The ashes of the dead rained down upon us like snow. Varg's hands wrapped around my breasts as he pressed his lips against mine.
I could hear the thoughts passing through his mind; the only place wetter than my womanhood was my "freakish" eyes. For the gaze of this man, whose taste I had savored so many times, was so different now…
He looked at me as if I were the only woman in the world, appearing to worship even the breath I took.
"No one will ever make you feel like you've entered the grave before you've died again," he whispered.
His warm lips wandered over my ears and neck with small kisses. The pain of the ancient languages written with our blood upon the ashes of the dead was still fresh on our skin. He had seen it. I had seen the world through his misty, milk-white wolf eyes, and he had tasted birth within a dead womb in the midst of the snow-filled desolation where I belonged.
