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.
She was talking to a maid, and with her gestures and tone, anyone could tell she was planning mischievousness.
