"You have a very sharp tongue for someone with such a fragile neck," Yanlie whispered, his face hovering mere inches from hers.
His breath was hot, fanning across her pale skin.
He applied just enough pressure to her throat to restrict her airway, a brutal assertion of absolute dominance.
'I should kill him,' Yanlie's human consciousness reasoned, his warrior pride stinging from the insult. 'He is an orthodox brat who insulted me time and again. I should snap his neck and leave him for the scavengers.'
But as he leaned closer, intending to deliver a final, lethal threat... his enhanced olfactory senses bypassed the smell of the swamp, bypassed the smell of the blood, and locked onto the scent radiating from the skin of the boy's neck.
It was faint, masked heavily by the scent of roasted spices, ginger, and sweat.
But to the Beast Lord, it was like a siren song.
It was the scent of pure, supreme Yin energy.
