Page 32 of Starve
“Why?” His eyes flash in the light, doing that creepy reflecting thing again. “Because you’ve heard it before? It’s kind of our thing, so I’m not surprised.” God, I have no idea what he means, and I’m a little afraid to ask.
I finish dragging him into the bathroom, and he helpfully sits down hard on the toilet seat with a groan. “Your teeth weren’t like that,” I point out quietly. When I turn on the light, he squints, looking away from it. “And you weren’t sensitive to light back at Bluebone Ridge.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Because I was starving, Fern.” He rolls his eyes like it’s obvious, but I certainly don’t understand what he’s saying.
“You just told me youarestarving.”
“I was exaggerating. I’m just a little hungry right now, compared to what I was when we met.” He shifts on the porcelain, grimacing, and tugs off his long-sleeved shirt without my prompting. “And when I’m starving, things are different.”
I’m barely listening. I can’t look away from his chest that’s marred by claw marks, with dried blood crusting his olive-toned skin. “Fuck,” I breathe, one hand raised like I’m going to touch. “What happened to you?”
Cairo grimaces and stands up, having to support himself on the counter to turn and examine himself in the mirror. “It’s not that bad,” he muses, twisting to look at his back as well as he can. But he winces and adds, “I would heal faster if I ate.”
“I can fix you something?” I ask, only to have him meet my gaze in the mirror and give me an unfriendly smile.
“You can’t fix me what I need. And you don’t want me to eat in front of you, I promise you that, Fern,” Cairo assures me in his drawl.
“God, you’re being annoying.” Turning away from him and his annoying charm and sharply gorgeous features, I move to the shower, where I twist the knobs using muscle memory for what I would want in terms of heat. When I turn around, I see Cairo looking at me with raised brows and a surprised look.
“You want me to shower? With you in here? Are you going to wash my back for me, Fern?” he asks tauntingly.
I give him a very enthusiastic, thorough roll of my eyes. “I liked you better when you were trying to be charming and a little mysterious. It’s like you’re just hoping I’m scared enough of you not to talk back.”
“Are you?”
“Clearly not.” But I watch as he touches the scratches on his chest, wincing every time. The ones on his back look gnarlier, and there’s blood and dirt caked on them, where his shirt was torn and he hit the ground. “I could help you, though. I could at least help clean you up.”
“I’ve been in worse shape.” His hissing reply is oddly flat, his voice changing in a way I can’t comprehend. He sees me lookingat him in the mirror and sighs, baring his teeth that are sharp, but not fangs like the things at Bluebone Ridge.
“Were you one of the ones in the dorm? Who killed Sam or Esther?” I ask. My words are barely audible over the shower, and I can’t stop staring at him. The silence between us stretches until all I can hear is the shower and Moro’s panting from the bed in the other room.
Finally, Cairo turns to look at me, surveying my face. He reaches out and reluctantly flips off the lights, immediately closing his eyes in relief as his shoulders fall. “No,” he tells me, tilting his head back against the mirror over my sink. The action bares his throat and all of his upper body to me, but I remind myself it isdefinitelynot polite to stare.
Not that it stops me.
At all.
Without the blood and the painful wounds, he would be gorgeous. Hell, even with them he’s terrifyingly feral and beautiful. I know he isn’t human. That thought runs over and over in my head. But for some reason, I can’t liken him to the monsters from the dorm or the one that slammed me into the asphalt and bit my shoulder.
“But that shouldn’t make you feel better.” His eyes open, shining in the light from the small window. They reflect like moons in his face, shiny white like Moro’s when she’s outside and looking at me with the deck light reflecting in her gaze. “Because while I didn’t kill them, I’ve killed others. I do what I have to in order to survive, Fern.” He shows me his teeth when he says it, prompting me to bite my lip so I don’t make the fearful noise he’s looking for.
With just the bedroom light instead of the bathroom light, he looks different, somehow. Like he blends in with the shadows when he’s still, and every time his eyes move, I catch a sliver of light reflected from them. “Why do your eyes do that?”
He blinks in the low light, and touches his chest, running his fingers over the wounds there. “Same reason Moro’s do,” he murmurs. “I’m not a biologist, Fern. I can’t tell you the specifics. But I can see much better than you in the dark.”
I swear I see him run his tongue over his teeth as he turns and surveys himself in the mirror, but I can’t be sure. “Pretty sure a biologist would have a field day with you. Don’t you need, like, a cryptozoologist to study whatever it is you are?” I notice him turn to glance at me, and feel suddenly self-conscious. “What?”
“I just wasn’t expecting such a rational answer.” He glances at the running shower, then at me. “I really don’tneedto shower, you know. The others in the woods and on the mountain don’t care if I’m dirty or bloody or anything else. And I’ll heal in a few days.”
Biting my lip, I look over his chest at the gouged claw marks. I have no idea how he’ll heal in a few days, but I say nothing. “Well, you’re in my house, and I’m offended by you,” I say. “So you’re showering.”
“Are you going to get my back for me?” I can practically hear him roll his eyes with the words, and I know he’s expecting me to back out. To walk away and leave him here with Moro as his watchdog to make sure he doesn’t drown.
And I almost do.
But I stop, because there’s something about him, beneath the arrogance and the monstrous teeth and eyes.
Cairo saved my life.
