He drifts out of sight, his disappearance somehow making the air around us grow still.
“Uncle—”
“Shh,” I whisper softly, squeezing Jamie’s hand a little. A crack of a twig has me jerking my head to the left. It’s not coming from the way the bow-and-arrow-wielding creature left.
On high alert, I squeeze Jamie’s hand once more before gently releasing and slowly reaching for the rifle. Just as I’m about to make contact with the .22, a gruff “Stop” has my head jerking and my breath hitching.
The creature’s back, his large eyes studying me intently. Cautiously.
“I heard something,” I whisper and nod towards my right.
With a tilt of his head, he keeps his gaze steady on me, but there’s a shift in his focus. I have no idea how exactly I know this; maybe it’s something to do with his hair taking on a life of its own—almost like tentacles feeling the air around him.
Wide-eyed, I stare at his moving hair. It’s like the individual strands are doing a damn dance. Sure, it’s mesmerising, but more than that, it’s freaky as fuck.
“Why’s his hair doing that?” Jamie says, a little louder than a whisper.
Immediately, the strands drop, and the creature snaps his attention to Jamie. I straighten, shifting weight onto my right foot, ready to step in. To do what, exactly, I have no clue, but?—
“It was just ateringth,” he says. At my blank stare, he adds, “A small creature, much like your rabies.”
Rabies?
He purses his lips, drawing my attention there as he then stretches them tight, two small fangs revealing themselves. “Not rabies?” He shakes his head. “Small animals that bounce.”
“Rabbits,” Jamie says.
And fuck me, a wide smile transforms the monster’s features. And yeah, he has fangs—twice as long as a human’s canines.
I’m sure the last thing I should be thinking is that I like his smile or that the fangs look kinda cute. Jesus, all I can do is blame the knock to my head and the truly fucked-up situation we’ve landed in.
“Yes, rabbits.” He appears thoroughly pleased with himself, sending Jamie a firm nod, his smile still in place. “InThe Last Stand, the deputy thinks there is a predator, but it is a rabbit. Arnold is not in this scene.” He shakes his head forlornly. “Now come. It’s safe here. My home. Follow my footsteps.”
Honestly, it’s a struggle to catch up. What’s with the Arnold Schwarzenegger fixation? I huff out a breath, my brows high. Alrighty then. Into the unknown with the Arnie fan we go.
CHAPTER
THREE
“Uhm….”I eye the array of instruments on the wall, holding Jamie a little tighter to my side. Either I’ve been a complete pushover and walked into this monster’s house—hovel… cave…?—only to have led us to a super bloody demise, or…. I have no idea how to complete that thought.
I can’t tell if it’s a shrine to a torture chamber or…. Yeah, I’ve still got nothing.
Movement drags my attention from the razor-sharp equipment. The nameless monster—assuming this creature has a name—moves closer, his golden eyes glinting as he notices me staring at the wall of blades and hooks. His heavy footsteps reverberate in the dim cave, and the array of muscles on display only adds to the sense that, yeah, I may have just walked into a death trap.
But then he speaks, his deep voice rumbling through the air like a crack of thunder—and I absolutely do not jump. “Ah,” he says, nodding towards the sharp, gleaming instruments. “You look at my equipment. Yes. It is for farming. And hunting.” He says this like it’s the most natural thing in the world, but I can’t help glancing back at the wall, specifically at a giant scythe that looks like it could decapitate a small car.
Sure, I have a rifle slung over my shoulder, but this looks like next-levelWolf Creekshit right here.
“Farming?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “With… those?”
The giant monster nods solemnly. “Yes. The crops here are… stubborn.” He pauses dramatically. “They fight back.”
Jamie, bless him, pipes up in the awkward silence. “Cool,” he says, his voice small, like he’s not entirely sure whether to be impressed or terrified.
“Cool,” the creature echoes, nodding sagely, clearly proud of his “tools.” “Very cool. InPredator, there are many tools for the hunt. I have… learned.”
Right. I can’t help it—my eyes dart back to the tools. There’s a fine line between “learning to hunt” and “preparing for an apocalypse,” and this guy’s straddling that line like an Olympic gymnast.
