“All right, then, Marut.” I’d thought it was his family name, but apparently not. Using his first name seems too intimate somehow, but now that he’s given me permission, I want to call him that. “You may call me Violet.” He leans forward and takes another deep inhale through his nose. Then he lets out a noise that can only be called a contented purr and says, “You’re not afraid of me anymore.” My hand flies to my chest on instinct. “A-are you smelling me?” “Aye. Your name is very apt. You smell like the first spring flowers.” He sniffs again. “And like blueberry scones. I haven’t had scones in
...more
