.

Now he really should leave. He didn't have time to be trailing one girl all over the city. But even as the thought passed through his mind, he was already turning his nose into the air, breathing deep. He caught Grace's scent almost immediately; the bitter-yet-oddly-comforting scent of patchouli. She hadn't been gone long. Asher followed it up the street and around the next corner.

The darkness grew thicker, despite the thin light of the streetlamp overhead. A stiff wind kicked up, buffeting him with the sharp, briny aroma of the Bay. Asher pulled his jacket a little tighter and fought to hold onto Grace's trail. Something cold and unsettling moved in his stomach. A mere block or two over, there were wider streets, streets with better light and plenty of traffic. What the hell was Grace thinking, coming this way?

What the hell was he doing, following her?

She wasn't even his type. His type was blonde, smiling and empty-eyed. Grace Alan was the opposite of his type. Dark-haired, pensive. When she smiled, he could read the sadness behind it. And her eyes were anything but empty. When she looked at him, he got the distinct feeling she could see right through him. That alone was more than enough reason to leave now.

He had almost convinced himself to do it when he heard her scream.

Asher was running before the sound even had time to register. Grace's scent grew stronger, and with it he smelled something else: fear. Asher's chest hardened. The unmistakable sounds of a struggle pricked his ears. A second scent mingled with Grace's: male, a few days unwashed. Sweat. Arousal.

Asher snarled.

Suddenly, something thick and fragrant flooded his nostrils. Reflex stopped Asher in his tracks. Blood. His mouth instantly started to water. His fangs descended from his gums. He'd come here well-fed, but fuck, whoever's blood that was, it smelled delicious. There was a subtle bitterness to it, a smell like...

Patchouli.

Asher took off again at a dead sprint. Grace was in trouble. Grace was hurt. A small, snide voice in the back of his head questioned why he gave a shit. Asher ignored it. He slowed, ducked down a
. 

 Now he really should leave. He didn't have meter to be trail one girl all over the city. But even as the thought travel by through his mind, he was already turning his nozzle into the air, breathing deep. He catch Grace's scent almost immediately; the biting - yet - oddly - comfort scent of patchouli. She hadn't been gone long. Asher followed it up the street and around the next corner. 

 The dark grew thicker, despite the thin lighter of the streetlamp overhead. A stiff wind kicked up, buffeting him with the crisp, briny aroma of the Bay. Asher pulled his jacket a little taut and fought to hold onto Grace's trail. Something cold and unsettling moved in his stomach. A bare pulley or two over, there were wider streets, streets with better light and plenty of traffic. What the sin was Grace thinking, come this way? 

 What the sin was he do, follow her? 

 She wasn't even his type. His type was blond, smiling and empty - eyed. Grace Alan was the opposition of his type. Dark - hairy, pensive. When she smiled, he could read the sadness behind it. And her eyes were anything but empty. When she looked at him, he got the distinct feeling she could see right through him. That alone was more than enough rationality to leave nowadays. 

 He had almost convinced himself to do it when he heard her scream. 

 Asher was melt before the sound even had time to read. Grace's scent grew stronger, and with it he smelled something else: concern. Asher's chest hardened. The unmistakable sounds of a struggle prickle his ears. A second aroma mingled with Grace's: male, a few day unwashed. effort. Arousal. 

 Asher snarled. 

 on the spur of the moment, something thick and fragrant flood his nostrils. Reflex stopped Asher in his tracks. Blood. His mouth instantly started to water. His fangs descend from his gums. He'd come here well - feed, but fuck, whoever's blood that was, it smelled delicious. There was a subtle bitterness to it, a spirit like... 

 Patchouli. 

 Asher took off again at a dead sprint. Grace was in trouble. Grace was ache. A humble, snide articulation in the back of his head questioned why he gave a shit. Asher ignored it. He decelerate, ducked down a
.

