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Summary
Any smart remark he had for her withers on his tongue. After a few moments of his dumb staring, she frowns at him over the table. “Earth to Rafayel? You okay?”
The answer is no. He’s fucked, actually, because she smells heavenly, the air around her laced with a musk that’s earthy and honey-sweet. Apparently, it wasn’t enough that the Praedator virus robbed him of his memory, privileges, and agency. It had to curse him with the ability to smell when she was fertile too.
Series
- Part 1 of honeydew