There wasn't wind, not really, but there was... the faintest breeze. A breeze that carries the new scent... a familiar scent, one that makes Alastor's already too-hot blood run even hotter.

With only a distant, elk-like bugling to cut through the faint cricket and frog chirping, Alastor went quiet and stalked closer, shadows roiling through the bog like smoke underneath the fog.

His Lucifer was here. His mate.