The moment I left María José's room, I was fuming.
Not at myself, no. That would be ridiculous. My only regret was stopping. I should have bitten her. I should have branded her as mine, should have made sure Axel would never look at her again without seeing my mark on her skin.
But no, I had to grow a conscience at the worst possible time.
I needed air. I needed a distraction. I needed to hurt something.
And as luck would have it, my distraction arrived in the form of Camilla De la Vega, María José's pompous, spoiled, second-rate older sister.
Just a few feet ahead, standing in the wide hallway with her arms crossed over her chest, was Camilla.
The one with her nose so high in the air it was a miracle she hadn't drowned in the last rainstorm.
The one who had been fortunate enough to be born into power but lacked the brain cells to wield it properly.