Angel's Pain

“Okay.” He winked and left the room.

Why the hell, she wondered, was everyone so determined to see things in her that didn’t exist? She wasn’t worried about Crisa. She didn’t give a shit about Crisa—or anyone else, for that matter. This pile of do-gooders just couldn’t seem to accept that about her. They didn’t understand it, sought to project their own moral bullshit onto her. But she didn’t believe in it. Never had.

She was out only for herself, her own best interests and the fulfillment of her own needs. And right now those needs included only two things. The basic need to devour living blood in order to survive, and her sole purpose for wanting to.

She had to kill Gregor for what he’d done to her.

Revenge was the only reason she continued waking up each night. It was her life force. And once it was done, well, hell, she would probably be done, too, despite her tough talk to Roxy about being a true immortal.

There really wasn’t, as far as she could see, much of a point to it, after all.

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