A reckless curiosity, even by her standards. But Fi needed to know, didn’t she? What kind of beast she’d truly let into her home. What she was risking, if she misstepped.
Cicadas buzzed in the courtyard. Fragrant jasmine drifted from the trellises.
Antal crouched beside the body. Fi’s heart stilled at the sight: his lean and Void-hewn form poised over quarry, antlers sleek with moonlight. In the dark, his eyes burned.
Fi shuddered when they snapped onto her.
“Why him?” she asked.
Antal sniffed his prey. “The strongest Shaper amongst them. The richest energy.” His tail flicked the flagstone. “You don’t want to watch this, Fionamara.”
He might be right. Fi had watched crag panthers take down elk, ravens picking at carrion. She’d skinned game since she was old enough for her father to put a knife in her hand. How different could that be from…
A person.
Fi knelt across the corpse from Antal. “Someone should keep watch. In case Cardigan had any more backup.”
Antal held her with a bone-scraping stare. His irises were faded crimson against black sclera, his crouch wound too tight. Breaths too shallow.
He was shaking.
How long had it been since he’d eaten? Nearly three weeks, since Milana dragged Fi to his shrine. Merciless Void, how was he standing. How had he not ripped Fi open while she slept.
“Eat,” she ordered. Then, softer, “You need to eat, Antal. He’s already dead. Don’t let it go to waste.”
The daeyari bared his teeth at her, this beast who’d cut down three corpses today alone, a vicious timbre to his growl. Should Fi be afraid? A fresh throat, too close to a predator and his meal.
Most predators were defensive while they ate. Vulnerable, while they set teeth to flesh. Behind the fangs, Fi recognized that defensive bristle, desperation and hunger fracturing through the facade.
“Let me keep watch,” she repeated. “So you don’t have to worry while you eat.” It had to count for something, that they’d shared a roof, thatneither of themhad ripped the other open while they slept.
Antal settled slowly, sinking onto his heels.
When Fi refused to back down, he grumbled and rolled back his sleeves.
He set to work with the precision of a butcher. First, the man’s jacket. A slice of energy-sharpened claws rent fabric like tissue paper, exposing bare arm, probably saturated with energy after such recent Shaping. Antal’s fingers were strong, dexterous.Carving tools. He flayed skin with clean cuts. Separated tissue and tendon. Shaking more, now.
Antal gripped the arm in both hands and sank his teeth into exposed muscle.
A small, wretched groan wracked his chest. When he swallowed, his entire body sagged, an exhale trembling in relief.
Three weeks. He hadn’t eaten forthree weeks, starving himself, because he wouldn’t touch Fi. Wouldn’t touch anyone in Nyskya.
He ate greedily, teeth slicing easy through flesh, inhaling mouthfuls of muscle with the fervor of an alley cat. Fi held to her watch as promised, knuckles clenched against her knees. She braced herself to be sick. To revolt at the sight of a fellow human reduced to meat.
But the longer she watched, the moreangerstirred her gut.
For as long as Antal had held his territory, he’d had a reputation for taking fewer sacrifices than most daeyari. That was one reason Fi settled in Nyskya, profiting off lax policy. How often had he deprived himself? Suffering, to try to ease his part in an unjust system?
Once Antal had cleared the larger muscles of the forearm, his breaths came noticeably smoother. His posture, less wretchedly taut. He paused, wary eyes flicking onto Fi, blood painting his mouth in vivid crimson.
“You don’t even cook it?” she said, aghast. No magical sautéing, not even a pinch of seasoning?
Antal blinked at her. “That’syour question?”
“Start with that. We can work up to…” She gestured over the grisly scene.
“Cooking would diminish the energy.”
