Page 45 of The Cannibal

A real staff member gave me an odd look through the cracked door in passing as they carried a tray of wineglasses. The smell was strong. My ears began to ring. Could that be the bloodwine?

I moved along the wall to the other rooms. While I couldn’t say I was adjusted physically, I could at least try to study for adjusting socially. The politics were different now. New Nest, new people, new problems. Perhaps becoming comfortable with the environment would do me some good for feeding. It could be psychosomatic, but there’s only one way to find out.

I closed the door before venturing to the next door. There were voices from within the hidden halls, somewhere far off.

Was it so terrible that I wanted to be caught? I knew there was a chance I would see Silas, but not what could come after. What had he done while I was asleep? Did he feed from other Hosts, now that he couldn’t from me? He would have had to; it’s been half a year.

Admittedly, I was taken back to my first time home after the death of my father. Even if I did not enjoy the activity, just the fact someone put in any effort to organize anything for me brought warmth to the deepest parts of me. It is things like these that thaw the soul and prevent a person from becoming cold.

I cracked the last door open, fully slipping out in the dark hallway.

The connected rooms served for food, another for entertaining, and the rest for meandering. Everyone was at ease, a perfect night of comfort. No one worried about food on the table, or rent, or any other silly thing that troubles the typical person, for these were no ordinary people to begin with.

In this dark section of the home, far off from the gas lamps running in the other rooms, fewer bodies filtered in and out of the room. Some stayed outside, gathering in small groups. The smokiness of earth and cedarwood teased the air in between puffs of cigars, the crowd separating itself from the rest of the gathering from either arrogance or something more sinister.

I stayed against the wall, as invisible as a fly in the shadows.

The double doors were opened, a faint warmth coming from the heart of the room. Candlelit and smelling of hickory, mixing with the undertone of toasted tobacco. Dark wood and leather, black suits and understated fine tailoring. I nestled myself behind the lingerers in the hallway, my view of the office slim.

A strike of gold among the neutral tones.

Silas sat on the sofa, the stillest one in the room. His profile was striking even from so far. Straight nose, blond lashes, and the coldest eyes known to man. The fire brought an illusion of warmth to his face, not a single shadow to obscure his facade. He had a cup raised almost to his lips, but he didn’t seem motivated to take even the smallest taste.

A woman from the other side of him came into view as she leaned forward.

If I wasn’t feeling disturbingly ill before—I was now.

Her red-stained lips moved, her posture craned to grab his attention. She even touched his shoulder to whisper something.

Silas finally took a sip of his drink.

My blood rushed down to the floor, my face and hands became numb. A certain chill crawled through me, section by section, limb by limb. It was like I’d left my body, only a singular fixation.

My thumb pushed my ring around my finger. I counted every time it went full circle. I couldn’t even justify the feeling gripping my throat long enough to turn me green. Vipera feed on blood. It’s not personal, it’s food.

But I’d thought I was simply a meal at one point.

She held her wrist up to his mouth as she touched his face. Her mouth was still moving, slower now, enticing him. He took her wrist, and my stomach sank.

He placed his empty cup in her hand, patting it to make sure she held it firm, and stood from his seat.

A dark figure stood in the doorway of the office, grabbing both door handles to close them. But just before he did so, two amber eyes caught mine.

Luka spared a moment, as if he didn’t recognize me. But only briefly.

He shook his head at me terribly slow, then cocked his head as if to say go on now.

When the doors finally closed, I was left in the ambient darkness, only the memory of the fire’s warmth, the glimpse of something forbidden, and the longing for the one I called Creature.

Even as it called to me, my desire, my loneliness, even my jealousy from just a single glimpse of him, I returned to my room with a peculiar flavor of satisfaction for now, and sleep came easier that evening.

15

THE POISONER

“Stay.”

“I’m not a dog.”