By morning, my mother was gone, and I never asked where. And as time passed, my father made no effort to bring her home again. I didn’t see her until a couple of years later. And I dealt with it for good that night. Just like I was going to deal with Winter and the false hope she nearly destroyed me with. “I want her to want it,” I told Mikhail, his brown eyes looking up at me expectantly. “I want her to want me, to give me her heart, and be my soft, sweet, smiling Little Devil, clutching at me and unable to stop herself.” My heart quickened. “And then I want her to hate herself for it. To
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