Days dragged on as Tristan continued his relentless search. He worked until his hands bled, pushed his body to its limits, all while keeping his senses attuned for any hint of Rafe's presence. But seven days, hope began to waver, giving way to a gnawing despair, until one scorching afternoon, when her scent touched the air like a forgotten memory.
Gwendolyn. His head snapped up, eyes scanning the field until they landed on her approaching figure.
She approached with all the grace of a queen, untouched by the heat that tortured lesser beings. "My, my," she breathed, those bewitching eyes drinking in his suffering. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"
He met her gaze with steel in his own. "Come to gloat?"
"Such hostility," she chided, perfect lips forming a mock pout. "When I've shown yo
