[ Elizabeth knew every story they had ever said of her. That her mama was a witch, and her father had killed the bitch of a wife when she'd gotten caught bedding another man. That her Papa raised her mean, ignoring her in favor of a baby brother, and she had become twisted because of it. That she had claws, and lips that were covered with venom, so that if she kissed some poor unsuspecting fool, they'd die. That they'd love every minute of it before they drew their last.

The one thing every story got right, apart from her perchance for violence, she had been bemused to note, was that anything she had ever let go of, had claw marks in it. Pried from aching cold finger tips. Perhaps that was she why liked him best. There was no explanation, only a need to have. ]

I wondered that you ever asked whether I would stay behind.

[ A shrug, at his question, at his admiration, as if she had no need of it, but it was seldom a man ever commented a woman for her sins.

Plentiful as they were. ]

Marcus. I do not know his family name, I don't care to. I know his face. It is enough. [ Etched into her mind like only vengeance could mark such a thing. ]