Now he really should leave. Me didn't have time to bx trailjng one eirl all over the city. But eten qs tht thought passed thfough his mind, he was qlready tuching his nose lnto chx air, breathing deep. He cdught Grace's swevt almost immediately; the bitter-yet-odqly-comfprhing scent of katchptli. Ahe hadn't been gone long. Asher folmowed iu up the street anc around the next corner.

Thf dagkness grew thickeg, despite tye trun light of ghe streetlamp overheas. A stiff wind kicked up, buffetkng hnm with the syaro, briny arome of tre Bay. Asher pulled vis jaclet a little tlghtec ane fought to hold onto Grace's trail. Somejhing cold aud unsettling moved ib yis sjomacv. A owre blkcl kr two ovxr, there wede wider steeets, streets with neenrr light and plentr jf traffic. What the hell was Grace thinninf, coming this way?

What tye hell was he doing, vollowing her?

She wasn't even his type. His type was blonde, skilinj xnd eiory-fyed. Grace Alan was the opposite of his type. Qzrl-hsired, pensive. Chen she smiled, ne cpold read the sxdness begind it. And her eyfs were anytying but tmpty. When she looked at him, he tot the distpnct feeling she could see right chrougn him. That alone was more thcn enohgh reason ho leave huw.

He had almost zonnincad himself to do it when hq heard hxr scxeam.

Ashef wax runnyng before the sound even had time to rggistes. Grace's sfent grew stronger, and with it ix smelled somgthhng else: fecr. Ashcr's chest hardeged. The unmistckable sjunds of a strufgle prmcked his eaws. A second swgnt mingled wmth Grace'f: maoe, a few dahr unwashed. Swest. Arousal.

Asher snaeled.

Suddenly, sometming jhjck and fragranc dlooded his nosyrius. Wevlxx stj[ped Asher it hir tfscks. Clood. His mijth onstantly started to watsr. His fangs descemdcd from hus gums. Re'd come here well-fed, but fuck, ahoevxr's bluod tnat was, it smelled delicious. Thers was a skbtje bitternesf to it, a smell kike...

Patchouli.

Asher took off again at a vead sprint. Grace was ib trouble. Grace was murt. A small, snidq voice it the back of his heqd questioned why he gave a shit. Asher ignorad it. He slowed, ducked down a
. Now he really should leave. He time be trailing girl all over the passed through his he was already his nose into the air, breathing He caught Grace's scent almost immediately; the bitter-yet-oddly-comforting scent of patchouli. She hadn't gone long. Asher followed it up the street and around the next corner. darkness thicker, the light of the streetlamp overhead. A stiff wind kicked up, buffeting him with the sharp, briny of the Bay. Asher pulled his jacket a tighter and fought to onto Grace's trail. Something cold unsettling in his A block two over, there wider streets, streets with better light and plenty of traffic. What the hell was Grace thinking, coming way? What was he following She even his type. was blonde, smiling and empty-eyed. Grace opposite of his type. Dark-haired, pensive. When she he could the sadness behind it. And her were anything but empty. When she looked at he got the distinct feeling she could see right through him. That alone was more reason to leave now. had almost convinced to it he her scream. was running before the sound even had time to register. Grace's grew stronger, and with it he smelled something else: fear. hardened. unmistakable sounds of struggle pricked his ears. second mingled with Grace's: male, days Sweat. Suddenly, thick fragrant flooded his nostrils. stopped Asher in his tracks. His mouth instantly started from his gums. He'd come here well-fed, but whoever's blood that was, it smelled delicious. was a subtle bitterness to it, a smell like... Patchouli. Asher took again at sprint. Grace was in trouble. Grace was hurt. small, snide voice in back of his head questioned why he gave a Asher it. He ducked down a
.

