Page 17 of Primal Hunger
While I’m alive, I’m not on earth anymore. He’s brought me back to whatever realm or dimension he lives in, and I have no idea how I’m going to get out of here.
The Grim took me through a portal.
My eyes frantically shift to my surroundings, not sure what to expect. I’m in a small hovel of a space, staring up at a ceiling that twists to a point in the center. The walls are imperfectly carvedstone, almost bell-shaped, and there are all sorts of things decorating them.
Brows narrowed, I scan the various items hung up on the more jagged parts of the stone.
Each one is topped with familiar trinkets like watches, bandanas, and random pots and pans—things the Grim must have picked up on earth during his trips through the portal—and various skulls hanging from short pieces of rope. My eyes linger on one of the skulls, one of them obviously human with his jaw hung open in a silent scream, and I cringe.
Does the Grim plan to add my cranium to his collection?
No doubt he does.
My stomach pitches toward the floor beneath me. This slow march to death is so much worse than I thought. Better for him to get it over with. Why hadn’t he just killed me in the woods? It almost seemed like he’d enjoyed the chase and capture more than anything else.
I tug on the restraints but nothing changes.
Crude light fixtures are also mounted on the walls, all flickering an eerie gray color, and there’s an entrance cut into the far wall. A thick, tattered curtain fills the arched hole.
It’s simple and much cleaner than I’d expect a blood-thirsty monster’s home to be.
Outside of the skulls. Those are entirely expected.
My breathing comes quicker, despite my efforts to keep it under control, as I search for any sign of the Grim. Aside from the nest and the items on the walls, there are a few crude benches and a large stone basin filling the area. No table, no chairs, and no windows.
Finally, he steps into view, shifting out of my peripheral vision. His bright eyes glare at me unblinkingly, drinking in every part of me, and I catch my breath.
How the fuck did I not know he was there?
The dark pit in my stomach widens, shooting through my spine and down to the floor and I freeze, not sure what to do.
There’s nothing Icando but lay here at his mercy, and as he slowly approaches, an animalistic rumble forms in his throat. I clench my eyes closed with a squeak, wishing I could wake up from this terrible dream.
No, not a dream, I remind myself as I clamp my hands together to keep them from trembling. This is all very real.
And I’m very much screwed.
I attempt to scramble backward, kicking at the furs and finding no purchase.
His footsteps continue to pad across the floor, growing louder, and I raise my bound hands to cover my face. Can the monsters still get you with your eyes closed?
I’m not sure why that’s the first thing I think to do, instead of, you know, begging for him to let me go, but I’m panicking. Spiraling. Lost to the fear as it consumes me, and fighting the prickling feeling at the corner of my eyes.
Please. I don’t want to cry in front of him. I’m already so much weaker than he is.
The footsteps stop right next to me, making my chest seize.
“If you’re going to kill me, just do it,” I whimper through my hands. “I can’t keep playing cat and mouse. Just do it.”
I wait, refusing to uncover my eyes, for something to happen.
I wait for the feel of his claws or his hands on me, trembling as my fearful anticipation mounts, but the touch doesn’t come. Neither does a response, even though I know he understands me.
After an agonizing minute of nothing, he shifts beside me, and the sudden movement makes me flinch. I decide to peek through my fingers, but instantly realize my mistake when I find him crouched low next to me, his face hovering a foot or so above mine.
I whimper, starting to quiver from the crushing amount of fear and adrenaline in my veins, and I scream when he grabs my hands and drags them away from my face.
“Silence.”
