Pack
Despite an urge to walk away, he forced himself over the threshold, leaving the waning warmth of the sun for the cool, tomb-like atmosphere within.
More of the documented violence awaited. Bloody handprints covered the faded roses on the buckling wallpaper. A puddle of it filled a dip in the floor, which he skirted around. No matter where he looked, or how shallowly he breathed, the odors of wolf, death, and vampire permeated everything.
I've found one of Roderick's lairs. It seemed, even with the bastard's death, Marc couldn't escape him.
Fuck me, what am I doing here? Just knowing he breathed the same air as the monster had made him want to run far and fast, but he didn't.