The scent that wafts to unwilling nostrils is appealing, a sweet metallic smell that brings a sigh past his lips and an involuntary descend of well hidden fangs. Yet, as appealing as the scent may be to his monstrous desires, his dread and fear brings nausea to the pit of his stomach, and his sense of reality is wavering as steps halt and a hand is brought to his mouth, eyelids fluttering closed in attempt to tune out the urge.Â
Blood. Fresh and inviting, but he doesn’t want to give in. Once so human himself, he can’t imagine bringing harm to a creature so fragile. Yet, the person that usually keeps his sane isn’t here, and it seems his worst fears may come true. Someone help me.