Then I guess we cannot miss the famous festival in New Orleans, he found himself saying, just to take the shadows from her eyes. She was silent a moment, her fingers twisting in the blanket. Do you mean it, Gregori? We can go? You know how much I love crowds of humans, he said, straight-faced. She laughed at him. They don’t bite. I do, he said, the words low and soft, his silver gaze at once possessive.
Christine Feehan