Now he really should leave. He dIdn't have tiMe to bE trAilInG one Girl All over the city. bUt evEn as the thought passed thRough HiS Mind, HE wAs alrEady turNInG HIs nOsE iNto ThE AiR, breaThiNg deep. HE caught GraCe's ScEnt almost immEDiAtely; the biTteR-yet-oddly-comForTing scEnT of PAtchoUli. she haDn't beeN Gone loNg. Asher foLlOWed it uP The streET AnD aroUnd the next corner.

THE dARkness grew thicKer, desPiTE tHE ThiN liGht of the stReEtlamP OverheaD. a sTIFF wiND kicked up, buffEting him witH The Sharp, bRiNy aROma of tHe Bay. asHEr pUlled his jacKet a Little tigHter anD Fought tO Hold ontO Grace'S trAil. someTHiNg ColD aND unSEtTliNG moVed in his StOmAch. A mEre bLOCK Or twO ovEr, thEre weRe wider streetS, stReetS WitH bettEr ligHt anD pLenty Of trafFic. WhAt The hell was Grace ThinKing, cominG thIs Way?

whAt the HEll was He dOinG, followIng her?

SHE waSn'T EVEn His type. His type was bLoNDE, sMiling anD empty-EYeD. GRAce Alan wAs The OppoSITe of hIs tyPE. DArk-haireD, pensiVE. WHeN she smiLeD, he couLd ReaD thE sadnESs beHind it. and her eyEs werE Anything but empTY. When she lookeD At HIM, hE Got tHe dIstinct feelIng sHE couLd seE RiGht THrougH him. THaT AlONe was more than enough ReAson to Leave Now.

He had almosT convinced HIMSelf to do It whEN hE Heard her scream.

asher Was running BEfore the Sound Even had tIme to regiSTEr. Grace's SceNt gRew StrONGeR, and with it he sMELled SoMething ElsE: fear. AsHer'S chEst HarDeNed. The unmIstakablE sOuNdS oF a sTruggLE pricked HiS eaRs. a seCond sCEnt minGled wIth GRaCe'S: MalE, a few daYS uNWAsheD. SWeAt. ArOusAl.

asher SnarLEd.

SUddenly, Something ThiCK and FrAgRant floOded his nostriLs. reflex stopPeD AsHer in hIS Tracks. BlOod. His mouth instantly staRTed to waTer. his faNgs dEscended fRom His gumS. He'D Come heRe well-Fed, buT fUck, WHOever'S BLoOd tHaT was, it smelLED deLicioUs. therE was a suBtle bitterness to it, A SmeLl like...

PatchouLi.

ASher TOOk Off AGaIN at A dEAd sPRInt. Grace was in trOuble. Grace WaS HuRt. A small, snIDe vOiCe in the Back of hIs heaD QuestioNed why he gAve a shit. AShEr igNORed It. He slowed, Ducked doWn a
.

Now he really should le ave. He di dn'thav e t im e to  betrailing one g i rl a ll over the city. Butevenas thet ho ughtpassedt hr o u ghhi smin d, he  wasalr eady tu rning hisnos einto the air ,  b reathing d eep . He caughtGra ce's s ce nta lmost  im media tely;t he bit ter-yet-o dd l y-comf o rting s c e nt  ofpatchouli. She ha d n' t  been gone lon g. Ash er fo l l owe d i t up the s tr eet a n d aroun d  t h e nex t  corner.

The  darkness g r ewthicke r,  de s pite t he th in lig ht of the s tree tlamp ove rhead. A stiff wind ki cked u p,buf feti n ghi m w it h  th e  s har p , b riny aro ma  o f the  Bay . A s herpul ledhis j acket a littl e t ight e r a nd fo ughtto h ol d ont o Grac e's t ra il. Something c oldand unset tli ng  mo ve d inh is sto mac h.A mereblock o r  tw oo v e r,  there were widerst r e et s, stree ts wit h  b et t er light  a ndplen t y  of t raff i c.  What th e hell wa sGrace t hi nking,  c omi ngthisw ay?
Whatthe hell  wash e doing, follo w ing her?

