’ ‘No, and I do not wish to do so,’ Melusine pointed out. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. Wood, disdainfully. He sucked at her neck, biting her hard, leaving red marks that disappeared as soon as he made them. Not that there had ever been any hope of that. Then her fingers moved. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom.
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