Dimitri released the third deer and inhaled sharply. Blanca was strong-willed. He knew she would try her best to resist their bond. Her childhood had been hell, yet she had survived, and it had shaped her into a strong, brilliant, courageous woman. He longed to calm her, to reassure her, but knew she would not welcome his intrusion. She had reason to fear him. He remembered so few things. Betrayal. Pain. Rage. He had been so clumsy in his handling of her conversion, in his handling of everything.
The deer stirred, stumbled to their feet, and, wobbling unsteadily, plodded out to the freedom of the forest. Dimitri would have finished them off, utilized every drop of life-giving nourishment he could, but Blanca would have thought him a monster. His body tuned itself to hers, craved the sight and scent of her, the touch of her. Perhaps he was a monster. He really didn't know anything other than that he needed Blanca.