Silver Creek yea, though i walk through the valley of the shadow of death

on-edge as she is in this new world, addison does not fail to notice the rustling--nay, more like stampeding--of a stranger, come to drink at the creek. her eyes linger on him for only a short moment before she looks away, remembering her place. she dips her head to take another sip, wondering if he will notice the delicate curve of her neck, her young supple body, stretching, reaching. . .

addison is not immune to the charm she has over men. it is less a power than an intriguing feature, for do they not consume women, in the end? no, it is something driven deep into the female flesh by time immemorial, by nature. not a power, but a means to an end. she wonders how she smells to him. he smells like. . .

musk. and danger. she knows that to let him take her maidenhead--should it come to that--is a risky proposition. perhaps, should he follow, he will be invited into the odolf fold. even if so, he may not be her chosen mate. grayson will select one for her, just as aaron had done for the women before. he may not measure up.

but--well. he is not typically handsome, from the quick assessment she'd made of him. long and bony, more like a cat than a canine. and again, that danger. . . something within the eyes, behind the veneer of civility.

she is intrigued, and gives him a brief nod--gaze averted--but must let him make the first move.