She did not respond for another moment. Vilja seized upon it: “Oh, is that all, then? “I am a werewolf,” I finally admitted, although I did not suppose it came as any great shock. Tongue, lips, teeth prodded and pinched, licked and sucked. “And we are not?”
“Is that what you think?” She halted, glared away a passerby. I’m bitten. I had heard that some women, especially ‘snotty Breton girls’, as Vilja termed them, shaved everything, especially pits and sometimes even their furry mounds, and I was now intrigued enow to perhaps try it myself. Further befouling my mood, Serana began to test my patience. “The children love you,” I essayed instead. I think she knew what was going on in my lust-filled mind, and I should have sensed her discomfort – yet it was much more than that, as it turned out.
