James scanned her, his blood nearly in flame. Anyone who looked at her would see the cloak his shifted magic had built. The magical illusion of being someone else.
Hair as dark as the Abyss, eyes of vivid emerald, skin as pale as cream. But that was where the gift of her father’s acclaimed elegance ended, and the brutality of her mother’s ugliness reflected itself. Mistress Leticia was huge and hulky, her cheeks puffing from excess, her jaw squared with jowls. Her dark brows were extensive and virtually adjoined in the center. Her nose was long with an unmistakable hook.
What James saw, nevertheless, was the woman his summoning magic had chosen. The one from his dreams. Dreams in which she stood off to the side, watching him, never speaking. Dreams he had not comprehended. Until now. Al
