Lance Stormhold stood at the wide window, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, as he stared at the darkness outside. His thoughts turned heavier with every passing second, as he replayed the unsettling events of the evening over and over in his mind.
He was not a superstitious man. Never had been. He had always trusted in strength, in discipline, in the power of his own will rather than in signs, omens, or the mutterings of those who placed faith in shadows.
But tonight… tonight he could not help but wonder. The unease in his chest refused to loosen up. It had been building slowly but tonight, his instinct was almost choking him, making it impossible for him to ignore it.
Tonight had been the night The Witch had been invited to bless the proceedings, to declare the most auspicious time for their mating ceremony. But he had been reluctant. Because he knew Ramona. Knew what she was like...
