Marked by Her Scent

Chapter 3 Sweet Puppy, Linger On Her

Iris rarely saw Silas up close—most of the time, he was at least thirty feet away. She was just a dog walker, after all. What business did she have getting near the master of this small estate? But even from a distance, she couldn't help noticing how beautiful he was.

Calling a man "beautiful" was usually a strange thing to do. But for Silas? It fit perfectly.

His skin was fair and clean, like fine porcelain. His features were delicate, his facial contours soft—so stunning he was almost androgynous. Yet there was nothing effeminate in the way he moved or spoke. He seemed like the favorite of the gods themselves: everything about him was exactly right. A little sharper, and he'd be too hard. A little softer, and he'd verge on ethereal.

Iris still remembered the first time she saw him. Just his profile had made her forget to breathe.

This kid is way too good-looking. Is he even real?

Embarrassing to admit, but she had to face it: Silas's face had that kind of devastating impact—even on someone like her, who didn't usually care about looks.

Everyone loves beautiful things, right?

And now, with Silas standing right in front of her, she felt it all over again. Maybe it was a problem, a man being this gorgeous. She was taking ten thousand points of pure beauty damage.

And from an Alpha, no less. She could barely handle it.

Iris immediately stepped back two paces, putting distance between them. She lowered her gaze respectfully. "Young master."

In this post-apocalyptic world, the old governments had collapsed. Human society was now run by Tarra, the great noble houses, and the High Council. Ancient hierarchies had slowly crept back in.

The Anderson family was one of the three great houses. Silas's cousin was even one of the original male leads in the novel. Iris was just an ordinary person working for the Andersons—she had to follow local customs.

Iris kept her head slightly bowed. Silas was tall, so he couldn't see her face—only the fluffy top of her head.

Silas's palms itched. He curled his fingers slightly, rubbing his fingertips slowly against his palms to ease the sensation.

He'd grown more skilled at summoning and dismissing his spirit form, but he still couldn't control the restless desires that stirred within it.

His spirit had an inexplicable fondness for Iris—an excessive warmth. It made him curious. What was so special about her?

So he'd come to find her.

Now that he was an Alpha, his senses were magnified many times over. At this distance, he could catch her scent on the breeze—a fragrance that made his entire being feel at ease…

She really was… unusual.

"Young master?" Silas had been silent a little too long. Iris looked up in confusion. "Is there something you need?"

He saw her face then—and it reminded him of the way his spirit's tongue had felt against her cheek the other day.

His ears grew warm.

He looked away. Then he manifested his spirit. "Take it with you."

"Huh?" Iris blinked. He wants me to walk his spirit? Is that what he means?

The Black Belgian Malinois, finally released, immediately stationed itself at Iris's side. Its fluffy tail wagged back and forth, brushing against her legs with perfect accuracy.

Silas's palms itched even more.

"Is that alright?" He turned back to look at her, dark eyes bright.

"Of course. Of course," she said quickly.

It's a little weird, though. Do spirits even need walking?

"I'll go right now." Not daring to linger, Iris grabbed the leashes of the three Alaskan Malamutes and hurried around Silas toward the door. The Malinois followed without needing any prompting.

Silas watched her retreat—almost fleeing—and a soft laugh escaped him.

Quiet. Gone with the wind in an instant.

---

With the Malinois around, the three Malamutes who usually dashed ahead and dragged Iris behind them now behaved perfectly. No, perfectly wasn't the word. Terrified was more accurate.

They were clearly afraid of the Malinois. The leashes were stretched to their absolute limit.

Guess everything has its natural predator.

For once, Iris wouldn't be yanked along by three overexcited dogs. The job was about to get easier. Her foul mood vanished completely. She crouched down, rubbed the Malinois's head, scratched under its chin.

"Good dog."

---

'Cough, cough, hack!' In the room, Silas was reading when a sip of coffee went down the wrong way, turning his face crimson.

He set the cup down awkwardly, pressed a hand to his jaw. His porcelain-white fingertips trembled slightly.

"Mmm…" He pressed his hand over his mouth.

It's licking her again.

Maybe letting his spirit follow Iris had been a mistake.