At once pleasure beat at Zande; it took hold and rushed through her body like a wall of flame, a firestorm of beauty and ecstasy. Sweet and hot. Immeasurable. Like nothing she had ever known. It was addictive, consuming, eternal.
There would never be a Zande without Jacob. Never a Jacob without Zande. She would need his body, his blood, and his soul for all the rest of her days. He would need hers.
Gasping, terrified, Zande closed the tiny pinpricks and held on to him, the only solid anchor in a world that seemed to be disintegrating around her.
At once his arms were there, real and strong, his chin nuzzling the top of her head so that silken strands of her hair were caught in the golden shadow on his jaw, weaving them together like threads.
"Do not fear this, piccola." He muttered softly.
"I know what to do. I am ancient and powerful and know the ways of our people. This is natural for us."
