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She turns to me, sniffing the air delicately with that small nose of hers, and frowns. But before she can grill me about what I’m sure is the scent of my murderous rage, my watch buzzes, letting me know that it’s lunchtime.
I have three reminders that go off. One at 8 am, one at 3 pm, and one at 8 pm so that I can get in all my daily meals. I often get distracted by my work and don’t bother eating, but after too many trips to a health centre, I’ve learnt to do better.
My mission won’t be cancelled because I forgot to eat.
But when I realise that if I’ve not eaten today, then neither has Nora, I completely freeze.
I fucked up, just like her other mates. I promised I’d do better. That I’d feed her, that I’d look after her. I’ve only had her for one real day, since I don’t count the time she spent sleeping, and I’ve fucked it up.
“What’s wrong?” Nora asks, completely oblivious to what’s happening.
“Nothing,” I say. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ve got something to do.”
She nods, a little bit of curiosity in her gaze, but she makes no effort to get out of bed—out of my bed. I don’t know why that makes me as happy as it does.
Before I leave the room completely, though, I turn and look at her. Her dark brown hair is splayed across my pillow, the t-shirt she’s wearing completely dwarfs her, and she seems to be mouthing something without actually making the sound.
I’m not sure if she’s singing or praying for my demise.
Both are equally as intriguing.
“Are you allergic to anything?” I ask.
She shakes her head, giving me a wry smile, but I don’t stick around to find out why.
I need to feed my captive. There’s an urge forcing me to work quickly, to prepare the best food that I can find. It pisses me off.
Unless she ate yesterday whilst I was out, which she might have since she was rifling through my cupboards when I got home, then she’s not eaten in days.
I failed her just like her pathetic mates did. It’s why I need to work even harder on finding out who rejected her.
I refuse to be another failure.
I’m ridiculous. I don’t even know why I care.
Once the food is prepared, I take it upstairs. I watch as Nora gets herself back into bed, the lack of socks on her feet pissing me off.
Her hands were cold earlier, and I have no doubt her feet will be the exact same.
“What’s that look for?”
“Where are your socks?” I bark, and she jumps, not expecting my anger.
“In my suitcase,” she replies, looking at me like I’m stupid. She does that a lot. It’s rude. But kind of endearing. I drop the tray of food on top of the dresser and storm over to the room she’s staying in.
Her suitcase is on the floor next to the bed as if she just pushed it off.
I knew it would be too heavy for her to lift.
She’s far too weak.
I shake it off, though, and crouch down and rifle through it. I grab a pair of socks, some jogging bottoms, and a jacket. I glare at the t-shirts on her bed, the ones she’s arranged into a little nest of sorts, and have to resist the urge not to damage them.
But the scent of Atticus burns my nostrils, and there are three more I recognise. Orson, Malachi, and Micah. She’s mated them all.
There’s two more shirts, two more scents, but I don’t recognise them.
One is the griffin, she’s already told me about him. But who is the mysterious sixth scent?
