The Moonshadow sisters perched on one of the large stone blocks of the tower ruins, as if it were a couch in the salon of their family’s glass citadel back in Sildeyuir, exchanging tales of their travels since arriving in the Yuirwood, while Calastra cast furtive glances toward Courynn whenever Nymara mentioned him, which was quite frequently. The only human she’d ever seen, she found his rugged features lacked the refined grace of elven men but held a raw masculine charisma that was quite appealing and couldn’t fault her sister for succumbing to those charms. Together they composed a letter to their father explaining that Calastra would return to Sildeyuir when she completed her studies, but Nymara had chosen to remain in this realm indefinitely, in the hopes that the star elven merchant she’d met in Relkath’s Foot would deliver it for them. Settled down against a tree at the edge of the small clearing outside the ruins where he could keep a discrete eye on them as the gossiped and giggled like only sisters can, Courynn still found it hard to believe that after weeks of searching for her Calastra had chosen to be with the Ancient, planning to remain as his apprentice, but he was very skeptical that the baelnorn would really let her go when she chose to return to Sildeyuir. However, that was a concern for another day. For now, she was happy and safe, since it was unlikely that anything in the Yuirwood could pose a threat to her while she was under his care… except perhaps whatever it was he was left to guard. “You can’t hide from me Andaerean… I know you’re there,” the malicious voice was like steel claws in his mind, not spoken in the true sense, simply there. “I see you’ve found a pet to occupy you. How sweet… such a lovely young thing… and one of your own descendants.” “She’s of no concern of yours,” he growled, approaching the dais and the demonic skull, its last earthly remains, which hovered several inches above it, imprisoned within constantly shifting mystic runes. He knew all too well that the malevolent spirit bound within it had lost none of its potency over the millennium. Long before his time it had been defeated by a cabal of mages and clerics, reduced to this final remnant to which its demonic life force was bond, preventing it from returning to its abysmal home where it could reconstitute itself. However, that had been thousands of years ago, if it did manage to escape from its imprisonment it would likely find that something worse had claimed its territory and it would be crushed out of existence upon arrival. But his nightmare scenario was that its minions where still loyally awaiting its return and would rally back to it, which wouldn’t bode well for those who defeated and imprisoned it… or, more accurately, their descendants. “What a shame you can’t enjoy that delightful nubile body the way it should be… the way a man would,” the demonic spirit taunted evilly, “and now her sister… a slightly more mature version of the same otherworldly beauty… is within your reach as well. All you have to do is eliminate one insignificant human, and you could claim them both as your own.” “You will not tempt me,” Andaerean sneered hatefully, as he strode from the vault, securing its massive door and ensuring that the magical seals remained in place. But the thought festered in the back of his mind. Calastra was a stunning unspoiled beauty and Nymara was just as gorgeous, though clearly far more worldly. Any man would desire them, but he’d risen above such primal needs when he accepted undeath… and there was no way back from that choice.