Bonesplinter Ravine [M] ‘Cause Anything’s Better than the Way I Feel Right Now

Machiavelli’s jaw locked tight, teeth grinding together as he met Herod’s wheat-colored eyes, rotten and gleaming. He could smell the pungent aroma of the crushed flowers with every one of Herod’s breaths, the scent heavy, intoxicating—almost visible, like a mist coiling around him, pulling him closer.

Are you going to give those to me? The dog’s voice was hoarse.