Ravenous

Chapter 31 Salvation

Salvation

RIPLEY

There’s a glass of wine in my hand, soft jazz flowing out of the speakers as I sit at the kitchen table, soaking in the last of the evening sun. I can’t think of a single other time in my life where I’ve felt this comfortable.

The two of us have been on cloud nine since the events of last night. We took our sweet time, giddy in the afterglow of our shared kill, until Preacher finally decided we still had work to do and guided me through the disposal process. He even let me keep a few trophies.

Jonathan’s heart is currently roasting in the oven, surrounded by rosemary, and covered in butter and a hell of a lot of spices. I have to admit, for my first time with prepared human meat, I’m kind of excited.

“When did you start eating them?” I ask, watching with an observant eye as he tosses some asparagus in the pan.

He tilts his head.

“Vegetables?”

“You know what I mean, smartass.”

He chuckles, obviously tickled by his dumb joke.

“I’m not really sure. A few years ago, maybe? I got curious after cuttin’ these fuckers up and… well, I wondered what all the fuss was about.”

“Okay, sure, but like… what made you so curious in the first place? It’s not really something people talk about doing very often.”

“We tend to squash things that are considered taboo. To me, eating a human heart seemed like it wouldn’t be any different than eating an animal’s, so I wanted to find out if I was right.”

“You know, there are different kinds of cannibalism? Some turn to it for survival, others engage in endocannibalism.”

“Endocannibalism, huh?” He turns around, leaning up against the counter with a smile on his face. “Big word. Tell me more.”

“Why?” I laugh, suddenly feeling shockingly self-conscious.

“Because I’ve always loved me a smart woman.”

Loved.

I’ve spent so much time hating that word. It was spoken so casually to me, usually right before someone did something callous and cruel, or even more after. Now? It makes me feel…

I clear my throat, swirling my wine in the glass.

God, I don’t even know.

“Anthropologists found that some cultures used it as a mourning ritual, or as a way to transfer spiritual power. It’s fascinating when you start digging into it.”

He raises a brow, smirking at me.

“Well now, just how many degrees you got, sweetheart?”

“Just high school, but that didn’t help much. I did a lot of reading the last few years. It kept me… focused on other things.”

He licks his lips, sauntering up and wrapping his arms around my waist while the veggies sizzle in the pan.

“Speaking of other things, you were incredible last night.” His voice is all gravel with just a hint of honey. “How do you feel?”

It’s surreal when I think back to the first dinner I had with him, how skittish and angry I was, how much I just wanted him to let me go. Yet with so much inside me screaming to turn and run, I still couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

“Remember when you said that I would have to part with the truth in order to gain salvation?”

He nods, stroking my wine-flushed cheek with the back of his hand.

“Do you think you found it last night?”

There’s always been a part of me that’s felt disconnected from my own humanity. I understood it on a logical level: When I was supposed to be sad, when it was appropriate to offer sympathy, when to laugh, when to get angry… all through careful observation and rehearsal, but now…

“I think I found it with you.”

Redness creeps into Preacher’s cheeks as he brushes my hair behind my ear. He lets out a breath, and I swear I see him shudder.

“I got a hard time, uh…” He gnaws on his lip. “Tellin’ people how I feel about them.”

Sometimes his demeanor is so soft and caring I forget that we’re not a regular couple. Luckily, all I have to do is think back less than 24 hours, to when he fucked my ass in front of a corpse to be reminded.

“Well, I suppose we have at least a couple things in common then.”

His smile is surprisingly bashful, catching me off guard all over again.

“Look, I just want to…” He sighs, nodding to himself before starting up in earnest. “You’re one of the most important people in my life, Ripley. I have a hard time picturing how things were before you got here now, and I— you— uh…”

The words seem to get tangled on his tongue, and after a moment of frustration, he’s swallowed them.

But it’s fine.

I know what he’s saying, or what he’s trying to say, because I feel it too.

We depend on each other. It’s us against the world.

“I feel the same way.”

His hot breath rushes against my ear as he kisses up and down my jaw.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone before.”

I laugh, but my heart is racing as I let my body sink into him.

“Me neither.”

It’s such a foreign concept to me, and it always has been. I’ve needed people for protection, or guidance, or to keep a roof over my head, but if you asked if I loved them?

“I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do,” he whispers.

It’s almost like a confession, shame dripping from his words.

“We can figure all that out together.”

