Asher stared at her, the weight of her words hanging in the air. He had expected condemnation, disappointment—anything but calm acceptance. Her quiet reassurance unnerved him almost as much as the curse itself.
"I didn't have to?" he echoed, his voice low, disbelief mingling with confusion. His hands loosened their grip on her wrist as he leaned back slightly, shaking his head. "You should've stopped me. You should've—"
"Why?" she interrupted gently, her tone steady but tinged with something that bordered on curiosity. She tilted her head, her crimson eyes studying him intently. "You're cursed, Asher. You're mine. Your hunger is inevitable, and I would rather you feed from me than lose control elsewhere. Don't you see? I don't need to stop you."