Page 83 of The Cannibal

He looked apologetic, at least. Silas crawled over me, kissing my cheek, then over the healing bite marks on my neck sheepishly.

The rasp at the door had him sliding off the bed and buttoning his trousers as he answered. More than just polite gratitude was exchanged by the looks of it and how quickly Silas was speaking. When he was finished, he pulled a small rolling serving cart inside.

Not long after, the smell of rich coffee cast a nostalgic cloud over my mood. He pulled it over and already began pouring a cup for me, placing it right on my chest.

“Thank you.” I couldn’t even sit up to drink it, I just leaned up so I didn’t have to move the cup far from its little saucer.

“There shouldn’t be any more blood.” He sat on the edge of the bed and faced me. “Are you sure the pain isn’t just cramping of the muscles? I don’t remember it hurting you any other time.”

“I think my tolerance for any of your venom is much higher now,” I sighed. “I’m just not used to it. Not in this body, at least.”

“Plenty of time to get used to it.” He sipped his coffee, but he still had a poorly hidden smirk.

“Another excuse to use that numbing tongue of yours.” I took a leisurely sip of brew.

In my daze, a sudden shock to my heart nearly made me sit up straight, even through the pain. “Silas,” I demanded his attention.

It startled him, then annoyed him. He raised a brow for me to continue.

“The spines.” I swallowed. “You said only if we are the same species⁠—”

He was trying to contain a smile.

“What is it, you dastardly thing?” I tossed one of the smaller pillows at him.

He swatted it with one hand while the other balanced his coffee. “You’re not with child.”

“Suddenly you are an expert of the female reproductive system?”

“No, but you haven’t even had your first estrus cycle.”

The frustrated huff pushed through my nose made him put down his coffee. He was wise to do so, because I would have thrown something else at him.

“You won’t be on your rags again for at least another twenty-five years,” he said. “Everything slows down for us.”

“So I won’t bleed until I’m fifty?” I thought my jaw would touch my chest. It sounded unnatural to hear, but a part of me was relieved that the burden wouldn’t rear its head anytime soon.

“If you make me repeat myself I’ll have to check your ears,” he joked, lying down beside me as we watched the rain streak the glass, projecting the pattern across the walls of the room.

His lashes moved as he watched the raindrops, possibly fighting sleep.

“I’m sorry, you know,” I said softly.

Only when I spoke did he turn his head my way. “What for?”

“Hiding.” Even admitting it made me feel foolish for not predicting the hurt it would cause him. “They told me it was just until you sorted a few things . . .”

He shrugged and stared back up at the ceiling. “I see the reason. My reaction didn’t necessarily prove you all wrong. I suppose that’s what made it hurt a little more.”

He reached up, rubbing the bite marks I left on him as he manually tried to roll his shoulder using his palm.

“Why are the Buffalo girls here.” I traced over his shoulder, then his arm.

“For the Appraisal.” He grabbed his coffee cup and took a sip. “They came to support us as a united front.”

I took another sip from mine too. The flavors were so strong I had to double check I was drinking it black. There were high and low notes, I could taste more to the roast of the bean—the level at which it burned and what they’d used to roast it. The beans were hand turned, I could taste the copper from the rollers.

“Silas?”