When he breaks away, his eyes are bright and sparkling, and… I guess now I know. It doesn’t seem that difficult in hindsight.

With the meal finished, we each get a large portion of Jonathan’s heart, stuffed with kale and dressed with some kind of sauce I couldn’t quite place when I watched him prep.

“What does it taste like?” I ask, picking up my utensils like a kid prepping to try out a scary new meal.

Preacher cuts into his portion, popping a small piece into his mouth.

“Depends. Some cuts are gamey, and a little chewy, but something like this heart? It’s not that much different from a real nice cut of steak.”

“I’ve read multiple accounts over the years,” I murmur, carefully skewering the meat with my fork. “Most people say it tastes like pork.”

It’s surprisingly tender, but not spongy like you’d expect from something that pumps blood all day long. Speaking of, I can’t help but shiver with excitement when a little bit leaks out onto the plate with my first cut.

“They’re not wrong, that’s usually the result you’ll get, but it all depends on how you cook it,” Preacher replies, watching me while he finishes chewing his food.

He’s waiting for me to take that first bite, fists clenched tightly around his knife and fork as they hover above the plate in quiet anticipation. It’s like he’s entirely forgotten about his own meal a single bite in.

I bet he’s getting hard just watching this. He’s such a freak, but he’s my freak.

I slowly slice into the meat, immediately hit with the rich scent of garlic and onions as kale spills out onto the plate. I quickly scoop it up, packing as much as I can onto my fork.

“Bottom’s up.”

It’s rich and buttery, the deliciously sinful flavor melting into my tongue; I think if I closed my eyes, I could still hear Jonathan’s screams.

I haven’t eaten this good in years.

“You like it?”

I nod to him as I take bite after bite, as if the speed I’ve been shoveling it into my mouth needs any further confirmation. Now I’m getting the sharpness of the kale, mixed with the salt and pepper seasoning.

Fuck.

“Incredible.”

Except it comes out more like ‘increbabble,’ with my mouth completely full. Preacher doesn’t seem to mind though, beaming as he reaches for his glass of wine.

“To you, my love. You did a hell of a job.”

We clink glasses and I take a generous sip, the rich jammy flavor of the wine a perfect accompaniment to the last remnants of the meat dissolving on my tongue.

“So, who’s next?” I ask, quickly skewering another piece.

Preacher chuckles at the question.

“For now? No one. There’s a whole cooling off period where we lay low, and Raphael’s gotta keep watch to see if any missing persons reports have been filed.

If they have, he’s gotta make sure they can’t be traced back to us, and in a case like our good friend Jonathan…

there’s definitely going to be a report. ”

“He hacked the cameras though, right? So we’re in the clear.”

“Yup,” Preacher sighs. “He did. But that doesn’t account for random chance, or random people. Anyone could have been taking a selfie, or a video, or maybe someone just remembers one of our faces. Who knows, someone might even have seen him heading out the back with you in tow.”

Shit, I didn’t think about any of that. There’s a lot more moving parts to murder than I anticipated, and I was so focused on my part that everything else became background noise.

“So how long do we have to wait then?”

I know I probably sound like a far-too-eager child right now, but doing what we did? It’s addicting. I can see why so many of us go way overboard. The power, the thrill, the way it’s already quieted the whispering in the back of my head…

I need more.

“A few weeks to start. That’ll let us get a feel for things” He leans back. “And besides, it’s not like we can just head out and pick some random sucker. Gotta stick to the list.”

“The list that Raphael picks for you,” I grumble. “You don’t even get to decide who needs to die.”

Preacher stiffens a little, his gaze growing more intense, and immediately I can tell I’ve taken a step or two across a line.

And I get it, they have a system, but I’m needling at this because after that taste…

I need more, and I need to get it my way.

I’m not interested in advice from some jerkoff behind a laptop who’s never even stuck a man with a knife before.

“I know you’re antsy, rabbit, but we need to make sure we get the right people. It’s always been this way, and it’s how we stay under the radar. No reason to change it now.”

“So what you’re saying is I’m never getting a say in any of this?”

“No, that’s not it at all, but you’re still learning. You’ll get there, but we’re not there yet.”

His tone is so icy I feel like it’s more of a jog over that line I’ve taken at this point, so I figure why not go all the way.

