Page 10 of Burned Alive to Be His
“I cannot eat it raw,” I say, a tremor in my voice. I hate that tremor. It is a betrayal. It is a confession of fear.
He takes a step into the cave, his presence sucking the very air from the small space. The heat from his body is a palpable force. “My kind eats it raw. We are predators. You are my creature now. You will learn my ways.”
“I am not one of your kind,” I say, the words escaping before I can stop them. I push myself back against the rock wall, myhand instinctively finding the loose stone where I’ve hidden my remaining food.
He sees the movement. In two long strides, he is across the cave. He kicks the loose stone aside, revealing my pathetic hoard: the half-eaten strip of dried meat and the waterskin. He scoffs, a sound of pure derision.
“You hoard scraps like a rodan,” he sneers. He crouches down, his massive frame seeming to fill the entire cave. He picks up the piece of raw meat, its blood dripping from his clawed fingers. “You will eat. Now.”
“No,” I say, my voice shaking but firm.
That single word is a lit match in a room full of blasting powder. His face transforms, the cool arrogance replaced by a volcanic fury. His eyes blaze, the violet turning into a burning amethyst.
“No?” he hisses, the word a blade. “You dare refuse me?”
Before I can react, he lunges. He grabs me by the shoulders, his grip like iron bands, and slams me back against the wall. The impact knocks the breath out of my lungs, my head cracking against the hard stone. Black spots dance in my vision. He presses his body against mine, pinning me, his strength absolute and terrifying.
“You are mine, little human,” he snarls, his face inches from mine. His breath is hot, smelling of the open air and something wild, something dangerous. “You live because I allow it. You breathe because I permit it. And you will eat what I command you to eat.”
He brings the bloody meat to my mouth. I turn my head, my lips clamped shut. The smell is nauseating. Panic, cold and sharp, claws at my throat. This is not about food. This is about submission. This is about breaking me.
His growl is a low, guttural sound of pure frustration. One of his hands leaves my shoulder and clamps onto my jaw, hisfingers digging into my cheeks. The pressure is immense. He forces my head to face him, his thumb and forefinger squeezing until my jaw aches, until I have no choice but to open my mouth with a pained gasp.
He shoves the raw meat inside.
The texture is vile. It is cold, sinewy, and slick with blood. My throat seizes, my body convulsing with the need to gag, to vomit. He holds my jaw shut, his blazing eyes locked on mine, daring me to spit it out.
“Swallow,” he commands, voice a low, menacing rumble.
Tears of humiliation and disgust well in my eyes, spilling down my temples. I am trapped. I am powerless. Just as I was in Vhoig. A wave of black despair washes over me. I can’t fight him. I can’t win.
But as I look into his furious, beautiful, terrifying face, that small, hot spark of rage I felt in the cellar ignites once more. He can break my body. He can force me to submit. But he cannot have my will.
I swallow.
The meat slides down my throat, a cold, disgusting lump. My stomach heaves, but I force it down, my eyes never leaving his. I hold his gaze, letting him see the unbroken thing that lives behind my fear. I let him see that he has won the battle, but not the war.
For a long moment, we stay like that, locked in a silent, ferocious battle of wills. The fury in his eyes slowly recedes, replaced by something else. Something I cannot name. Confusion? Frustration? A flicker of that same grudging respect I saw in him at the lava tube?
He releases me abruptly, shoving me back against the wall. I slide to the floor, coughing, my throat raw. He stands over me, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He looks down at theremaining piece of raw meat in his hand, then back at me, a muscle working in his jaw.
He says nothing. He turns and stalks out of the cave, a whirlwind of contained violence. I am left alone, trembling in the dirt, the taste of blood and raw flesh coating my tongue. I have survived. But something inside me feels… violated. Scoured clean.
I curl into a ball, my arms wrapped around my stomach, and wait for the darkness to come.
Hours later, long after the sun has set and the chilling night has returned, a shadow falls across the entrance of my cave again. I flinch, my body tensing, my hand reaching for my blade.
It is him.
He stands there, a dark silhouette against the star-dusted sky. He says nothing. He simply tosses something small and dark into the cave. It lands on the grit near my feet.
“Useless,” he spat.
And he is gone.
I wait, my heart pounding, until I am sure he is not coming back. I crawl forward, my fingers searching in the dark. They close around a piece of cloth. It is still warm. I bring it to my nose. The scent is of fire, of smoke, and of cooked meat.
I unwrap the cloth. Inside is a small, perfectly roasted piece of the same animal he tried to force on me earlier. It is cooked through, the outside seared and crisp, the inside tender.
