Truly, we are the gods' own children, forged in the fire of our tortured pasts, but also blessed with unimaginable gifts.

I am beginning to think that love itself is never wrong. It is what love can drive people to do that is the problem.

I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face.

Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.

However, there are those who deserve to die but who have not yet encountered the means to do so—we help them on their way.

In the distance a wolf howls. Let it come, I think. Beast will most likely simply howl back, and the creature will either turn tail and run or fall into line behind him, like the rest of us have.

He does not start guiltily, as he should, but frowns in annoyance. "Who are you?" I slip my hand through the slit of my overskirt, and my fingers close around the hard wood of the crossbow tiller. "Vengeance," I say softly.