by Jacynthe Demorae

Our time has passed, his and mine. He loves another now, and greets the night with her name on his lips. I cannot begrudge him, for she is fire,
courage, honor, and tempered steel. Devoted, loyal, dutiful, and
rebellious. All things I would delight in for a lover--if only she were a

And yes, sometimes I wish this, for I love her too, in my way. She
could be so shaped, if she but asked. There are nights when I am
sure it is only her sex--that, and my body's inability to respond to women--that prevents me from pursuing her myself. The three of us, together...

First, I loved her because he did, because she had saved him, turned him
somewhat from his path of self-destruction. And she saved me, gave me
sanctuary and peace, when she had just cause to hate my people. Even now, she tolerates me, despite my arrogant blindness and the blow I dealt her. Then, the night she fought beside us...

A fledgling telepath could have read her. To this night, I believe she
had no idea how open she was. My Sire's pact, the kidnapping of her
friend...these gave her the excuse. Her hatred for my Sire--whom she
called The Maggot--rivaled our own. That night, she fought for us, to
avenge the abuses heaped upon us, upon our Broodmates who she had never known. And so much regret, that she hadn't known earlier, that she hadn't been stronger, been able to free us. Regret, but never the smallest scrap of pity. Honest wrath, because those things were wrong and someone should have stepped in long ago and had not.

I think I began to love her myself, then.

Her passion enflames, touching all who encounter her, friend or foe. I
envy those who are blessed with such loving fire in their beds...I envy
him at times.

If only she were a man...