He looked at me and I shivered. I never get enough of him. Never will.

He lives.

I breathe.

I want. Him. Always.

Fire to my ice. Ice to my fever.

Later we would go to bed, and when he rose over me, dark and vast and eternal, I'd know joy. Who Knew? Much later we might fly a couple of Hunters to the moon.

Autore: Karen Marie Moning