Develton-POV
I paced aimlessly through the cobweb-covered rows of forgotten knowledge, brooding in the silence of my private library. This was something new for me; pacing was not ‘my thing’, as Logan would say. My actions were typically measured and devoid of emotion, but now they were annoyingly intemperate.
Logan was my last creation, and he became both my most cherished possession and the most vexing pain in my ancient ass. I was still perplexed by his earlier antics, and I shook my head as I recalled his boisterous return to our chamber.
But I had to admit that it wasn’t just his erratic behavior that troubled me; it was also my reaction to smelling the blood. The delectable, mouth-watering scent immediately roused something within me—an instinct that had lain dormant for decades.
