She should not have come here alone, especially not on the night of the full moon. But desperation had driven her to seek answers where no rational person would dare to tread. For three months now, the dreams had plagued her sleep—visions of a dark-haired stranger whose eyes held both infinite sorrow and dangerous power. In these dreams, she felt drawn to him with a force that terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.
"Please," she whispered to the night air, "if there is any truth to the old legends, show me what these visions mean."
As if summoned by her words, a figure emerged from the shadows between the trees. Evangeline's breath caught in her throat as she recognized him instantly—the man from her dreams stood before her, as real as the moonlight itself. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a long dark coat that seemed to absorb the very light around him. His hair fell in waves to his shoulders, black as a raven's wing, and his eyes... his eyes were the color of storm clouds, holding depths that spoke of centuries rather than mere decades.