The Awakening
His entire body goes rigid in a way I recognize all too well.
He's scenting something.
Someone.
I freeze. My own senses stretch outward, reaching past the damp stone and the rotting straw and the ever-present stench of my own fear. And then,
There.
Faint. Almost imperceptible. But unmistakable.
Jasmine. Honey. Rain on dry earth.
June.
She's here. Somewhere close. Maybe at the top of the stairs, maybe just outside the dungeon door. But she's here, and she's close enough that both of us, her estranged husband and his imprisoned former mate can feel her presence like a blade between the ribs.
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