Secondhand Garagyre

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

LAITHOG

Mmmmmm .

The female before me smells delectable. Hints of cinnamon and vanilla float across the air currents. The scents emanating from her lush body cause my mouth to water with anticipation. She will be far tastier than the guttersnipe I just drained. My stomach is full. The male lying on the ground fulfilled my bodily requirement for sustenance, but my bloodlust is a greedy thing. Once aroused, it’s incredibly difficult to rein back in.

Quite frankly, why should I ?

This little human female smells delicious. Her blood would be ambrosial compared to the unpleasantness of the male. His blood had been almost gag worthy, but I am starving, and beggars could not be too picky. He is nothing but a means to an end, food at its basest requirement.

But her.

Her blood will be like sipping fine wine, and I have been denied for far too long. The reasoning behind his death flirted with the edge of my sanity, but the slight breeze causes another tendril of that enchanting scent up my nose. A hint of bitterness creeps into the scrumptious aroma emanating from the female.

Fear .

Good .

She should fear me. Her death is near, because I am going to glut myself on her blood until there is not a drop left in her fragile body.

“ Laithog .”

Her husky voice wraps around my name in an almost indecent caress. No , not a caress as one might address a lover.

It is a plea.

A weak, meaningless protest of what is about to befall her.

But .

Wait …

How …?

How does she know my name?

No human has ever known my name…

That is to say, not any human alive knows my name. It is enough to slice through the haze of bloodlust, and my consciousness snaps back into place with a jolt.

I freeze.

Horror and chagrin fill me as I realize that in my bloodlust-fueled state, I have prowled over to her and have caged her in. My much larger body has her completely trapped, and my nose is buried in the crook of her neck. Dual razor-edged fangs are a hairsbreadth from piercing her paper-thin skin. The whimpered utterance of my name is the sole feeble attempt at stopping me. Thankfully for us both, it worked.

I would have walked into the noon sun to escape my miserable existence had I drained the life from her precious body. My mind would fracture at the loss of not one, but two females I care for.

Snapping my wings out and down, I fling myself away from her with a burst of motion. The air my wings displace creates a small gust that blows her hair off her face. I feel the cold ground under my feet as they grapple for purchase in the grass, the razor-sharp talons on the ends of my toes gouge the soil where I land.

Turning away from where she remains stationary on the ground, I snarl viciously at the corpse of the human male. With the return of my conscious mind, the memories I obtained from the male’s blood surge forth, igniting my ire once again.

Slight rustling behind me announces Paisley’s movements. I can feel her as she steps closer to me, her tread shuffling and hesitant. “ This male, he is one of the ones responsible for the state you are in. I saw it when I took his blood.”

Her breathing pattern changes, almost imperceptibly, as she pauses before replying. “ Yes , he and another man are the ones who did the deed, but only at the order of another.”

Snarling , I snatch the dead male up, take a deep breath, and exhale a stream of black fire, completely engulfing the body held within my grasp. I don’t stop until the body is nothing more than ashes in the wind. A tentative touch on my back, slightly below where my wing joints tie into my shoulders, alerts me to Paisley’s presence.

What a bold female to approach me after what I almost did to her. The humor in her voice takes me by surprise. “ I think you got him.” She giggles out before continuing, “ So , I feel like we have a lot to talk about, but it’s getting colder the later it gets. I don’t like to presume, but since you have characteristics of at least two other mythological species, I’m going to guess that you also eat solid food. Would you like to come home with me? I haven’t had supper, and cooking for one is depressing. That is, if there isn’t somewhere else you need to be…?” The upward lilt at the end of her sentence implies the last bit is also a question.

“ Little Paisley , I would very much enjoy a home-cooked meal,” I reply warmly.