The moment we stepped into the crowd, the world seemed to close in. The bass pressed against my ribs, the air thick with perfume, smoke and traces of blood. Sharp and sweet, like metal wrapped in honey.
Ravić moved first, his hand firm at the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd.
Around us, people moved like a living pulse. Bodies tangled together, hips rolling in sync with the bass, mouths brushing against throats, slick with blood, sweat and wine. A laugh, low and sultry, cut through the music, followed by the sharp glint of fangs, catching the red light.
I stayed close to my husband, with my chest pressed against his back. One hand gripping the pocket of his coat, as we pushed forward. The air was heavy with perfume and desire, the scent of blood and lust threading through it all like some wicked perfume.
