Chapter 4
The forest was quiet.
Zephyr lay on soft moss beside the glowing spring, Elandra curled against his side, her silver hair trailing over his chest like moonlight itself.
That’s when he felt it — a sharp, sacred heat in the air. Not forest magic. Not elven.
Holy energy. Tainted. Twisting. Familiar.
He sat up.
Elandra stirred. "Something’s coming..."
But he was already standing.
And when the leaves parted, Clarissa DuRion stepped into the grove.
She was no longer dressed in bishop’s silk.
Now, she wore a tight, black corset laced high on her chest, with split robes revealing strong, tempting thighs clad in dark lace. Her once-soft eyes were now smoky with sin, and her lips were blood-red.
But the fire in them?
Still his.