Page 33 of Primal Hunger
Fuck.
There’s no way I’m going to survive a whole six months here. He won’t let me live that long, I’m entirely certain. If it’s not today, then my death will come tomorrow or the following day. How long can I go living in a constant adrenaline-fueled state of stress?
My thoughts are spiraling down into a black pit, anxiety creeping into my chest and wrapping around my heart, squeezing hard.
Not long, it seems. I’m already breaking apart and it’s only been a few hours. I think.
I realize for a second time that I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious. I could have been out for hours or days. Time is a construct I can’t wrap my brain around anymore. Between the darkness and fainting twice, there’s no way for me to possibly know, or to get back the time I’ve lost.
My head swims as the thoughts become overwhelming. Stale air clogs my lungs and I gulp, attempting and failing to get myself under control.
“At least untie me,” I suggest, holding my hands up even though he’s not looking. “The ropes are too tight. They’re cutting off my circulation.”
He stills briefly. “No. You’ll run.”
“No, I won’t,” I say. “I promise. I won’t run again. Where would I even go?”
For a moment, I think he finally hears me, but then he goes right back to stirring whatever is in the giant pot.
Irritation prickles my skin.
“Syros, will you at least stop fucking ignoring me?” I grit, losing my patience.
If he wants to be an insufferable asshole, I’ve got news for him. He succeeded and now I’ll retaliate. If he was just going to bore me with the cold shoulder, he could have already killed me and I could have avoided the mental torture.
“If you’re just going to pretend like I’m not here, just go ahead and kill me to get it over with,” I repeat out loud for his benefit.
Rude asshole.
I expect him to keep ignoring me the way he has been, despite the demand, but he whirls around to face me, his glowing red eyes lasering in on me and making me catch my breath. When he isn’t doing something so mundane, like stirring water and pretending I don’t exist, he’s downright terrifying.
Although there is no change of expression on his skull face, it’s almost like I see the play of emotions over his features. Which shouldn't be possible.
He is an image ripped straight from my nightmares and he’s frustrated with me.
“If I slit your throat, would you talk less?” he growls, flashing his claws at me.
“Maybe.” I shrug, an air of confidence appearing from nowhere. It has to be the adrenaline kicking up in my veins, throwing me right back into fight or flight mode. “Why don’t you try it out? Just make sure you do a decent job. I’d like a quick death if you aren’t going to let me go.”
I hold my wrists up for him, waiting as the tense seconds tick by and neither one of us moves.
Taunting the Grim is a gamble, but the more I think about it, the less likely it seems that he plans on killing me soon. If he truly wanted me dead, he would have done so already. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. He certainly wouldn’t have wasted time fucking me. Right?
There’s a reason I’m still alive.
I’m not sure what he’s waiting for. My gut tells me it has something to do with what happened in the woods. Maybe he wants one more round before he takes me out. Maybe he wants to take complete advantage of me this time, to fuck me so hard I snap in half.
That’d be one way to go.
I work hard to keep the feral grin off my face.
“If you want me to kill you, I will,” he says, moving closer until he’s towering over me. “I bet you bleed beautifully.”
Chapter
Twelve
Erin
