The Blood Debt

My eyes immediately fly to that one door where my juicy meat is hiding … along with that girl I can’t seem to stop thinking about.

Guess today will be vegetarian. Damn.

I grab a plate and cutlery and sit down at the table along with my homemade food, but I can’t bring myself to scoop it up and put it on my plate.

Something is not quite right here.

Something is missing.

Salt and pepper.

That’s it.

I get up and fetch it from the cupboard, but as I generously pour some onto my dish and sit my ass back down in my seat, I still can’t bring myself to pick up my fork and knife and dig in.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I peer up at the door again and the tiny hole she knifed. I don’t see even one eye, but I know she’s in there, watching, listening. Waiting.

Hungry.

Thirsty.

Cold.

And here I was thinking my heart died a long time ago.

I sigh out loud, clutching the cutlery so firmly in my hand it starts to hurt.

Then I slam them down on the table, scoot my chair back, and march to her door.

The second I open it, her lips part, but then her eyes immediately shoot up to my nonexistent beard. She looks surprised even though there’s still stubble.

“You look different,” she mutters.

“Shaven,” I reply.

“I was going to say ‘less of a caveman,’” she quips.

My brows rise. “Oh, the caveman is still here. Don’t worry.”

When I step toward her, she spreads her legs, raises her fists, and growls, “Don’t come closer, or I will punch you in the throat.”

I laugh. She sure has a lot of fighting spirit for a girl I could easily pick up with one arm.

She’s definitely going to be a handful, though.

“I’d love to see you try,” I muse. “But no, I won’t touch you. Don’t worry.”

She looks incensed. “You already did.”

She wants to play this game? Fine.

I fold my arms. “You let me.”

She swallows.

“Because I have no other choice,” she replies. “And it didn’t even make a fucking difference. You didn’t keep your end of the deal.”