The Phantom finally docked at a natural grotto beneath the jagged cliffs of a deserted island in the Indian Ocean. This was Aethelgard, Alaric's final stronghold—a ghost on every map. Perched there was a modern glass villa that seemed to grow out of the stone, bristling with cutting-edge technology yet utterly isolated from the reach of civilization.
Alaric carried Anna from the submarine. The tropical morning sun grazed their skin, but Anna's mood was as dark as the sky was bright. The medical report she had read the night before felt like a slab of concrete crushing her lungs.
Six months. That was the time she had left if she kept this baby.
"You're very quiet, Anna," Alaric whispered as they entered the master suite, which opened directly onto the vast expanse of the sea. He lowered her onto the bed's white silk sheets. "Are you still haunted by Evelyn's words?"
