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“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut.
Another thing he says often. I still do not know what a “Jesus” is.
After a long moment, my human pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales sharply. “Okay. New plan. You skin that moose, I'll finish uh… bathing, and then I guess I'll teach you how to sear a steak.”
“Teach?”
His lips twitch upward. “Somebody has to. Apparently you've spent the last however long eating like a fucking animal.”
I am an animal, but I decide not to point this out. Instead, I glance toward the carcass, then back to him. “You stay.”
He rolls his eyes. “I'm not exactly going anywhere with this wounded leg, am I?”
My gaze drops to his lower half beneath the water, and a strange feeling settles over me. I do not like that he is injured. Every wince twists something inside my chest, every sharp inhale makes my own lungs feel tight. If I could undo what those men did to him, I would.
However, the knowledge that he is too injured to leave brings an undeniable sense of relief, when it should not. His broken body should fill me with nothing but rage, because it causes him pain, but some selfish part of me is grateful that—at least for a little while longer—my human will remain here with me.
I do not understand that feeling either.
It seems there are many things I fail to understand ever since he arrived on my mountain.
Chapter
Sixteen
Benji
What the hell am I doing?
The question circles my brain as I watch eight feet of muscle and fur skin a moose with the kind of efficiency that only comes from decades of practice.
Steam curls around me while I finish washing the blood from my leg, hissing every time my fingers brush the ragged edges of the gunshot wound.
The creature was right about one thing—it still looks awful. Angry red flesh gapes beneath the waterline, and the crude bandage made from herbs and moss floats in the water beside me. At least I don’t feel sick from the pain anymore. I don't know if it's because of the hot water or whatever was inside that poultice, but it feels… manageable. For now.
Once I finish rinsing spiderwebs and dirt from my hair, I drag myself over the edge of the spring and glance over at the monster.
It crouches by the fire with its back to me, broad shoulders rising and falling as it peels the hide in long, steady strips. Every movement is carefully efficient, as if it's done this hundreds of times before. Judging by the various furs spread across the cave floor like rugs, I'd say it probably has. The thing seems very adept at stripping flesh from bone.
A fiery shiver wracks my body, which causes the creature to look at me over its shoulder in concern.
“It's cold in here,” I lie, feeling very hot. “I need clothes. Something to keep me warm.”
Its brows furrow briefly, and then it straightens up to wipe bloody palms on its fur.
Crossing the cavern in three large strides, it lifts one of the furs off the ground to inspect closely before draping the heavy material over my shoulders. "There. Warm.”
I clutch the fur tight around my bare body, trying very hard not to think about the fact that I'm currently wrapped in whatever the hell this thing skinned last winter. “Uh, thanks.”
The word slips out from habit, and the monster tilts its horned head. Golden eyes meet mine as its features slowly soften. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was pleased.
“This doesn't mean I trust you not to eat me,” I grumble, clearing my throat.
Its gaze stays on my face. “You fear me.”
How the hell could I not? The thing is a walking contradiction. One minute, it's trying to shove human meat down my throat; the next, it's draping me in blankets because I shivered. I don't know what to expect.
Heaving a pained groan, I stick my injured leg out of the furs to dry my wound. “You never answered my question. About what you're going to do with me.”
