He feels as though she's trapped him, backed him into a corner from which there's no escape but to fight. He's sure it's more than a feeling - it's a certainty, knowledge that comes from long experience. He should push away from her without another word, leave her standing and speak to her no more. She should mean nothing.

But he doesn't move away. Instead - suddenly wild, feral - he tangles a hand into her hair, drags her head up and closes his mouth over hers.

When one is thirsty enough, poison will do.