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“Looking at her with a wolf’s gaze, with a hunger satiated only by violence and destruction, he pulled back only slightly with the sight of blood trickling from her nose. When she smiled at him, her teeth stained red, her tongue running over her gums, however, Blossom’s entire body juxtaposed the idea between sweet and innocent to malicious and coarse. She was as sharp as a blade, yet as sweet as a flowering bruise. And his affection for her was as equally a perfect mixture—balance—between the desire to destroy her, tear her limb from limb, devour her, and protect, nurture, save her from all the evil in the world, including himself. But what he didn’t realize, as she batted her lashes back up at him, her body molding under his fingertips so easily he for a minute was convinced she had been created for the sole purpose of him, was that she was a wolf, too. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, a false prey. A predator of equal conviction.” — Kate Winborne