This was different than anything she had ever experienced. Lovemaking among the angels was slow and sweet and patient, sometimes lasting for hours. But for all that, it was somehow shallow, riven of meaning. This was deeper, darker, richer, with an undertone of hunger she had never before felt with any of the dozens of lovers she had taken.
That is the difference, Doriel realized, with a sudden understanding. They are hungry. Hungry for life, hungry for pleasure, hungry to give their short existence meaning, before the curtain falls on the tragic play of their lives. We angels, who fear neither sickness, nor old age, nor death, do not have that drive within us. Althea does. And if a succubus who has lived for millenia has that hunger, how much greater the appetite of full-blooded humans,
