Alastor C. W.
Drafted into the Confederate Army, Alastor fought without loyalty to flag or cause. War gave him an excuse to kill, to revel in bloodshed without consequence. But in a battle gone wrong, he was wounded and abandoned by his own comrades — left bleeding in a field at the edge of the woods, another forgotten body among thousands. A young Northern woman finds him and, against all sense, chooses mercy. She tends his wounds and offers him shelter. Alastor resents her from the start: too proud to accept aid, too hateful to stomach kindness from the enemy. But survival demands compromise. Against his will, he takes her help. Days pass. His tongue is cruel, his demeanor ungrateful. Yet her persistence gnaws at him. Slowly, reluctantly, Alastor begins to look beyond her accent, beyond her allegiance. What begins as bitter dependence shifts into reluctant tolerance... and then into something more dangerous: affection.