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“I don’t want to die.” Julienne’s voice trembled, revealing her lack of assurance in the sincerity of his promises. She could accept any fate as long as Morgan supported her. Though he had never voiced any opinion, she had feared he would despise the creature she would become. A single tear tracked down her cheek. Another followed.

“Then choose to live.” Unable to restrain his passion for her any longer, he drew her to him. As he wiped away her tears, his lips met hers in a kiss of ineffable desire.

Abandoning her fears and doubts, Julienne responded, returning the embrace, her tongue teasing his, coaxing, tantalizing. Their hands touched, stroking and petting until both were breathless and aroused.

The savagery of her hunger spurring her on, her body moved with a will beyond hers. Her spirit fought with all its strength, but there was no escape. She was unable to break free of the alien thing alive in her, its desires ringing loud and clear in her skull. Her own self-control wasn’t lost and adrift. It was drowning.

For a terrible instant she floundered in the jumble of two conflicting viewpoints. Her world blurred as two different sets of images from two different minds—hers and the mutant’s—were superimposed on one another. Though she ordered the mutant inside to let go, it wouldn’t obey. She simultaneously felt exquisite pleasure and unendurable revulsion at what she was about to do. Blackness cut through her consciousness and she lost all control.

“I must,” she said automatically, the word rippling up from her throat like a purr. What it meant she didn’t know, but it felt delicious. She surrendered to the beast raging inside, letting it loose. The creature owned her and all she knew was its hunger, its determination to survive.

She pushed Morgan back as she rose to a crouch. Grabbing his hair, she inclined his head to reveal the soft flesh of his neck. Hating herself, but too far gone to truly care, she moved in for the feast, using his dagger to make a small cut in his throat, by instinct missing the carotid. Her tongue traced her lips in anticipation before she dipped her head and pressed her mouth against his skin.

Hot blood flowed.

She drank deeply, eyes closed, savoring the life he gave. She reveled in the metallic sweetness, the lust now a concrete entity inside her soul.

Satiation pulled her away. She rose, wiping away the blood trickling down her chin with a swipe of her hand. She had consumed less than a cup, but it was enough.

Unsupported, Morgan slumped back down. The hand he lifted to rub his closed eyes trembled. An ironic smile played on his lips. A thin track of blood went down his neck to stain the white material of his shirt.

“You did well.” He pressed his palm to the cut. When his hand dropped away the wound had healed.

Julienne came out of her feeding trance. The sight of blood on the white material seemed obscene—the slaying of the lamb to feed the jackal. She choked with disgust. Burning self-hatred ignited in her soul. Despite her denial, the blood-hunger had triumphed! Even more shameful, she had enjoyed the taste, savored the satisfying respite from the pain!

Oh, God! What worse lengths would I go to feed?