By Dawn Thompson
Woman Rebecca’s existence replaced endlessly within the blink of a watch. One second she used to be fleeing her father throughout a storm-swept Bodmin Moor; within the subsequent, her carriage overturned on a steep gorge. yet she didn't die. in some way, she used to be pulled clear.
Safety, her rescuer promised. yet how may perhaps Becca think secure? there has been an eerie luminosity approximately him, a fluid silver air of mystery just like the lightning filling the evening. And whereas his voice used to be deep, mellow—comforting, just like the track a move made whereas dashing over pebbles—it, too, held a touch of the otherworldly. Who was once this unusual savior, this displaced overseas nobleman who provided up his domestic and didn't wish her to go away? lengthy moonlit walks to the within reach waterfall, tight-lipped servants, a kiss not like the other: every little thing concerning the count number was once an enigma. Becca had heard myths of the Fossegrim: creatures pushed to discover ecstasy with human girls after which vanish without end. From their global, people by no means lower back. This guy, Becca was once prepared to follow.