after dark, but the storm was breaking, and the shortcut home beckoned with treacherous promise. Her breath hitched, fogging the damp air, as a figure detached itself from the gloom beneath the crumbling stone arch. Not a trick of the light. Tall. Impossibly still.And his eyes, even from twenty paces, they burned with a low, hungry ember that seemed to pierce the gathering twilight and the frantic drumming of her own heart. He moved then, not with steps, but with a liquid glide that brought him before her in a breath, the scent of old rain, damp earth, and something metallic, coppery, flooding her senses. His voice, when it came, was velvet wrapped around obsidian, vibrating in her bones. "Lost, little one? The night is no place for su
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