“I wish my memory would come back,” she said softly.
“It will.” He leaned against the nearby wall to watch the dog eat. “Funny how good it makes me feel doing this stuff. Not sure it makes a difference. Not sure what this guy has been finding to eat by himself. Rats? Cockroaches? Five years must make the pickings slim. Though someone said they spotted a rabbit recently in the lower ten. Lower ten stories that means.” He glanced at her. “And rabbits eat plants.”
“Hmmm.” She was busy appreciating the view—him.
No matter what she thought of his attitude, Vargr leaning against a wall with his wings in disarray and his arms folded, no shirt as always because he said wings didn’t co-ordinate well with shirts—it left her tongue-tied. Magnificence incarnate. More men should have wings. She’d have happily paid for a sculpture of him if the real thing wasn’t here.
Fancy looking but a tad dumb, her head told her.He thinks he owns you.
She still wore a collar with steel inside the leather that he refused to unlock, even if the wrist cuffs were gone.
Maybe if she kneed him, hard, he’d unlock it?
A raspberry would be her response next time he asserted his ownership. Loud and clear raspberry.Check.Exchange of fluids did not mean zip. Neither did a paper with her name at the bottom.
However… hisit willwhen she moped about her memory loss, that was typical of him, as was his treatment of Dog. Always looking for the bright side.
He still thought his sister alive. Her last, terrible memory of people being eaten, and the horrific piles of leftover bits, meant his sister’s chances were slim.
“You, okay?”
Cyn exhaled slowly then smiled at Vargr, nodded. Nobody was perfect, and he did fuck nicely…
He’d held her down as he fucked her. For that small portion of time she had indeed let him own her. His hand on the back of her neck, warm, rough calluses pressing on her, so unyielding… Her pussy squeezed in and she shut her eyes.
Maybe temporary ownership got a pass?
Hell, yeah. It does.
She wasn’t telling him those gory details of above. Not today anyway. Maybe not ever.
It took halfa day to reach where the Mercantor tribe should be. They were nomadic, Vargr explained, had to be to get enough supplies. Though he’d known the direction the tribe was heading, he hadn’t been sure of their location.
Once they were nearer the approximate location, Cyn became strangely sure he was sniffing his way to them.
Dog accompanied them. She didn’t blame him. Food would be a high priority; besides, he was getting ample pats and attention too. He’d likely had an owner before the Ghoul Lords came.
Silent, abandoned corridors passed by, and it felt as if she and Vargr sank into the red-hued darkness like insects into glue. They were the cockroaches left after humankind had mostly been eliminated; they were the creatures feeding off the remains.
It was not normal to heal as she had, to cling to buildings like a spider, or to see in the dark as well as she could. There, she’d lumped herself in with beasters, as if she were not human.
Did her subconscious know more than it had revealed to her?
Let me know when you want to confess, she told herself, padding onward.
Oddities left by the missing dotted the dreary infinity of corridors with droplets of human: A teddy bear. A pillow. One shoe. A toaster oven. A bicycle. Dozens of cellphones piled into a cone shape as if ready to be lit. Someone’s idea of a joke?
Often, there were reflections that sidled in from open windows, bounced down hallways or from adjacent rooms. Once there was an inexplicably brightly lit room. Five years and it still had power? Magic? Vargr had laughed and said he suspected the owners had paid for some expensive power back-up that recharged through outside panels.
Whatever, passing that apartment had made her think of ghosts.
Light had become the enemy, the boogie man.
Wrong, so wrong.
They found Mercantor camped in what was left of a luxury hotel. Why would you choose to occupy a hovel when there was no one left to protest?
Rectangular granite-surfaced columns supported the two-story-high ceiling. As she, Vargr, and Dog walked through the wide foyer, people turned to stare. They lounged in groups on the vibrant-hued upholstered chairs playing some sort of card game, or they talked, or drank from opened bottles of liquor no doubt souvenired from a bar. Women perched on chairs, laps, knees and even the floor. A few of the beasters hailed Vargr and he waved back or said a few cheerful words. Bypeopleshe meant beaster males. These men were clearly not pure human. None of the beasters she could see were female.
