Alex had seen a dead man. Not that he should be surprised; he was supposedly dead too. Yet he, Alexandre Dumas, famous author of The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers, was most definitely still alive--and immortal. He had chronicled much of his life for his current publisher: swashbuckling exploits on every continent. But those "fictions" could be no more thrilling than this sudden reappearance of his arch-nemesis, the Comte de St. Germain, the man who had murdered Alex's one true love...and whose heart he had torn out over sixty years ago. No less thrilling was the woman of whom Alex now dreamed, a daring beauty who made him hark back to older days, older hopes--a time of love and lust and the highest adventure. She promised escape from a solitary eternity, reminded him that even where darkness beckoned, there was still the sky, the stars immortal and...Divine Night.