Chapter 1

The women of my hollow, deep in the Appalachians, were said to carry a spark of life, a whisper of old magic in our blood. They said we could make the barren fruitful, bring color back to the cheeks of the dying. It was mountain talk, folklore mostly, until desperation knocked.

Eleanor Montgomery, cold as the steel her family empire was built on, came to our secluded holler. Her son, Ethan, heir to Montgomery Industries, was dying. Doctors gave him months, his illness stealing his strength, his future, and any chance of an heir.

My family, poor and seeing no other way, agreed to her terms. I, Sarah-Mae Jenkins, was chosen for my "gift." I was to be his wife, his salvation. And for a while, it seemed the stories were true. I conceived, twins. Ethan' s sickness retreated, his eyes gained light. Eleanor promised me the world.

The day my babies were born, strong and healthy, was the day my world ended. Ethan, vibrant and cruel, stood over me. He told me he loved Chloe Vanderbilt, a socialite whose life was supposedly ruined because he' d been tied to me. He said I' d kept them apart. Then, he smothered our newborns, his face a mask of triumph.

"Your gift is a curse, mountain trash," he spat.

He dragged me, bleeding and broken, to an old family crypt on their estate. He sealed me inside with a long-dead Montgomery ancestor. To cover his tracks, Montgomery Industries orchestrated an "accident," a chemical spill that poisoned my valley, my home, my people. They were labeled frauds, a menace. My entire community, wiped out.

Then, darkness. And then, light. I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my own narrow bed, in my family' s small cabin. The scent of woodsmoke and pine filled my lungs. It was today. The day Eleanor Montgomery' s black car would wind its way up our mountain road. I was reborn.

This time, there would be no bargain.

When her expensive car finally arrived, and Eleanor Montgomery, all tailored lines and icy demeanor, stepped out, I was ready. My mother urged me forward, her eyes full of hope and fear.

"Mrs. Montgomery," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I appreciate your visit, but there' s been a misunderstanding. I have no special gift. It' s just old wives' tales."

Eleanor' s perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose. "My dear, the stories are quite specific. And my son' s situation is... dire."

"I' m sorry for her son," I told my Ma later, after Eleanor left, clearly displeased but without a signed contract. "But I can' t help him."

A few days later, a different expensive car roared up our dirt track. Ethan Montgomery himself, looking pale and gaunt as I remembered him before my... before. But his eyes burned with a feverish light I recognized. He remembered. Or he was having nightmares so vivid they felt like memories.

He grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong for a sick man. "Stay away from me. Stay away from Chloe. If you or your backward town try anything, I' ll destroy you all. Again."

I looked him straight in the eye. "I have no idea what you' re talking about, Mr. Montgomery. And I already told your mother, I have no gift. I want nothing to do with your family."

He searched my face, his own a mixture of confusion and menace.

"See that you don' t," he snarled, releasing me and storming back to his car.

He left. For now, I was free. But the way he looked at me, the way he said "again," I knew this wasn't over. He remembered the blood. He remembered the crypt. And he still loved Chloe.