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Then, as one hand tightened on me and his other ran gently over my hair, i noticed something. he didn't smell right.
-Richelle Mead
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Then, As One Hand Tightened On Me

Richelle Mead
Then, as one hand tightened on me and his other ran gently over my hair, i noticed something. he didn't smell right.
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Hair Hands Smell

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When you smell our candles burning, what does it make you think of, my child?" winterfell, she might have said. i smell snow and smoke and pine needles. i smell the stables. i smell hodor laughing, and jon and robb battling in the yard, and sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. i smell the crypts where the stone kings sit. i smell hot bread baking. i smell the godswood. i smell my wolf. i smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me. "i don't smell anything," she said.
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Fang’s hand gently smoothed my hair off my neck. my breath froze in my chest, and every sense seemed hyperalert. his hand stroked my hair again, so softly, and then trailed across my neck and shoulder and down my back, making me shiver. i looked up. “what the heck are you doing?” “helping you change your mind,” he whispered, and then he leaned over, tilted my chin up, and kissed me.
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Your hair," repeated dimitri. his eyes were wide, almost awestruck. "your hair is beautiful." i didn't think so, not in its current state. of course, considering we were in a dark alley filled with bodies, the choices were kind of limited. "you see? you're not one of them. strigoi don't see beauty. only death. you found something beautiful. one thing that's beautiful." hesitantly, nervously, he ran his fingers along the strands i'd touched earlier. "but is it enough?" "it is for now." i pressed a kiss to his forehead and helped him stand. "it is for now.
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