T R I C I A
I heard a rustle in the bushes, and I tensed, my senses on high alert. The scent was the same. The one from the party. The one that had almost made me lose control.
A figure emerged from the shadows. It was him. The handsome stranger from the bonfire.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice a deep, smooth baritone.
He was human.
He stepped closer, and I could see the blood still glistening on his hand. The scent was overwhelming, a symphony of iron and life. I had to get away from him.
"I'm fine," I said, my voice strained. "You should go back to the party."
"Not until I know you're okay," he insisted, taking another step closer. "You took off like you'd seen a ghost."
"I'm not the one who's bleeding, am I?" I retorted, my eyes fixed on the cut on his hand. A drop of blood
