With it, I had almost carte blanche. A moment where I could smell her skin, salty, sick, almost, sick with her grief like some poison coming out of her skin. Jean-Claude came to me, walking so that his hips rolled more than they should have. Nathaniel's fingers dug into my arm, and he was gasping as if some invisible hand were choking off his air.
We just hadn't come up with anything that could hold up against a vampire's strength. Can I do that without screwing the crime scene up? He looked at me, and there was something in his face that said, clearly, he was not happy to have me here. I've been in houses that looked spotless, but still reeked of cigarettes. His skin gave under my nails.
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