Humans were a funny creation, each one a combination of a multitude of traits that society deemed either desirable, acceptable, or neither. It was all luck of the genetic draw. A statistical game that meant very little to Silas in the grand scheme of things. Beauty was obvious, and hilariously common. But passion… Passion was rare and precious. Ivy had both. And that fact made his fangs ache to sink into her softness and tap the enigmatic vein running through her and drink deep. He was selfish that way. It wasn’t enough for him to simply admire—he needed to devour.
