what red lips you have, he said in her ear. Did she dare say it? All the better to kiss you with, my dear, she replied. And then their lips met.

The Amoeba? she asked Aiden. The gang, he said, tossing his hand to indicate all around. My people. A large amorphous mass that keeps on changing size, hasn't much apparent use, sometimes makes you sick, and occasionally breaks off into smaller parts that act exactly like the parent.

I mean, how would anyone learn anything if they weren't curious? How would scientists make discoveries? -- We all have the right to be different, don't we?

Why me? she asked, holding on to him. Because you cared, he whispered. You cared so much for your people, it broke your heart to see the pack in ruins. You cared so much for your mother, you risked your life for hers. You cared enough to save someone who wanted you dead. And because you walk like a queen.

He was raw and sharp and rich and throbbing with life. He was sweet blood after a long hunt. How could she have mistaken Aiden's kisses for this? They had been delicious and smooth like the brief comfort of chocolate, but they had never been enough.

In his wolf-skin he was as strong as any of them, but he was a gentle person in many ways. He'd feel so bad about failing he'd probably step aside for someone else without a fight.

Life is an illusion that last too little.

Believe this, he whispered, and kissed her with the sharp, sleek kiss, the silver kiss, so swift and true, and razor sharp, and her warmth was flowing into him.

Soon the cold would force them inside, so they clutched at lost summer.

I will howl for you, human boy (...). I will hunt you in my girl skin but I'll celebrate as wolf.