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IN THE MOON’S LIGHT
Copyright © 2009 ANASTASIA RABIYAH. All rights reserved worldwide.
ISBN 978-1-936165-08-7
Cover Art Designed By Anastasia Rabiyah
Published by Purple Sword Publications, LLC
Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
In the Moon’s Light
By
Anastasia Rabiyah
For all the women who fall for the bad guys.
Chapter One: Rose
Tory opened her eyes. Shadows fluttered across the gray ceiling in the dim light of the full moon. She’d left the window open for the cooling breeze. She turned, fear drying her mouth and drawing goose bumps across her skin. The bed felt warm, safe, but something about the open window called to her. Willow leaves rustled and shook, making the shadows dance faster. White sheers billowed, beckoning her. She pushed back the covers, set her bare feet on the marred wooden floor, and watched the wind change. The curtains sucked backward, luring her to follow.
Her feet moved of their own volition. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and stopped at the sill. Tory pushed aside the curtains, the sweet scent of jasmine strong. She stared out into the night, expecting to see something important. The eerie moonlight glowed across the vacant lawn. Her gaze traveled along the slope to the little, run down guesthouse that bordered the property. A man stood in the yard, his body rigid as he gazed skyward. She decided he must be staring at the moon. The night hid any clear details.
No one was supposed to be on the property, except her, its caretaker. She frowned at the trespasser. “Hey! What are you doing here?”
The stranger turned slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. Tory backtracked her memory to be sure she’d locked the many doors before she retired for the night. The old mansion was eerie enough without a nutcase standing outside in the middle of the night. The man’s presence made her angry, but as he walked across the lawn toward the big house, her ire shifted to panic. She was all alone, a college student watching the place for extra money. There was no one around for miles that could hear her call for help. She’d set her cell phone to charge before she went to bed, but it was downstairs, plugged into the outlet by the fridge.
He strode across the lawn, his face lit a ghostly pallor by the silver light. He moved with all the grace of a stalking predator, his hands limp at his sides. His long legs soon carried him to just below her window. Unusual for an old-fashioned town, he wore his hair shoulder-length and loose. In curling, dark tendrils it blew in the breeze, obscuring his expression.