""I'm going to enjoy this," he whispered. The nails raked harder, drawing blood in lines. The knife slid free from the sheath and I gripped it tightly in my hand, bracing for the kill.

I breathed along his mouth, "So am I."

Confusion chased away the cocky grin on his face and was replaced by anger. He was used to his victims begging and pleading for their lives, and I had spoiled the fun for him. Victims were not supposed to be cooperative or compliant, but I wasn't a victim. I had been one centuries ago, and once was enough."

Katrina...