23: The Taste of Her Blood

LOGAN

Her type was the worst kind, no doubt.

Anyone with a sixty sense or the equivalent could tell that she was the type of she-wolf that strategically clawed her way into people’s lives just for her personal gain. The type to act innocent and downtrodden just because she enjoys sympathy and ass-kissing.

I knew that because of her defiant attitude when she was offered a settlement and how she went ahead to still play the pity card after meeting me. Only a pathetic and lazy person wouldn't understand that business wasn't personal, and she just happened to handed the short end of the stick.

I’d tried my hardest to avoid her and every single thing she stood for, but of course, she had to waltz into my room uninvited and stumble on my true form.

Immediately I set eyes on her, I was ridden with hatred and annoyance, so much that I didn't think twice before attacking her—it’d been far too long since I’d fed straight from a host’s veins and she deserved it anyways.

What I hadn't expected