Lady Rebecca's life changed forever in the blink of an eye. One moment she was fleeing her father across a storm-swept Bodmin Moor, in the next, her carriage overturned on a steep gorge. But she did not die. Somehow, she was pulled clear. There was an eerie luminosity about her savior, a fluid silver aura like the lightning filling the night sky. And while his voice was deep, mellow—comforting, like the music of the waterfall he haunted, it, too, held a hint of the Otherworldly. Who was this strange savior, this displaced foreign nobleman? Everything about the Count was an enigma. Becca had heard myths of the Fossegrim: creatures that traveled between the astral and the physical planes through waterfalls, driven to find ecstasy with human women then vanish forever. From their world, humans never returned. This man, Becca was willing to follow.
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