p r e f a c e
I'd had more than my fair share of near death experiences; and I knew it was something that you never got used to.
It seemed oddly inevitable, however, facing death again. It was like I really was marked for disaster. I'd escaped time and time again, but it kept coming back for me.
Still, this time was so much different from the others.
You could run from someone that you feared, you could try to fight another that you hated. All of my reactions were geared toward those kinds of killers -- the monsters, the murderers, the enemies.
When you loved the one who was killing you, it left you no options. How could you run, how could you fight, when to do so would hurt that beloved one? If your life was all you really had to give your beloved, how could you not give it?
If it was someone that you really, truly loved?