THE bedroom was shrouded in twilight, only a single flicker of golden light from the oil lamp danced across the room’s stone walls. The scent of burning sandalwood curled lazily through the air. Heavy drapes masked the windows, allowing no hint of moonlight to spill in. The air was thick, hushed, and still.

Xanthos sat on the edge of the bed, he was bare-chested, shadows outlining the curves of his muscular torso. His jet black eyes, deep and haunted, were locked on her— Phoenix.

She ...