“I passed your tests, I’ve done everything you ask me to—”

“And I’m asking you to hold your damn horses, Rip. The more people that go missing, the closer they’re all laid out, the more the cops will start asking questions. We’ve got to act as a team, and you need to learn how to control yourself.”

So much for a nice celebration.

Preacher promised me freedom. Salvation, he said, but salvation from what? I’m just under someone else’s thumb again.

“I can control myself, despite what you might think. I’ve been controlling this anger for fucking years!”

“Ripley, I just want us to have a nice dinner.”

“And I’m trying to tell you what I need.”

“Then tell me,” Preacher growls, practically spitting out the words. “Because I’m here, and I’m listening, but all I’m hearing are complaints about the rules that are literally keeping us alive.”

I groan, gazing up at the ceiling, trying to pluck the right words from thin air. It's been a habit of mine since I was a kid; sometimes I would get so mad I couldn’t think straight, and staring at the ceiling always helped.

“Rabbit, I…”

“It’s actually really simple, Preacher. If you want me to be free, then you have to let me be free.”

“I never said—” He rubs his eyes in exasperation. “I’m saying you need to be careful, that we need to be careful, and this is how we do that. You gotta remember what I told you happens if this whole thing goes tits-up.”

“I understand the risks,” I huff. “I’m not a child.”

“Then quit acting like one!” He stabs at another chunk of meat. “Me and Raph, and now you, what we all got? It’s a partnership, and partners—”

“If it’s a partnership, then why do you let Raphael control everything?”

He stays silent, his jaw ticking as he tries to keep himself cool.

“You know what I think?” I lean forward, not willing to give even a single inch at this point. “I think you were serious when you said you wanted a pet. Maybe you wanted to keep me so you didn’t feel so bad about Raph keeping you.”

Normally, I wouldn’t have said shit when it was clear he’d drawn a line in the sand. The old me would have swallowed it and silently choked, but the new me? She’s smart, and she’s a capable hunter; despite all the setbacks, we got our man.

“Rabbit, this is the way it’s always been. You don’t let a wild dog out without a leash before you’ve trained ‘em. That’s how it went for me, and it’s how it’s gonna go for you.”

I could see the regret flash across his face the moment the words left his lips, but I’m not interested in an apology.

“Fuck you!” I spit, my rage flaring up inside me. “I escaped that fucking prison, and you just put me right back in a nother one?”

“That’s not what I meant, Ripley. Raph said—”

“I don’t give a fuck what Raph said! Jesus Christ, are you a fucking man or not? You’re supposed to be a killer!”

“Will you stop interrupting me?!”

I straighten up in my chair as he slams his fist against the table, fully alert. His voice has never been more forceful, and I find my eyes bouncing to the steak knife set out beside my plate.

“Don’t even think about it.”

My whole body is primed for fight or flight, muscles coiled so tight they start to hurt, but I wait. I wait for him to reach across the table and hit me, to drag me upstairs by my hair and teach me a lesson.

But he doesn’t do any of that, despite the white knuckles and clenched jaw.

He just… stares at me.

Breathing heavy.

And then evenly.

And I stare back.

And then, after an eternity of anxious silence, he speaks.

“I know you’re eager, Rip, I know you want to get out there and really live in the brand new skin you’ve finally found yourself in.

” He takes a breath, steadying himself as his shoulders slump back to a more relaxed position.

“But I don’t want to see you get dragged off to fuckin’ prison— or worse.

I had to learn how to control these urges, and I can teach you that, but you have to be willing to work with me here. ”

I swallow hard, tears stinging my eyes. This fucker always goes for the heart.

“I understand what you’re saying, but I’ve been controlling myself, Preacher. That’s what my whole life has been about. Shutting up, keeping quiet…”

“Ripley, I’m not asking,” he shakes his head, reaching across the table and holding out his hand.

Palm up.

An invitation.

“You’re part of this team, and this family, as fucked up as it all might be, and I’m telling you that I love—”

Headlights flood the kitchen, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of tires against gravel.

“Goddammit, Raph,” Preacher grumbles, shoving his chair away and striding toward the kitchen window.

I watch as he parts the curtain, full of irritation for the man who’s interrupted what felt like a particularly well-rehearsed speech.

But then his whole body tenses.

“Stay here.”

I frown, getting to my feet, more an act of instinct than rebellion.

“Preacher, what is it?”

He doesn’t look back, his hand held still on the doorknob in coiled preparation.

“That out there in the driveway? It ain’t Raph’s truck.”