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“Eat or be eaten.” Quasar’s grip on her arm had softened into a sort of caress. “It’s the way of the world.”
His touch heated her skin. She was usually the one being eaten. “Do you really believe that? Isn’t there any middle ground?”
He looked amused. “I suppose so. I haven’t explored it myself.”
“Since I can’t imagine you being eaten, then I assume you’re used to being the one doing the devouring.”
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