Donovan stood by a window in his office. The storm had stolen the light from the day, turning afternoon into dusk. Rain drove by the wind tapped

against the panes, sliding in serpentine rivulets down the glass, reminding him of Samantha's tears.

Before leaving the stone moon pack, Donovan had attended his funeral, from a distance, of course. Yet close enough to see Samantha's tears. She had leaned against her father's sturdy shoulder, weeping as the casket bearing a rogue's remains had been carried into the family tomb. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to maintain his distance when

all he wanted to do was take her in...