Sarael Castillo wanted to ignore the fortune-teller's words. She wanted to ignore the tarot cards spread out on black satin. Three of them, lined up in a row. The past. The present. The future. The Hanged Man The Tower The Moon For days she'd felt as though a dark storm was rapidly approaching. When she looked at the cards, she knew it had arrived. The Tower falling, casting her into the nightscape of The Moon. Nothing would keep Matteo Cabrelli from claiming Sarael. She'd been created for him, her destiny written in ancient blood. Once he joined with her, there would be no chance of La Brama, The Hunger, controlling him. Her blood would sate him, her body would succor him, her life would give deeper meaning to his own so that instead of centuries of meaningless conquest and feeding, of lone pursuits, he'd have a companion at his side, a woman who was his in every way. A woman meant to live in his world.