North of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
July 1, 1863
Caleb Weathers tensed at a rustle behind him. He swung his Enfield rifle in the general direction. A hoot, followed by the flutter of wings left him staring into the wide-eyed gaze of a Barn owl. When the bird took flight, he breathed a sigh of relief. The scents of pine and fetid soil calmed him a bit.
The thickness of the forest made him all too aware of how vulnerable he was to attack despite the weight of his weapon. Caleb sensed a presence behind him. He broke into a sweat and the hairs on the nape of his neck rose. He whirled and aimed the barrel at the form that appeared out of nowhere.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Where’d ya come from?”
The woman smiled. Blood-red lips and luminous blue eyes captured his gaze. Her raven hair glinted in the moonlight.
“I am Alexandra.” Her low, throaty voice held a guttural accent.
What is a beautiful woman doing in camp alone in the dead of night? She couldn’t be up to any good. And yet, as he watched her, a thrill of anticipation raced through him. Something about her seemed familiar. A memory he couldn’t quite reach.
He swallowed. “You’d best skedaddle, ma’am. You can’t come through camp without a pass.”
“I came for you, my darling.” With one fluid motion, she moved closer.
He cocked his rifle. “Stop right there.”
Her exquisite lips drew into a pout. “I would never harm you, Dimitri.”
At the sound of the name an eerie sensation swept over him.
“Who the hell is Dimitri?” he asked. “My name’s Caleb.”
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