...Dukker watched Moira dash back and forth across the room, gathering her clothes and other little belongings. Her skirt was a fluid motion of red and black on the other side of the glass and her full breasts strained against the white peasant blouse she wore. Her long, silky hair was the color of old gold coins and it fanned around her as she spun around, walked back and forth. He much preferred her natural hair to the dark wig she wore when she worked. He wanted nothing more than to sink his hands in that hair...

There was no way he was letting Moira go. She didn’t know it yet, but she was his. His. And she’d better be ready, because when he found a way out of his glass prison, he planned to let her know she was his over and over and over.

And Moira was the key to his escape from the crystal ball. He just knew it. When old Wen’s sister had finally died six months ago, he’d rejoiced. It had been bliss to be free of her evil thoughts and hands after fifty-seven years of imprisonment. Even if they’d thrown the crystal ball, and him along with it, into the Dumpster with the rest of her belongings, it would have been worth it to be free of the cruel woman who’d once been his lover.

But that fat Lydia had done him a favor and given him to Moira instead. Beautiful Moira who had no idea of the crystal ball’s magic. Even if she did, she couldn’t wield it. And she sure as hell couldn’t control him. She didn’t even know he existed.