A near half hour passed as Salvatore weaved his way through the winding tunnel, his steps slowing as he tilted back his head to sniff the air.
The scent of cur was still strong, but he was beginning to pick up the distant scent of other curs, and…pure-blood.
Female pureblood.
Coming to a sharp halt, Salvatore savored the rich vanilla aroma that filled his senses.
He loved the smell of women. Hell, he loved women.
But this was different.
It was intoxicating.
“Cristo,” he breathed, his blood racing, an odd tightness coiling through his body, slowly draining his strength.
Almost as if…
No. It wasn’t possible.
There hadn’t been a true Were mating for centuries.
“Curs,” Levet said, moving to his side. “And a female pureblood.”
“Si,” Salvatore muttered, distracted.
“You think it’s a trap?”
Salvatore swallowed a grim laugh. Hell, he hoped it was a trap. The alternative was enough to send any intelligent Were howling into the night.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
He moved forward, sensing the end of the tunnel just yards in front of him.
“Salvatore?” Levet tugged on his pants.
Salvatore shook him off. “What?”
“You smell funny. Mon Dieu, are you…”
With blinding speed, Salvatore grasped the gargoyle by one stunted horn and yanked him off his feet to glare into his ugly face. Until that moment, he hadn’t noticed the musky scent that clung to his skin.
Merda.
“One more word and you lose that tongue,” he snarled.
“But…”
“Do not screw with me.”
“I do not intend to screw with anyone.” The gargoyle curled his lips in a mocking smile. “I am not the one in heat.
