Down a dirt road that might have been a relic from the days of Cortez, Seraphina Sandoval fled her past. She was not often afraid, and never witout reason. But someone in her position could trust no one---not even the sublime stranger she met on her way. The Comte de St. Germain had been beautiful. Lucifer had been, too.
AND THE DARKEST DESIRE
No, Seraphina could ill afford to trust. When the Dark Man had found her in Paris, she'd been someone else, and she had bartered her soul not realizing the manner of its collection. All good things come to an end, and she had spent centuries on the run. She and her cat had ended here: Mexico-an arid land of tequila, ancient rites and vampires; and in the arms of a man with a past more bizarre than her own, a man whose eyes vowed joyous oblivion. It would be madness to trust, to accept, to believe in a union for the ages, but she had only moments to decide: leave, or take the ride Fate offered. She'd always been one for a ride.
