“I’m warning you—” I started, but the words awakened something in the vishakanya. She was no longer smiling. No longer wheedling. “No, girl,” she said, as cold as glass. “I’m warning you. That human boy is now mine.” “He was never—” “He is in our tent. He is not protesting. Therefore, he is ours. And now that he is mine, you should know that I am not someone to steal from. You see, girl, we like humans. Human desires are nothing like the desires of yakshas and yakshinis. Yours are a treat. There’s something different about human desire. How damp it is. The way it gloms on to your nightmares
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