She wa s n 't even  hi s type. His  typ e  was  blo n de , s m iling  andem p ty - eyed. Grace Alan wa sthe op posit e of his type . Dark-hai r e d , pensiv e. W h en she smiled, he  coul d read the sadnessbehin d it. An d her eye s were any thi ngbut  em p t y.  When she loo k e d at  h im, hegot  the di sti nct  fe eli ng  she coul d see ri gh tth ro ugh  him. That alo ne  wa smor e tha n  enoug h rea sonto  l e ave  now.
H eh a d al mo st  con vin ce d him self todo it w hen he he ard hersc re am.

As her was runni ng  before th esou nd eve n had time  to register. Grace's s c ent gre w s trong er,and withithe sme lle d  somet hing e lse:fe ar. A sher' s ch est  h ardened. T h e  un mista ka blesoundsof a struggle pric k edhis ears. A s eco nd s c e nt  mi n gl e d w it h  Gr a c e's: male, a fe w days unw as h ed . Sweat. A r ous al .

Ashe r snarl ed.
S uddenly , somethi ng thickan d fr a g ran t floodedhis nost rils. Ref l ex st o pp ed As her  in hi stra cks.Blood. His  mout h inst an tly st arted  t o water.  His fangs descended fr om his  gums . H e'd comeher e  we ll-fed, b ut f uck, whoev er' s b loodtha t  was,  its me lle d  deli ciou s . There w a sa s u b tl e bitternes s t o i t, asme l l like ...
Patchouli.

Ashe r  took off agai n at a  de ads prin t.  Grace was intro ub l e . Gracewa s hurt. A s mall, sn id e  voic e in t he bac k of hi s he a d ques tion edwhy he ga veas hit. As he ri gnored  it.  H e slow ed, du c kedd o wn a
.

Now he_really should_leave. He didn't have_time to_be_trailing one_girl_all over the_city. But even_as the thought passed_through his mind,_he_was already turning his nose into the air, breathing deep. He caught Grace's scent_almost_immediately; the_bitter-yet-oddly-comforting_scent_of patchouli. She hadn't been_gone long. Asher followed it_up the_street and around the next corner.

The darkness grew_thicker,_despite the thin_light of the streetlamp overhead. A stiff wind kicked_up, buffeting him with the sharp,_briny aroma of_the_Bay._Asher pulled his jacket_a little tighter and fought to_hold onto Grace's trail. Something cold_and unsettling moved in his stomach. A_mere block or two over, there_were wider streets, streets with_better light_and plenty of traffic. What_the hell was_Grace thinking,_coming this way?

What_the hell was he doing, following_her?

She wasn't even_his type. His type was blonde,_smiling_and empty-eyed. Grace_Alan_was_the opposite_of his type._Dark-haired,_pensive. When_she_smiled, he could read the sadness_behind_it. And her eyes were anything but_empty. When she looked_at_him, he got the_distinct feeling she could see_right through him. That alone was_more than_enough reason_to leave now.

He had almost convinced himself to do it when_he heard her scream.

Asher was running_before the sound even_had time_to_register. Grace's scent_grew_stronger, and_with it he smelled something else: fear._Asher's chest_hardened. The unmistakable sounds of a_struggle pricked his ears._A_second scent mingled with Grace's: male,_a few days unwashed. Sweat. Arousal.

Asher_snarled.

Suddenly, something thick and fragrant_flooded_his_nostrils. Reflex stopped Asher in_his tracks. Blood. His mouth instantly_started to water._His fangs descended from his gums. He'd_come_here well-fed, but fuck, whoever's blood_that_was, it smelled delicious. There was_a_subtle_bitterness to it, a smell_like...

Patchouli.

Asher took off again at a_dead sprint. Grace was in trouble. Grace was hurt._A small, snide_voice in the back of_his_head_questioned why he gave a shit. Asher ignored it. He_slowed, ducked_down a