The scent of the blood, young blood at that, made Mariella’s mouth water. It was delicious, intoxicating, and she wanted to feast from whatever poor soul it had come from. There was bitter scent too, Lord Edgar’s own blood no doubt and she tried to focus on that scent rather that the sweet, youthful bloom.
“Another attack?” She whispered, settling into her chair again, clenching her hand into a fist and digging her nails tightly into the palm of her own hand. Damn Lord Edgar for not even having the decency to change his clothes. Did he not even think about the meeting he was attending. She shot a glare across the table towards Isiah. “Will you not yet admit your fault in the matter? When he came here this evening there was blood all over his face! And he arrived late. If you want your attacker I would look no further.”