Honeyed Pasture if i leave everything but my bones behind

The boy could not think beyond the feeling of something shattering in his chest, could not breathe, and he knew he was dying— he flinched when a voice cut through the haze, on his feet in an instant. He looked up, ears slicked back, seeing only yellow eyes; whatever words she had spoken were incomprehensible to him. For several beats, Cortland was still, save the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
I— I'm sorry, what? It came out rushed, breathless. The Mayfair tried to steady himself, peering more closely at the woman. He wondered if she could smell it— he still could, though partially because it was freshly imprinted in his mind; perhaps she wasn't close enough. Cortland resolved to keep it that way, if he could— he was certain if anyone ever knew, they would hate him, though he could not say why.