Page 2 of Trapped for Her Blood
His hands land on my shoulders.
I gasp.
His grip is heavy and tight and he holds me back from him as we continue to look into each other’s eyes.
Bending, his face lowers, and our eye contact breaks as he moves his head to the side of mine.
He audibly inhales, and I tense as he circles his head around mine, sniffing.
Genuine fear returns to join in with my cold-induced shivers, and I start to tremble. He’s smelling me like I’m food, like he’s trying to decide whether I’m worth eating. Hunger pangs tighten my own belly, pushing another physical need to the surface, when all I should be focused on is the danger of him consuming me.
“Human,” he says, deep and low against my ear. Then he straightens, looking into my eyes with question.
“Yes.” My voice is tight and hoarse.
“Why?”
I’m not sure what he’s asking. If it’s why I’m down here I don’t have an answer, so I shake my head slowly.
Turning away from me, he vanishes into the darkness, leaving only the memory of his scent, the weight of his hands on my shoulders and the heat of his breath on my throat. My own breaths come hard and fast, like I’ve been holding it in and am now making up for lost time.
He returns before I can fully react to his leaving, and I press back against the wall in fear. But he thrusts something toward me—a tin cup—and I take it, the metal cold in my already frigid hands.
“Drink.”
Barely able to grip it with my numb fingers, I raise the cup and sniff, trying to figure out what he’s given me, but all I can smell is the metal—and him, now he’s close again.
“It’s fresh,” he says. “Safe.”
I tip the cup to my lips, and the cold liquid races down my throat, spreading through my entire chest as if my esophagus has no walls, and it’s hard to remember anything, ever, that’s felt or tasted this good, this needed.
I gulp the water, the metallic tang of the tin cup only slightly unpleasant and no hardship compared to the moisture I so badly needed.
Finished, I lower the cup and wipe the dribbles from my chin as I look up again into his eyes.
“Food.” He reaches his other hand forward and gives me something hard, like leather.
Raising it up, I stare at it in the dim light, and it not only feels like leather, it looks like it too.
“Pemmican,” he says.
My stomach growls and I raise the thick hard substance to my mouth and bite down, needing to tug hard to tear off a piece. It’s so tough and cold I fear my teeth might break, but softens as I chew, and its flavors expand. Saltiness, sweetness and a strong meaty flavor spread through my mouth, until it’s soft enough to swallow, and once I do, it’s more satisfying that I could have ever imagined.
“What’s pemmican?” I ask before taking another bite.
“Dried meat, berries.” His voice is so deep, but less gruff now and I wonder if he’s thirsty too. But I didn’t leave even a drop in the cup.
Using my teeth, I yank off another chunk of the dried meat and close my eyes as I gnaw. The rich, earthy flavors once again take over my senses.
“It’s really good.” I cover my mouth as I chew. “Thank you.”
He nods, staying close, watching me eat. When I’m down to my final bite, he grabs the tin cup from my hand and disappears again, returning with it filled.
I swallow my last bite and then take the cup in both hands, draining the water quickly.
When I lower the cup, the chill comes back full force, as if the energy I gained from the food is now fully concentrated on my digestive system. My body has given up all attempts to keep me warm.
My teeth chatter uncontrollably as my whole body vibrates with cold.
