Vale turned back to find Ivy rushing after him, faltering when she saw him stop.
“What is it?” Ivy asked, tugging at her loose red hair. “What’s wrong?”
“You,” Vale replied, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Did you not eat before you came?”
“Well… yes.” Ivy started braiding her hair, her fingers slipping distractedly on the tangled strands. “But it’s been, um, a tiring day.”
Vale sighed. Ivy startled, and Vale noticed how much his sigh sounded like a growl. Actually, most of the things that came out of his mouth sounded like a growl. He was so used to it that he forgot that it intimidated most creatures.
Vale asked, “How often do mortals eat?”
“Three times a day,” Ivy said reluctantly, as if she were afraid he would disapprove of the answer.
Three times aday? Vale sighed again, not bothering to keep the growl out of it this time. His light-motesneverneeded to eat. Why could he not have another assistant like that?
“And snacks,” Ivy continued in a whisper.
“And you will need water,” Vale said.
“Yes?” Ivy cringed. “I’m sorry.”
“It is fine,” Vale said grudgingly. “We will find you food and water. You can wash your dress.”
“Oh! Now?” Ivy brushed at her dress again, and Vale’s fangs snapped shut as he stopped himself from breathing in that hot scent. It was not entirely helpful. Even when he could not smell her, he could still see her flushed cheeks. Her wild crimson hair. Her thin, white dress stuck to her body with sweat. Her nipples pricked underneath the flimsy fabric, her body so soft and ripe?—
Vale turned away, forcing down a mouthful of saliva.
“Eat first,” he said as he started walking. “Then wash.”
He needed to eat, too. It had been weeks, or perhaps months. Soon his own stomach would rumble, and he did not want to see this puny mortal’s reaction. It had once caused a visiting sprite to faint in fright.
“Of course,” Ivy repeated, her voice small as she hurried after him. “Vale?”
Vale growled, no sigh in it this time. “What?”
She did not reply. Vale whirled and found her standing several feet away, twisting her red hair around her fingers.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” she said quietly, eyes on the ground. “You’ve been good to me. Better than I deserve. I know I’ve been more trouble than I’m worth.”
Vale wanted to snap at her. But she looked so small and defenseless with her useless, blunt teeth and delicate skin. Not to mention the sour scent of guilt underneath the leftover lust drifting up from her damp dress, as if she was ashamed he had to go to the trouble to help her. Vale wondered how they chose her for their “offering.” How disposable was she to those people? Even her uncle had been willing to give her up. Vale thought that mortals valued those familial ties.
Maybe they did. But not when it came to the mortal in front of him, her eyes on the ground like she was waiting to be devoured.
Vale thought, for the dozenth time today, of the light-motes. Their cheer and company in between their duties, back when he had time to spare. He used to have visitors in the wilderness void—sprites and nymphs and fellow Skullstalkers. They called him kind, once.
Vale smoothed down his robes, trying to collect himself. “Stay here. I do not care what the void urges you to do. Stayhere. I will be back with food shortly.”
“Yes,” Ivy said, flustered. “Thank you, um… Master Skullstalker.”
Vale turned toward his hunting grounds, oddly disappointed. It took him until he was chasing a root-deer to its doom that he realized what the disappointment was: he had been hoping she would say his name.
Vale returned to the spot he had left her in with a dead root-deer slung over his shoulder, its skull-face bumping into his chest with every step.
Ivy stumbled to her feet. A flurry of red flowers fell away from her. Apparently, while he had been gone, she had sat down at the base of a nearby tree, and a layer of unrecognizable flowers had sprouted over her.
“I didn’t do it,” Ivy said, quickly. “It just happened.”
Vale eyed the unfamiliar blooms scattered around her. They smelled rich and sweet, almost sickly. Their red was a near-perfect match to her tangled hair.
