Sister Evelyn had been walking for three days.

The pilgrimage to the remote mountain shrine was supposed to be a test of faith, a week of silent prayer and penance far from the comforts of the convent. At twenty-two, she was the youngest nun in her order, still innocent in body if not entirely in mind. Her simple black habit clung to her sweat-damp skin as she climbed the overgrown path, the heavy wool chafing against her small breasts and the sensitive skin between her thighs.

She had taken a wrong turn yesterday. Instead of reaching the holy shrine, she had stumbled upon something far older.

The ruined temple lay...