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But it doesn’t have the same thrill that it used to. Every kill feels as pointless as the last.
“It’s dry and tasteless,” I say, chewing through a dripir that I tackled down near the road.
The dripir wasn’t young, nor was it weak. There was still plenty of fight left in it. I’d say it’s one of the more challenging creatures I’ve fought in the past week. It really wanted to live.
Wiping my mouth clean of its blood, I shake my head, unable to figure out why hunting has grown so dull.
In one of the old cabin closets, I find some old trapping equipment. It feels utterly cowardly as I begin rigging up some ursain traps, but I still need to eat somehow. And if the thrill of hunting isn’t there anymore, what use is there in struggling to survive?
I find myself regularly sniffing the air, picking up hints of Annette’s scent. What’s strange is that I still haven’t found her anywhere near the town, meaning she hasn’t gone back yet. I question what she could be doing that’s more important than pardoning her name. After everything we fought for, to think that she still hasn’t returned home agitates me.
I vow to put her out of my mind.
I’m not going to think about her anymore. Anytime she crosses my thoughts, I’ll drive my fist into my stomach. And if I have to remove my senses to stop from smelling her, I’ll cut them off.
No longer can I live my life as a shell of a being. It’s far too painful.
In frustration, I pick up one of Annette’s sweaters that she left behind and open the door.
Digging a pit in front of the house, I have to fight not to be reminded of when I used to cook for her.
There are plenty of trees, which means ample firewood. I click rocks and sticks together until a spark ignites, then lay the kindling in the pit.
I look down at the sweater.
As a creature beyond the understanding of mere mortals, I know that it is my duty to sever my ties. I can’t allow myself to be distracted any longer. Not when I have such a large obligation to rid the world of evil.
Annette showed me that my soul devouring helped create a better world.
I punch myself in the gut as hard as I can, then I try to forget why I punched myself.
Picking up the sweater, I close my eyes and breathe in. The scent almost makes me forget myself.
But there’s another scent in the air, too. A scent I promised I’d erase from my memory.
“If you’re not going to keep it, you can at least give it back,” Annette says.
I’m not sure if she’s more amused or angry as she watches me.
There’s a very small part of me that thinks she must be an illusion, brought about by my deepest need, and that I still need to burn the shirt.
“What are you doing here?” I growl, still holding the sweater.
Before I can react, she pries the sweater out of my hands. Am I so distracted that even Annette can best my reflexes?
“That’s a polite response.”
There’s a natural guardedness there. I remember our last interaction and how cruel I was to her. I practically shoved her away from me. Her defensiveness is justified.
But I can’t take this anymore.
I move toward her swiftly, and I embrace her tightly – tightly enough, but not so tight that a mortal such as her can’t survive my grasp.
Knowing that I need to say something, but not sure what, I grumble. “You left, and things were so much worse.”
She traces her fingers along my muscular spine, grasping me in return. “I’m sorry. You didn’t seem like you wanted me around anymore.”
She’s less cold now, her voice almost carrying an amused tone.
