Anne turned, trying to nudge him aside with a shoulder so she could get off the couch, disentangle herself from him, free her hand. "I can't. This--this isn't right." There was something at work here, something that she didn't understand, something that conflicted inside of her. Trenton demanded immortality, but that was art, and his body against hers was something else again. She didn't know what. It made her panic, pull away.