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Within seconds, he skins the second rabbit, following the same routine, and sets the hairless animal beside the first spit.
“Dear God,” I whisper, swallowing back the bile that climbs my throat.
“You’ve never eaten rabbit before?”
“I have. I just … never paid attention to how it’s prepared, is all. It looks very … wet.”
“Well, pay attention, and you might actually survive out here.”
Asshole. “Didn’t take you long to hunt those.” I pet Yuma who’s returned to my side, licking his chops, his eyes never wavering from the food.
“The land always provides.” After he’s turned the meat over on the stick a few times, the color shifts from a wet pink to a blackened char that’s a little less identifiable and more palatable. Titus passes me the rabbit first, and I tear away a large chunk, then break off a piece for Yuma, as well. “No. Hell no. I’m not giving up my dinner to some mongrel.”
“You don’t have to. It’s from my share.”
“You’d take less, to feed a begging mutt?”
“Yes. I would. You said it yourself, the land always provides.”
Yuma gobbles up the meat that I toss to him, while I nibble on the chunk I took. I have to admit, the food feels good in my stomach, settling the edge of hunger. Across from me, Titus tears away the meat from the spit with his teeth, and I realize, I’ve never watched someone eat so savagely in my life. He reminds me of an animal, himself, in some ways.
After finishing off both rabbits, we settle down by the fire, across from one another, while darkness falls around us. I rest my head on Yuma’s soft fur, and he turns to lick my face, undoubtedly grateful for the meal.
There’s nothing but the moon, the stars, and the crackle of the burning firewood. It’s the most peaceful I’ve felt in a long time.
“It’s not exactly the terrifying world we’re made to believe, is it?”
At the opposite side of the fire, Titus lies on his back, one arm propped beneath his head. “Some parts aren’t so bad. Some aren’t so good.”
“I feel very safe.”
“You should never get too comfortable in that feeling.”
“I’ve heard an Alpha can’t be killed in his sleep. That your hearing is so acute, you wake to the sound of death’s silent footsteps.”
Over the burning kindling, I hear him snort. “Who told you these stories?”
“My father. He used to tell us the most horrible things lived on the other side of the wall. I never even saw a Rager in my life, until I was attacked by one a couple weeks ago.”
“A Rager attacked you?”
I can’t tell if he’s surprised that I survived, or that a Rager would want anything to do with me. “I was traveling with another woman. It dragged the two of us to a cave. I watched it rape her first. Then it bit her.” Telling the story aloud somehow sends a wave of distress through me, and I realize it’s the first I’ve spoken of it. “Afterward, it came after me, but instead of trying to rape me, it went right for my throat.”
“And you fought it?”
“Marauders. One of them shot it. Was strange … the way it looked at me just before.”
“You’re pregnant.” The assurance in his tone is unnerving, like I’m stupid for not having thought of that myself.
“What?”
“As young as you are, it would’ve raped you, no doubt. Tried to impregnate you. Unless you were already pregnant. Then you’re food. Would’ve fed you to your friend, to keep her strength up for the baby he undoubtedly tried to put in her belly.” He speaks of all of this so matter-of-factly, as if it’s not the most terrifying thing to come out of his mouth.
“How would it know if I’m pregnant? I don’t even know if I am.” I’m not. The likelihood is about as high as unicorns jumping down from the stars right now, thanks to my defective uterus.
“They smell it.”
“Just like they smell that you’re Alpha?”
