Ravensblood Forest light of my life, fire of my loins [m]

“”

“For me, she would,” Lecter muttered softly, eyes sweeping with slow aplomb across the reclining features of his young lover. His tone sought to remind Jinx softly that there was a history that spanned the years before her birth; though he knew he could not easily lure Lethe into his bed now, for it was a different heart that ruled the Creek, his obeisance after his former spurnings would surely soften Lethe's heart.

She was proud, his rosebud, petals now unfurled toward the sun, and Lecter watched Jinx with hungry desire mounting in his gaze once more. Yes! the pale witch desired her, wanted again to clasp her in his arms and melt wretchedly into the heat of her; he raised himself over the girl, forelegs planted on either side of her slender hips, and lowered his muzzle to kiss and to touch, to wake her again with little grazes of his teeth and small sweeps of his tongue.

Jinx he wanted, for never in his recollection had a creature desired him so, and at this age, where his memories were beginning to grow hazy, and his body was beginning to protest the aging of his bones, Lecter wanted the softness of the girl, her passion, her ardor; he would burn to death on the Nordic ship of her love before he would let her grow distant and slip from him.