(TRISTAN)
Most people couldn't smell blood until it was on the outside of a body.
But I could. Rich, metallic, and flavoured with the unique essence of whoever it was inside.
This blood had a tartly sweet fragrance to it, light and refreshing, like oranges. It was pumping fast, the heartbeat of whoever owned it ratcheting up as I tipped my head and tried to get a bead on how far he was and in what direction.
I couldn't hear his heart from this distance — and I knew it was he, not she, because instincts didn't lie — but the scent intensified as if he'd flushed, his body's autonomic responses sending his blood rushing to the surface of him and the smell of him winging straight to me.
Just for me. I had to have a taste. It'd been a while since I had fresh blood, at least a month, and I hadn't scented anyone so appealing in years.
The town of Sylvaris didn't have any horrible neighbourhoods. Run-down, yes, but not too unsafe.
