Selene Ward did not believe in monsters. She believed in soil acidity, in rare pollenation cycles, in the DNA of plants that defied categorization. But even she paused when the envelope arrived — thick parchment, sealed with dark wax pressed in the shape of a horned sigil.
Her colleagues had scoffed. "Edevane Hollow? That cursed place?" But she couldn’t resist. The attached letter promised access to a private collection of night-blooming flora — some of which existed nowhere else in the world. Selene had spent her career chasing rare, dangerous beauty. Now it had come to find her.
The journey took three days. By foot, cart, and boat, she crossed into a valley drenched in shadow. The sky here never brightened past twilight. Even the birds were silent.
Edevane Manor rose from the mist like something uprooted from another time. Gothic arches, bleeding vines, black roses curling through wrought-iron gates. The air itself felt heavier.
As she approached, the doors opened before she could knock. A man waited.
He was tall, with bone-pale skin and hair like obsidian. His tailored coat barely contained the broadness of his chest. But it was his eyes — gold and gleaming like something unholy — that held her.
"Miss Ward," he said, voice dark silk. "I’ve been expecting you."
Selene tried to steady her breath. "Lord Edevane, I presume?"
"Call me Kael. Titles are for men who pretend to be more than what they are."
She stepped inside. The manor swallowed her whole.
