And then Tohr said softly, "I'm lucky to have found love, I thank the Scribe Virgin every day that Wellsie is in my life."
Wrath's Temper surged, set off by something he couldn't put his finger on. "You're pathetic."
Tohr hissed. "And you've been dead for hundreds of years. You're just too mean to find a grave and lie down."
Wrath threw the leather jacket on the floor. "At least I'm not pussy whipped."
Nice. F*cking. Suit.
