Haunted Wood seven devils in my house

she has given up on trying to make the man see sense, and sees now that he is not the sithis she imagined him; but a man, dull and mortal and spitting poison. it is when he speaks of her mother that she starts; no one knows that, no one should, no one can, because that would make it real and vivid and ugly. 

he retorts, his blow dodged barely as his fangs catch briefly in the loose fur along her spine, dropping low and surging up, she seeks to drop behind his maw and seek a grip in the hollow of his throat. she knows the lifeblood that flows there, wants to feel it, tear it, taste it more than ever before. she had not known that such a feeling was possible, that anger could be so fierce and so focused.