Something like a snarl crossed his face, and ignoring the pistol, he moved forward, seizing her shoulders. He sucked at her neck, biting her hard, leaving red marks that disappeared as soon as he made them. Cut to pieces —slashed—bloodied. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. My mom doesn’t realize that I’ve got my own style. ‘Do not smile at me and try to make me not angry any more,’ Melusine warned, ‘for I am very angry indeed with you.
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