"...to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee.” ― Herman Melville
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Arabella sighed as she looked at Alastair. He was staring at her, his eyes confused. In the shadows of the night, he looked like a fallen angel... and just a look at him made her want to break every one of the rules. But she knew it was improbable, right now.
"I should go," she whispered again, more to herself than to him. She had plans... and those plans didn't include this man with the strangest of green eyes, with kisses that tasted like nectar from the moonlight peonies...
For five months, she had been working towards two things: strengthening her pack mates, and destroying Vincent and everything he loved with his frozen heart.
And this curve
