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Chris, or the monster he’d turned into, growled, inhumane, high-pitched, animalistic, and the noise pinged from the trees, like ice cubes in a glass of vodka. I reached my hand toward him—damp ground, now, filled my lungs, an umami sort of smell—and grabbed his arm, tight with muscles that could rip my head off in a heartbeat.
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A horrible thing to realize, when death is literally drooling on you, but oh, fuck, how I wanted him in that moment.
Right then, the skies opened up, his body shielding me from the oncoming rain, pattering against the trees and the ground, and oh, how I loved him for that.
I’d been jealous of the moon for so long that there was a void inside me now.
First Line
Held against the dead leaves and pine needles, I could see it clearly, the sight taking my breath away in the sweetest of ways; his gaping maw, fangs dripping as he hovered over me, strays of moonlight scattering through the thick, black clouds above us.