At first Geralt nearly flinched away from the touch, afraid that it might be too much and too sudden in the mood that he was in. But there was, again, no fighting with Nina.

Eventually, he settled his arms around her, the touch very light and uncertain. He tried his best to ignore how she smelled, which at the present was heady, a combination of her usual perfume, drifting from her hair, of woman, and of something that made Geralt deeply hungry, not to kiss her neck, but to tear into it.

"Was probably the manticore, or maybe some griffin. Some kind of hybrid. They have an ... odor. Like a tomcat."

Geralt wondered if he shouldn't hold her tighter, but his nerves were still shaken.