Still, “fake it till you make it” was the best advice she’d ever heard, and she lived by it. So she forced her face into a look of defiance, mustered as much attitude as she could, and said, “I’m dehydrated and starving.”
He blinked. Like he was actually fucking surprised.
It was such an unexpected reaction that it took her a couple of seconds to gather her wits again. The dehydration and starvation didn’t help either.
“That’s what happens when you leave a human in a dungeon for days with no food or water,” she added.
To her further surprise, his lips curved into a cruel smile.
He was hideous and beautiful at the same time. He looked cold and dead. He looked ethereal and elfin. His tall horns were majestic. His hair was stunning. His eyes were disturbing.
He was fucking terrifying.
“So you truly don’t know,” he said. “I suspected, but I wasn’t sure.”
“Know what?” The delirium of sensory deprivation made it hard to care about anything. This entire scenario was starting to feel like a fever dream.
Instead of responding, he knelt in front of her. In their close proximity, the misty souls at his feet brushed against her with an icy chill, and she shuddered in revulsion. He tilted his head and leaned closer, studying her like she was fuzzy bacteria growing in a petri dish and he was the lab tech trying to decipher the results.
She tilted her head at the same angle as his, trying to get a read on him, to figure out what went on in the mind of a being like him. His complexion implied decay, but up close, his skin looked smooth and supple.
“If you want me alive,” she said, “you’re going to have to feed me.”
But apparently, he was done talking.
His hand shot out faster than her tired eyes could track, and cold fingers wrapped around her throat.Ice-cold. The sensation of touch was there, but there was none of the warmth that came from touching a living person.
Still holding her neck, he shoved her sharply, and she hit the ground on her side. “Stay,” he growled.
He released her throat and whipped out a short blade from a holster beneath his black coat. Then, grasping her arm, he unsnapped the cuff of her jacket and shoved her sleeve up.
Suddenly, the knife was cutting across her forearm, and a hoarse cry escaped her at the sharp burn. She followed that by unleashing a stream of curses and trying to yank her arm out of his grip. Even tugging with all her strength, he held her easily, the flexing tendons in his hand the only sign he was expending any effort.
With his other hand, he pulled a long, cylindrical jar frominside of his coat, dropped the knife, and gripped her arm, holding it over the receptacle.
She stopped struggling, though she probably shouldn’t have. But her gaze was riveted to the sight of her blood spilling into the jar, the glass filling steadily.
After a couple minutes, the red flow eased into drips as her blood clotted and the wound started to close, but he continued to hold her there as if refusing to miss a single drop.
And then it was done. He dropped her arm, put a cork in the jar, and tucked it back in his coat. Then he pulled a strip of cloth from his pocket and tied it over her wound so tight she was pretty sure her hand would fall off. She gasped at the pain, but he ignored her, retrieving his bloody blade and wiping it on another piece of cloth. He stood and sheathed the knife in a smooth motion.
“Should be enough,” he muttered, apparently speaking to himself. “The sacrifice will be strong.”
“How do you keep it from clotting in the jar?” she found herself asking. Why she cared about that right now, she couldn’t say. Probably shock.
He glanced sharply at her like he was surprised by the question. “The glass is coated with a potion prepared beforehand. The blood stays fresh as long as it’s in there.”
Before she had a chance to respond, he turned and swept out of the room.
The cage door slammed, the bar slid across, and the padlock clicked shut. His shadow moved out of the torch light as he began to walk away.
“Wait!” she cried again.
That dark shadow appeared once more.
“I need food. And water.” She closed her eyes and then forced herself to add through gritted teeth, “Please.”
“You don’t,” he replied, and then he was gone, the muffled sounds of his footsteps fading too quickly.
