Chapter 26 – COSIMA #2
The Knight is a constant silent shadow at my side. His presence is still unnerving, but I'm starting to get used to it. Like having an oversized, mutated guard dog.
Finally, I spot what I'm looking for. A cluster of bushes, their branches heavy with small, dark berries. I approach cautiously, examining the fruit. Blackberries. I pluck one, rolling it between my fingers.
"These should be safe," I murmur, more to myself than to the Knight. I pop the berry into my mouth, savoring the burst of tart sweetness on my tongue. It's not much, but it's something.
I start gathering handfuls of berries, wishing I had something to carry them in.
The remnants of my robe are barely holding together as it is.
The Knight watches for a moment, then to my surprise, he starts mimicking my actions.
His metal hand is too clumsy, the sharp claws destroying the delicate fruit, but his human hand is able to collect more than I can hold in both hands.
We work in silence, the only sounds the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional frustrated growl from the Knight when he accidentally crushes a berry. Before long, we've stripped the bushes bare.
I turn to the Knight, holding out a handful of berries. "Here," I say. "You should eat too."
He stares at the offered fruit, then back at me. There's an intelligence in those glowing eyes that unnerves me. He understands more than he lets on, I'm sure of it. But he makes no move to take the berries.
"Come on," I coax, feeling ridiculous. I'm trying to hand-feed berries to a giant mutated alpha with monster jaws. What has my life become? "You need to keep up your strength."
Still nothing.
I frown, a new thought occurring to me. Maybe he can't eat them.
Those razor-sharp teeth certainly look more suited to tearing into meat than delicate berries.
A shudder runs through me as I remember the way those teeth sank into my neck in my dreams, the phantom pain so real I have to resist the urge to check for wounds.
What if he only eats...
I swallow hard, pushing the thought away.
Nope. Can't think about that. Not now.
"Fine," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "More for me, I guess."
I retreat to our makeshift shelter, settling down on a bed of leaves I'd gathered earlier. The Knight follows, ducking his massive frame to fit under the lean-to. He sits across from me, those eerie blue eyes never leaving my face as I eat.
The berries are a poor excuse for a meal, but they take the edge off my hunger.
As I eat, I try to plan our next move. We need more substantial food, and soon.
But I have nothing to make snares with, and even if I did, I haven't seen any signs of wild animals.
This part of the forest seems eerily devoid of life.
Another problem. Fire.
The nights are bitterly cold, and while the Knight seems to radiate heat like a furnace, we need something better in case he decides to wander off. And I'm sure he's cold, too, however warm his skin is.
"We need to gather wood for a fire," I announce, brushing berry juice from my hands. "Dry wood, if we can find any."
I stand, ducking out of the shelter. The Knight follows again, a looming presence at my back. Together, we scour the surrounding area for suitable firewood. It's slow going—most of the fallen branches are damp or rotting—but eventually, we gather a decent pile.
I arrange the wood into a small pyramid, stuffing the center with dry leaves and smaller twigs for tinder. Now comes the tricky part. I've never actually had to start a fire from scratch before. In the Capital, everything was automated. Fireplaces lit themselves with the push of a button.
Mom taught me how, but I'm not sure about the finer details of this particular lesson. How hard can it be, though?
Very hard, as it turns out.
I spend what feels like hours rubbing two sticks together, trying to create enough friction to spark a flame. My hands are raw and blistered, my arms aching from the repetitive motion. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the chill in the air.
"Come on," I mutter through gritted teeth. "Just fucking light already."
The Knight watches in silence.
I glare at him, blowing a strand of hair out of my face.
"Don't suppose you have any hidden talents for firestarting?" I snap.
He tilts his head, and for a moment, I think he might actually respond. But he doesn't. I'm actually not sure he can talk with his jaws like that. He can sure as hell roar and snarl and growl.
I turn back to my task with renewed determination. I will not be defeated by two sticks and some leaves. I am Cosima fucking Maybrecht.
Just as I'm about to give up and resign myself to a cold night, a tiny spark catches in the tinder. I freeze, hardly daring to breathe as I nurture the fragile flame. Slowly, carefully, I add more kindling, coaxing the fire to life.
"Ha!" I cry triumphantly as the flames grow stronger, licking at the larger pieces of wood. "Take that, nature!"
I sit back on my heels, admiring my handiwork. It's not much, but it's a fire. Warmth and light in the gathering gloom of evening. I hold my hands out, savoring the heat against my chilled skin.
It takes me a moment to realize the Knight has moved way, way back from the fire, watching it like it's going to bite him. Is he afraid of it? Interesting. I'm having a hard time imagining him being afraid of anything at all
"It's okay," I say gently, feeling again like I'm trying to reason with a wild beast. I hold my palm out to the fire, letting it warm my hand without getting close enough for it to burn me. "See?"
The Knight inches closer, drawn by the flames. He reaches out with his human hand, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think he's going to plunge it into the fire. But he stops just short, palm hovering over the dancing flames like I just did.
As if sensing my concern, he turns those glowing blue eyes on me. They're just as intense and feral as ever, but they're fractionally softer than they were before.
He shifts, his massive frame blocking out what little remaining daylight filters through the trees. As he moves, his arm brushes against mine.
And just like that, everything changes.
Heat floods through me, sudden and overwhelming. But it's not from the fire. This heat comes from within, molten and insistent. My skin feels too tight, every nerve ending hypersensitive. The tattered remains of my robe rasp against my nipples, sending jolts of sensation straight to my core.
Oh shit.
This can't be happening.
But there's no denying it. My heat, held at bay by adrenaline and the bitter cold, comes roaring back with a vengeance.
I scramble backward, putting as much distance between myself and the Knight as the small shelter allows. My breath comes in short, sharp pants. I clench my thighs together, trying to ignore the slick warmth gathering there.
The Knight goes very, very still. Those glowing eyes fix on me with laser-like intensity as a low growl builds in his chest. Does he know what's happening? Can he sense the change in my scent?
Of course he can.
He's an alpha, no matter how twisted and changed.
And I'm an omega in heat.