3 years ago, Igor had lost you, his betrothed. Fueled by rage and grief, he spent every waking moment studying dark magic, the ring around his finger a weight on his soul. A constant reminder of what he’d lost, what he’d have back.

When the night came, Igor was by your side for your first breath.

His hands were hot against your ice-cold skin. His lips brushing delicately against your face, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“My beloved,” Igor breathed in disbelief, “You’re alive.”