“Okay then,” I mumble to myself as I pick up the knife and fork set at either side of my dinner plate. “I guess there is no standing on ceremony. I’ll just help myself.”
Leaning over the table, I cut into the goose and nearly moan as the delicious scent releases upon the steam escaping the bird. The meat appears to be very tender in contrast to its very crisp skin. Cooked to perfection, I would say. Truthfully, everything on the table appears perfectly prepared. It looks like a professional banquet rather than the average holiday meal. Not even my mother makes it look anything like that... and I am pretty certain she is a perfectionist.
Cutting some meat from the goose, I turn to the next dish and begin spooning out healthy scoops to add to my plate. Pretty soon my plate is overfilled, and I am piling on a homemade cranberry sauce that looks like it came from a magazine ad rather than the can that is offered every holiday season in my family. I am not entirely sure when I picked up my fork, but I’m still standing as I begin to shovel the food in my mouth as if I hadn’t eaten for days. I don’t know where this ravenous appetite has come from, but I’m so hungry, and everything I eat is just even more delicious than the last. The meat practically melts on my tongue, and smooth and creamy dishes delight my senses even as more than one dessert sings over my tastebuds... desserts that I hadn’t even initially noticed.
Is it my imagination, or is the feast growing on its own and multiplying with new dishes quicker than I can taste them? What is really strange, however, is the feeling of excitement building in the air, but I can’t tell if that is simply my gluttony or something else.
It is not until I settle back in my chair with a contented sigh that I hear my host speak again in soft, rasping tones that rollover my senses deliciously. The voice is still very androgynous, but there is a hint of something masculine that I can’t put my finger on. Call it an instinct, perhaps, but this level of heavy, silent focus feels like something of an erotic dance... one that I’m not even sure I want to join in.
“You have eaten well and quite jovially. Rest now. The nights are cold and long these days. Find your comfort sleeping beneath the quilts.”
I glance back toward the hall leading back to the bedroom and bite my lip uncertainly. Having a good sleep does sound exquisite, but I was raised with better manners than to go to bed and leave such a mess sitting out all night.
“What about all of this?” I ask.
The voice laughs again quietly, and there is a tinkle of bells that makes me wonder if the spirit has an invisible hat with numerous bells sewn into it that shake every time the spirit laughs or moves its head.
“Leave it. It will be seen to. Now off to bed with you,” the voice chastises almost sweetly.
I shake my head in amusement, but I’m not about to complain about escaping clean-up duty. What’s more, I should be uncomfortably full as I stand, and yet I am not. I merely feel satiated. I don’t comment on it, however. Instead, I walk to the back room, climb into the bed, and tuck the quilt around me. It is such a blissful feeling that my jaw immediately cracks with a wide yawn.
Just one night of indulgence. Tomorrow I will find a way home. Tomorrow.
Chapter 4
Jakfros
Istand at the foot of the bed and cup my jaw as I regard the female curled up beneath my quilts. Although she had consumed the offered food and drink enthusiastically, she had not become as happily drunk and merry as my previous prey in the past. Did I do something wrong? More importantly, why had I not encouraged her to drink more deeply and joyously? Was that not what I had been taught at my mother’s side—that a human sweetened by wine and spirits was far more easily encouraged to enjoy the excessive merriment offered? Yet, I had felt oddly reluctant. Why is that?
I tap a claw on my bottom lip as I study her. What is it about her that makes me feel and behave so strangely? Even now I can feel a spark of something deep within me as if I am already feasting with tasting a drop of her sweetness. That is new.
Is it because she is a woman, perhaps? It is rare for a female to come through my woods. Usually, it is males who get lost in the snowstorms I conjure and who are subsequently lured here. But of the few females who wind up here, I cannot recall even one affecting me this way, no matter how sweet they smelled. It certainly was not because I am averse to eating a female or twenty. Truthfully, the females roused my predatory instincts even quicker and were often unsatisfying meals that I was unable to truly enjoy since I often failed to properly raise thefestive fire within them before succumbing to the hunger. It is why I prefer to avoid them if another option presents itself. But there is something more about this female that teases my senses in a deliciously maddening way that I am eager to experience more of.
“Such an intriguing puzzle,” I murmur to myself as my tail curls against the side of my leg.
She mumbles something indistinct in that moment and flails in her sleep, knocking the quilt low around her waist. I immediately react, drawing the blanket up around her shoulder before I even realize what I have done. I freeze in shock but then slowly draw away, almost reluctantly perhaps, except I know that is nonsense. What would I have to feel reluctant over? I merely drew the quilt back into place to prevent her from catching a chill.
Is it too cold in the cabin?
I cock my head as I flex my wings, drawing the cool air against their sensitive membranes. It takes a moment to gather a sufficient quantity of air within my wings but then the moment is over and I am breathing easily. It is sufficiently warm enough for the female. Good.
My wings snap back and fold flat against my back once more as I resume studying her. As far as humans go, Shawna is not what I would consider remarkable at first glance, despite this visceral pull I feel toward her. In terms of human beauty standards, as far as I am aware of them, her mouth is a bit too wide and her nose a little prominent and slightly hooked, and the mass of red hair spilling over the pillow is more orangey-copper hue that seemed to suit the abundance of little brown spots decorating her face as if painted on by one of my snowstorms I summon up. Despite this, just looking at her gives me an odd warm and cozy feeling in the depths of my cold, frost demon heart.
Unusual and tempting, but not a remarkable human by human standards to any stretch of the imagination. I will simply have to try harder tomorrow. As for this moment, I am exhausted. Hunting Shawna down and then luring her about and setting about conjuring the feast for her had drained me to where I now feel dead on my feet. I stretch my wings once more, and my mouth opens wide in a silent yawn. A good night’s sleep and a fresh day rising with the morning will be more than enough to rejuvenate me.
