She couldn’t be like her father. No, she wouldn’t be like her father.
She stared at the man who had stolen her heart from afar. She couldn’t bear the thought of Garth dying an old man, alone in his bed. Perhaps he’d have a family who’d look over his dying body with sorrow and regret as they prayed their last goodbyes.
Alva turned her face with disgust, at the thought of her love dying, at herself for becoming like the one person she loathed. Her father.
He created the monstrosity that she had become. The scent of blood drove her wild, the taste of it intoxicating and empowering. For centuries she hadn’t felt what it was like to be human, until Garth. He filled her with possessiveness and longing. It was a maddening feeling to have a mere human ignite woes of passion and fulfillment in a heart that was…
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