Chapter 2
The cathedral was silent.
Not the kind of silence born from holiness—but the charged, trembling quiet of something forbidden about to happen.
Lady Clarissa DuRion sat alone in her private prayer chamber, a room usually reserved for confession and meditation. Tonight, it pulsed with something far more dangerous: long-suppressed desire.
The door creaked open behind her.
She didn’t flinch.
She didn’t pray.
Because she knew exactly who it was.
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Zephyr stepped in, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. The candlelight danced across his bare chest—half-covered by a loose black shirt that clung to his body like a lover.
He said nothing.
He only looked at her.
And Clarissa—proper, restrained, cold-blooded Clarissa—stood to face him.