The Wolf of Mayfair

by Christi Caldwell

The world had gone ice cold, and that same numbing gelidity had invaded every corner of her body, until there was no escaping the unadulterated, bleak misery it wrought. If only she could get warm.

“Then, in the afterlife,” he whispered against her temple, “I will be your watchman, whose only purpose in death is to stalk and destroy every person who so much as walked in your shadow.”