Chapter 8 #2
“It can be done,” I reluctantly admit, and in my mind’s eye I recall the image of a male drained completely of life, his corpse slightly sunken into itself and drained of every drop of its vitality and much of his flesh and meat torn from his body.
It was such a horrific sight that it had stayed with me for a lifetime.
I shudder despite myself and gamely meet Shawna’s concerned gaze.
“Not by my hand,” I quickly assure her. “It is rare for a frost demon to be incapable of controlling themselves from taking so much. We typically do not need more than the bit of heightened excess. The body’s normal state of vitality does not sustain us very well, and so if a frost demon were to become so desperate, they may not be able to stop themselves from consuming everything.
And that will only be just enough to just keep their own pain at bay.
But that is very rare, and the worst scenario, in which the flesh itself may be ravaged, is rarer yet.
There are very few situations in which that might happen. ”
“Such as?” she presses, and my tail twitches uncomfortably.
“Madness. Starvation. Rage,” I reply. Then are those who are simply so twisted that they enjoy the pain and suffering that sweetens their dish.
They are so warped that they can no longer consume the natural energy source.
Only pain and suffering. I do not bother to mention those.
I would mercilessly destroy any such demon if they dared to come close to Shawna.
A thoughtful look comes across her face, and she nods after studying me for a moment. I dread the question that is coming. I close my wings around myself casually, defensively, as I wait.
“You do not appear to be suffering from any of those conditions. I take it that you will just consume what you require?”
I blink at her in surprise and then nod energetically as a burst of relief rushes through me, making me lightheaded. “Not a drop more. On my honor.”
She brushes her bottom lip with her tongue before expelling a long, slow breath and giving me a lopsided smile.
“As weird as this all is, having that bit of clarity makes me feel much better. If it is to be a fairytale gingerbread house fantasy, then I can handle being nibbled on if it doesn’t harm me.
It is a small price to pay if I get to enjoy all of this in exchange. ”
Nibble? My groin tightens violently in reaction, and I discreetly shift the tip of my wing to hide my reaction. If she is open to nibbling, I do not think I will be able to resist. Especially not when she licks her bottom lip in such a way while she studies me.
Her smile fades and is replaced with a look of concern that unpredictably makes my heart flutter anxiously in my chest.
“What is it?”
“After all of this is over—you will return me home, right?”
The question falls hesitantly from her lips as if she is not even certain she wishes to ask it, but its effect on me is powerful.
I feel my heart abruptly drop, and I whip my tail lightly to keep me balanced so that I do not stagger from the shocking weight of my own despair catching me off-guard.
My thoughts immediately turn toward the cabin being empty of her warmth and laughter.
.. empty of her, and my heart clenches with loneliness.
I have been lonely, but I have never experienced such a profound sense of loss at the idea of a human leaving me.
How would I continue through the long, bleak winter without Shawna?
“Of course,” I say thickly as I wrench my mind from such torment. “You have my oath. I will see to it that you are returned safely.”
“Jak?”
“Mmm,” I murmur as I study her, committing her beauty to memory.
“Are we in New York?”
I smile slowly and shake my head. “My dear, sweet mortal, you are not even in your human world.”
She shivers and nods. “And this is for the merriment you need to feast upon?”
I incline my head in agreement. “Are you ready to begin once more?” I rasp.
My lips curl as I take a step toward her.
She steps back, her hand tucked behind her back, but I pay it no mind.
I extend my hand, intending to escort her back when she launches a mass of compressed snow directly at my face.
I snarl in surprise and freeze as it breaks across my brow, the bony base of my horns and the bridge of my nose.
I blink at her as it falls apart, the powder and clumps rolling away and sliding off my face.
She presses a mittened hand to her mouth and giggles.
“Don’t tell me you have never had a snowball fight, Jak? That is traditional part of winter fun that every kid enjoys,” she taunts as she slowly backs away, her eyes brightening with the unmistakable magic of merriment.
I shake my head, but there is some dim memory of participating in such foolishness, but it is distant, and from the days when I was a youngling.
That she finds such joy in it strikes me as ridiculous, but I cannot control the smile that comes to my lips as I twist my hand in the air, gathering up snow by my power into a perfect ball.
Her eyes drop to my hand and widen with surprise, but she isn’t afraid.
A giggle falls from her lips, and then a shriek of laughter when I take aim and fire, only to miss dismally when she ducks behind a tree.
A rough bark of laughter bursts from my lips, foreign to my ears, and so different from the practiced, breathy chuckles that I use with my prey.
I do not miss the genuine smile that comes to her lips in response.
Something within my chest warms and lightens at her obvious pleasure when she maniacally cackles and begins to scoop up snow inelegantly between her hands.
Her skills with snow are crude and primitive, and yet so endearing that I smile and attempt to seize her while dodging the snowy missiles she fires at me.
I return fire for each that she launches, all the while pursuing my prey across the snow.
My heart feels so light that it could have easily exploded from my chest. It is a foreign and frightening feeling, but I race toward it recklessly as I play throughout the afternoon with her out there amid the snow before once again withdrawing indoors by the fire with hot cocoa in hand as she reads a few more chapters to me.
For the first time in all the winters I have existed, I do not feel the clawing hunger but feel utterly satisfied and warm as if I have indulged in several exquisite sips from the feast. Is this contentment?
Is this what joy feels like? Whatever it is, it does not quickly fade but accompanies me into the evening as I settle onto the sheepskin rug in front of the fire to listen to her read.
Her voice is warm to my ears, though it is forced to compete with the echo of my heart pounding in my chest. I place a hand absently over it, savoring the feeling with wonder as I focus on every word falling from her lips.
Instinctively, I know that she will take this with her too when she leaves.