Moments after the baseball standoff the rain softened to a fine mist, hanging like breath over the trees. Victoria moved like a phantom through the underbrush, silent, fluid, untouchable. Laurent trailed behind her, eyes sharp, senses still humming from the tension of the confrontation.
Far ahead, James stalked through the trees, fixated on one thing—the girl. Her scent had driven him into a frenzy, focused and ravenous.
But Victoria had caught something else.
She slowed, nostrils flaring again as she passed the lingering trail left by the golden-haired one—Rosalie, she believed the name was. The bloodlines were unfamiliar, whispered of in passing only. She didn't truly know any of them. Not personally. Not yet.
But this…
This scent stopped her cold.
Not Rosalie's. Something on her. Carried. Stuck to the fabric of her jacket like the last breath of a kiss.
It hit her deep in the gut—feral and electric. Her lips parted slightly.
"There's something else..."
Laurent glanced back. "James already made his pick. Don't complicate it."
She didn't respond immediately. Her fingers trailed along the wet bark of a tree, almost reverently.
"The one with the golden hair… she wore something. Someone else's scent. It's old… but not forgotten."
Laurent raised a brow. "Another human?"
Victoria's voice dropped, sultry and unnerved. "Maybe. But not prey. Not easily. This one…" she exhaled, licking her lips, "this one felt different. Off. Like ash and honey."
She glanced sideways at Laurent. "And I don't even know why it excites me."
Laurent frowned. "Is it dangerous?"
Victoria smirked, her tongue brushing her fangs. "Isn't that what makes things fun?"
She turned toward the trees, not following James, but remembering—filing the scent away like a mark to be studied.
Not knowing the boy's name.
Not knowing his face.
Just the feel of him, left behind on Rosalie like a bruise that hadn't faded.