Page 60 of Such a Feral Little Lamb
I would worship him, too. On my knees, easily. I swallow hard when he finally touches me, his hand coming up to rest around my throat.
“You’re mine, little lamb,” he says, and I don’t argue. For the first time, I’m willing to admit to myself that I don’twantto. I want those icy winters and the sting of his teeth and magic strong enough to keep the zombies out and—
“I’m yours,” I agree, and he rewards me with a brush of his lips against my shoulder.
“Good. Get dressed. We need to find your wayward team members.”
I stumble back into the bedroom in a daze and drag clean clothes on. I’m sitting on the bed, re-lacing my boots, when Mason emerges. He’s entirely naked, unabashed, and I look at him once before I force my eyes away.
Mason chuckles but says nothing. He takes a dark shirt and trousers from a pile of the same and dresses far more efficiently than I just have.
“Why do you call me that?” I ask.
“What?”
“Little lamb.”
Mason blinks at me, understanding slowly washing over him. “You said you’re not religious.”
“You are?”
“No, no. Not now. My… My mother taught me an appreciation for the stories of it, if nothing else.”
“The lamb?”
“God asked Abraham to take his son to the top of Mount Moriah and sacrifice him. His son asked why they didn’t take a lamb with them, and Abraham said God would provide.”
“And then?” My heart jumps into my throat.
“Abraham tied his son to the altar. He was ready to do it. He had the knife in his hand. But then God told him not to. A lamb appeared in the brush. The test was of his faith—could he love God more than his own son?”
“He did.”
“Yes.”
“So why do you call me that?”
Mason smiles. “The son’s name was Isaac. The would-be sacrificial lamb.”
“You’d sacrifice me?”
Mason moves into my space, taking my face in his hands. “I would not be Abraham in that story, Isaac.”
“No?”
“I’d be God. And I would let Abraham prove his faith to me not because I cared abouthim, but because I’d want you to be mine.”
My next breath shudders out of me. Mason kisses the centre of my forehead, lips soft.
“Ready?”
I nod. I feel like I’ve been flayed open, so vulnerable, but I have to be ready. I have to find them.
Mason steps back, then brushes his hand against mine like he knows it. I keep my grip on my bat tight and follow him up the stairs, into the church. Autumn is still sleeping, but Blake and Rae are awake, speaking quietly with Nia, who has a clipboard tucked in the crook of her arm. Sal and Callum wait further down the church, closer to the door.
“Nia’s organising teams to search,” Rae says as I approach. Ever-present anger contorts Blake’s expression when his sight falls on me, but tension lines his eyes. I doubt he slept much more than I did in the end. “She’s worried, too.”
Mason shifts on his feet next to me. “We all should be. Either something took them, or for some reason both of them wandered off on their own.”
