Diana had never spoken of it, which was to be expected. Perhaps if Cassie had listened more intently to the whispering chord of silver, she would have been prepared.
In her mind's eye, she would run her hands along his sides, soothe the restlessness from muscle; stroke up into the tangle of horn and marvel at the places where her fingers could not meet as they wrapped around. Sometimes her knuckles were white with need; other times they would bleed.
Always the same chase, and she'd hunt for breath, for comprehension. And always the same ending as she was brought down to her knees amongst the stars, his fortunes turned.