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I wanted you from the moment we met...
and I always get what I want.
Three hundred and eighty five. That’s how many marks he counted on the splinter-ridden post of his small twin bed. That’s also the number of days that he had been in this dark, tiny prison.
His teeth started to chatter and he hugged himself tighter, turning onto his side into the smallest ball that he could fit his large body. It wasn’t always this cold in his master’s basement; it usually only felt that way after she had fed from him, or let someone else feed off of him.