I left Helen in the room with her dead parents. She was no longer of use to me. The only one I was concerned with was Haydn. Her abrupt departure had shaken me. Her disapproval had done far more damage.
I was hers. She made me. How could she not want me?
I followed her scent, so enticing, and caught her at the edge of the road. She shook me off like she would an insect. And, to her, I was.
She regretted it. I could see it clearly in the full moon’s light. But she didn’t try to hide it either.
“I should have killed you,” she said.
Then she hit me. She hit me so hard I flew back and slammed into the front of the cottage. It didn’t knock me out, but it stunned me enough to give her time. When I finally made it to my feet, Haydn was gone.