₩
Send me ₩ for my muse to sit in your muse’s lap@vile-blooded
Careful in placing a stray lock of silvery hair behind the Old Hunter’s ear, Riley leaned back, a thumb tracing down the back of Maria’s neck as she tried to make as comfortable a surface as possible. She’d hired this cadre of hunters for their knowledge into the secret world, and had insisted to herself that she wasn’t going to go further than that. Maria, though…she was different. It felt like she cared, that she recognized Riley’s interest in the infernal as more than academic. (Not that the cambion hid, per se, that she wasn’t human…but it was just a matter of business. Stood to reason that a bunch of hunters had their own hang-ups. Better to leave some things unsaid.) And from that compassion came...familiarity.
“Watch it, O Hunter,” murmured the would-be seat, glad for the angle hiding her rueful smile. “You might be losing your touch.”
The woman had a crisp, almost antiseptic scent to her, cut with mint. Idly, Riley had to wonder -- what did she smell like? Though lacking any sort of concrete data on the matter, enough comments had been made for her to suspect that some facet of infernal nature played with the perception of would-be prey partners. “I’m not certain how severe a crime necking a hellspawn is in terms of fraternizing with the enemy, but...”