“Why do I smell like you?” I sound as mortified as I feel. “Where are my clothes?” Kalel doesn’t blink. “Unless you want to be torn to shreds by the demons outside this tent and the ones when we reach Devicit, then you will carry my scent. Demigods smell like death and rot. We can detect the odor of all those you’ve slain, and Alira, my little godling, you smell worse than a fresh graveyard. I’ll need to scent you frequently to get the tarnish off your skin and to make sure everyone knows you belong to me.”
