His hand in mine felt heavier than it should have, more important than it should have, as if I could feel each whorl of his fingertip like tiny silken lines against my hand. Hell, he can't even say no to women who are almost strangers. I'm surprised it's gone this bad, this soon. I was afraid in a way that I'd never been of him, or any of my leopards.
I shrugged, squeezed her hands, and got up. Which half? he asked. What difference does it make whether I was having sex with one, or both? He looked down then, and wouldn't meet my eyes. Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, and he gazed back down at me, and with each word, sanity filled his eyes, his face, him.
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