He no longer wanted to feel blood cooling in his hands when he could feel warm strands of coily white hair. He no longer wanted to dig his claws in to shred flesh when he’d rather tickle them along the indents of Raewyn’s spine, or thigh, or the nape of her neck. He’d rather his tongue be coated in her, every part of her, rather than the tangy, coppery taste of blood and entrails, or stomach acid.
