She narrowed her eyes, realizing what this was. Stockholm syndrome. Identifying with your bullying captor? Check. Forming an attachment to him? Check. But in all fairness to herself, how many captors—actively acquiring—were six-and-a-half-foot-tall gods with delicious, sun-darkened skin, the coolest accent, and the warmest, hardest body she’d ever dreamed of? All this and he liked to wrap that body around her? All this and he thought she was beautiful. Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t seem to give her enough of his luscious blood.
