Damien Nevermore, The Vampire King
The sweet, floral scent of Isabella wafted through the oak door long before her knock shattered the silence of the study. It was unmistakably hers, a perfume that danced with the fresh scent of spring rain and something infinitely more alluring – the undeniable aroma of my mate.
Despite the tremor that coursed through my immortal body, I refused to exploit my heightened senses. A game of cat and mouse, perhaps? Let her feel in control, for now.
So I waited, a calculated few seconds, before uttering a casual, "Isabella?" into the threshold.
Did I overplay the act? The question flitted through my mind like a pesky bat, then vanished as quickly as it came. There were more pressing matters at hand.
Rising from the armchair, I smoothed down the fol
