It began in Sienna, with an illicit kiss stolen under a hot Mediterranean sun.

It made the blood sing in her veins, burn in her body in ways--in places--that she had never felt before. It was a pulsing need to be someone else; to besomethingelse, something she didn't yet understand.

It was embodied by Davinoff. The dark lord was the epitome of beauty, of strength. He was feared by theton, and even by fleeing to Bath, Sarah could not escape him. His eyes were ageless, held a sadness she could hardly fathom. They pierced her, struck so deep that she felt penetrated to her very core. What they offered was frightening and tantalizing. Was it evil that lurked within this foreigner's unnatural kiss, or was the communion he offered something else entirely? All Sarah knew was that the sacrament of his love would either be the death of her body or the salvation of her soul. And she could no more deny it than she could herself.