A Dowry of Blood (A Dowry of Blood, #1)

by S.T. Gibson

To those who escaped a love like death, and to those still caught in its grasp: you are the heroes of this story.

You coaxed that tenacity out of me and broke it down in your hands, leaving me on your work table like a desiccated doll until you were ready to repair me.

War is never valiant, only crude and hideous. Any left alive after the rest have been cut down do not last long exposed to the elements.

I know I had a name before that moment. It was a sturdy name, warm and wholesome like a loaf of dark bread fresh out of the oven. But the girl I had been disappeared the instant you pronounced me yours.

“Water your mother’s flowers with their blood.”

loodlust brings on a delirium that’s difficult to describe. From the first squirt on the tongue to the last dying jerk of your prey under your hands, the whole experience builds and builds into a screaming fever pitch. Those with little imagination have compared it to carnal climax, but I liken it more to religious ecstasy. I have never felt more truly alive in my waking death than when I am taking the life of another person.

There are no angels in this world to accompany the dying in their final moments, only pickpockets and carrion birds.

I was always your little mouse, kept in a gilded cage until it was time for the cat to play.