Page 33 of The Cannibal

I hoped my face was as expressive as I could manage to make my disdain known. In doing so, I noticed the shape of his skin. His damaged eye was in worse shape than it was the last time I saw him, or at least that I remembered. His skin was also in decline. The deep scar cutting through down to his lip was taut and the color was a little darker where the burns were.

“I have a favor to ask of you.” He suddenly returned his gaze to me.

I lifted my chin, my neck pressing against his forearm. “Have your favor,” I spat in his face.

He closed his eyes, taking a moment to finally release me and hold his hands up in surrender, as if there was some immense amount of restraint to not strangle me right there.

“You can’t see him right now,” Luka said plainly.

I opened my mouth to speak.

“It is a matter of survival. Just a while longer. Then you may frolic all you like.”

“Why?” I squinted at him, crossing my arms as I leaned against the wall.

“He needs to focus.”

“The Appraisal?”

“Ah, you’re bright as ever. So clever.” The sarcasm was palpable. “Phoebe told you?”

“Some of it.” I shrugged. “I understand.”

He threw me a scrutinous look. “Do you, now?”

“Yes,” I said through a clenched jaw, “but he should still know I am awake.”

He looked like he was about to argue, so I reached for the door.

Luka slapped my hand away like I was some naughty child.

“Hit me one more time—” I raised my hand, but he caught my wrist, then tightened.

My hand began to tingle from numbness, the circulation cutting off.

“How about we make a deal,” he said tensely. He smiled as he said it, but his eyes screamed that he wanted to smash his forehead into mine.

“I’m tired of deals,” I hissed.

“Have you fed yet?” he asked.

I was quiet.

“Your breath says that you haven’t.” He grinned. “You smell hungry, my dear.”

Immediately my jaw snapped shut. I wasn’t sure if I was angry or embarrassed, or both. But both options made me want to hit him, preferably with something solid. Like a brick.

A smirk crept onto his dimpled face, his canine exposed by the tight skin around the scar. “Let us hunt together. Tonight.”

“Hunt?”

“It’s better than the stuff they keep in the icebox. Fresh is best, and I know just the place,” he offered. “I can give you a rather nice distraction in exchange for leaving Silas be in this very sensitive time of preparation.”

“I don’t know.” I leaned back, but he just came closer. It was suffocating. The tiny space, the heat, the smells of food and blood mixing where it was no longer appetizing.

“I know a place with many specimens,” he added.

“Specimens?”