His only response is to tug me tighter to him, as if I’d tried to get away.
“Why?”
“Mine.”
I frown. He sounds like a toddler with their favorite toy when he keeps saying that. Does he want to keep me all to himself? Before I can think any more, he slides off the furs and tugs me to my feet. “What are we doing now?” I ask.
As usual, his reply consists of only one word. “Food.”
* * *
Haley
Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Mr. Gruntypants is about to kill an animal, and he’s making me watch. I swallow hard, fighting the wave of nausea that threatens to make me heave.
A short while ago, he led me out of the cave and through the forest, once again impressing me with his ability to be so agile despite his size. We had just emerged from a thick grove of ferns when he stopped short. I plowed into him. His green brows knotted together.
“You didn’t have to bring me,” I muttered, defiant.
He brought a finger to his lips, then pointed. A weird looking animal was standing in a clearing. It was nibbling the leaves off a branch, displaying a long, slender neck. Were it not for the fact that it had six legs, was bright blue, the size of a sheep, and covered in stripes, I would have likened it to a giraffe. The long, curling tongue was certainly the same.
Now I’m frozen to the spot, watching with dread as the hunter—how apt and serious that moniker seems now—produces a weapon. It’s like a snowflake made of steel or some other kind of metal, with each spoke consisting of what looks like a lethal blade. Where the fuck was he hiding that? I’m wearing a tunic he gave me which I’m assuming is his, since he’s bare chested.
I look away, and close my eyes for good measure. Sure, I eat meat, and for all I know, that roasted deliciousness on skewers earlier was made from that exact same kind of animal, but I’m too much of a wimp to actually watch my food die.
A sharp elbow to my ribs makes me gasp, and I open my eyes to glare at McGreeny. He gives me a pointed stare, then lifts the weapon. “Throw,” he whispers. It’s barely audible but I understand him perfectly.
I shake my head.
“Throw!” he orders me again, more forcefully but just as silently.
I fold my arms across my chest. I’d probably cut myself trying to hold it. Even if I wanted to, there’s no way I could throw that bladed star with any kind of skill.
AndI don’t want to.
Holding out his massive palm, the hunter shows me how his thumb and middle finger are curved over the glittering blades before pulling back his arm to throw.
I’ve had enough. I’m not staying to watch that animal die. So I do the only thing I can think of.
I run.
There’s an explosion of sound behind me—a roar, which undoubtedly came from the hunter, and a high-pitched squeal, which I don’t want to think about.
Crashing through the undergrowth with branches whipping at my face reminds me of that first night. Was it only yesterday? The day before? I’ve lost all sense of time. Maybe even that is different here.
Regardless, I’m done. I don’t care how amazing the sex is, I need to get away from Mr. Grunts, and find someone who actually has answers for me. Someone more talkative. Hell, a parrot would be more talkative than the supposed king who is now probably hot on my tail.
Another pterodactyl-like screech, infinitely more terrifying, rises from a bush directly in front of me and I rear back, skidding to a halt.
A creature leaps out to face me. It’s the size of a large goose, but black with neon yellow spots. Forget pterodactyl. It looks like one of those dinosaurs which can spit sticky poison. It bobs its head, pointed teeth bared, its whole body rigid and tense, about to attack.
I damn near pee myself. “Shoo!” I yell, looking around wildly for a weapon. A stick. Anything.
It gives another eldritch screech, and takes a bobbing step towards me.
I whimper. A shadow falls over me, followed by a delicious maple syrup scent. The hunter is behind me. “Help me,” I whisper. “Please.”
He lunges for the animal, and I look away, unwilling to watch even this thing be killed. An outraged squawk draws my attention, and I glance back at McGreeny to see he’s picked the thing up and is cradling it with something akin to tenderness.
