The interior looked like some sort of alchemical laboratory, with a rib-vaulted ceiling that arched high above. A small forge stood in a hearth, and shelves of strange glassware lined the walls: rows of delicate Alembic flasks, Dimroth condensers, Thiele tubes, and Thistle funnels.

How in God’s name do I even know these words?

Tentatively, she crossed the room to the shelves, reading the hand-written labels on the flasks. They bore names like nigredo, aqua regia, dragon’s blood, and philosophic mercury. She sniffed the air. Stale creosote. This laboratory hadn’t been used in a long time.

She turned, surveying the rest of the room. The walls were painted a deep indigo blue, patterned with golden astrological symbols and strange alchemical glyphs that twinkled and drifted like stars in the sky.

Ursula crossed back to the window, pulling it closed. If she left it open, Kester would know she’d been in here. With no breeze, an eerie silence descended and the tension returned to her shoulders. Ursula let out a slow breath. She could hear her heart thrumming in her chest. Why am I so nervous? There’s no one here.

Slipping the dagger into her belt, she crossed to another rack of shelves. A thin layer of dust covered the flasks. She slid her fingers around one of the containers, picking it up. As she blew off the dust, she held it in the pale of light of the window. Her face reflected in its surface, and behind her the laboratory. Even an old bed, tucked into the shadows.

A cold chill slithered up her spine. In the glass’s reflection, it almost looked like a dark shape lay on the bed. A body.

Ursula hardly dared to breathe. She turned, placing the flask back on its shelf as quietly as she could. Slowly, she drew the dagger from her belt again.

She approached the bed, gripping her weapon. An enormous, muscled man lay atop a deep crimson bedspread. He was huge. Bloody hell, is he even human?

“Hey?” she called out in a low whisper.

He didn’t move.

“Hey!” She said it louder this time, but he remained motionless.

She moved closer, hardly daring to breathe. The dagger trembled violently in her fist.

His eyes were closed and raven black hair framed his face—his perfect, sublimely beautiful face. He had the most stunning features Ursula had ever seen: sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and perfect, kissable lips. His body was strong and muscled, and his skin had a deep Mediterranean tan, rich and warm, even in the faint light. Her dagger stopped its frantic shaking.

He must be asleep, right? Surely I don’t fancy a corpse. At least, his warm olive color suggested that he lived.