I’ve been pacing my living room back and forth so much I’m certain I’ve burned a trail through the floor. I’m fisting my hair trying not to scream as I resist the urge to visit my animai again. Okay, see, there’s the first bad sign I’ve gone too far. I’ve gotten into a habit of calling her my animai more and more, and I shouldn’t because I swore to stay away. A promise I have failed spectacularly to keep. Every day the need and temptation gets stronger, and it has nothing to do with her blood. It’s her.
Even helping newborn sanguidaes is no longer a distraction. They try to speak to me but I’m usually too busy staring off into space thinking of the small woman with the skin of glittering gold, eyes that burn like golden fire and curves that could make a man see heaven. I want her. I don’t
