Before I can attempt to convince her of my word, and remind her that I, of all people, am aware of my father’s cruel wrath and that I am motivated best by thwarting him, Caz’s voice sneaks up on me.
“Hey, Malachi? Do you have a minute?”
I bolt upright and shove myself away from Fox’s cart. She doesn’t call after me or beg me to stay. She’s grown used to the solitude. It might even be the only time she relishes, if any time a noctis is near it means either acting on our behalf or facing the consequences.
My mind can hardly think about her now though, not while I follow Caz to wherever he’s leading me.
“You alright?” he asks, gesturing to Fox’s cart behind us.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, my clammy hands grateful for my brisk pace and the cool night air that slips between my fingers like a mountain spring. “What’s on your mind? Is everything alright?”
“With packing up camp? Sure,” he says casually. But then his face bunches in consternation. “But it’s not looking too good out there.”
“How do you mean?”
He scans the darkness around us, making sure Davorin or Harland haven’t snuck up on us—or worse, his own sister who has a tendency of finding us whenever we’re seeking a private conversation. Deeming the area safe, he brings his attention back to me. His gaze catches on my exposed chest. “Well, for starters, it doesn’t help that you fed while the rest of us have been starving ourselves for days.”
My worried eyes jerk down to the blood. “This? This wasn’t even a feed. When I pricked my finger to repaint the blood oaths on everyone, some of it must’ve dribbled on me.”
The human woman had believed it was from a kill too, and I’d let her. After all, she already thinks us monsters. Might as well use that to our advantage.
“I know that,” he says, pointing back toward camp. “But the others don’t. You put on a pretty convincing display, Malachi. Some of them are starting to wonder if they should follow your orders about leaving the prisoners alone.”
“They’re not even my orders!” I bark, the rumble of my anger seeming to rustle the very earth beneath my feet. Remembering Caz’s quiet tone, and his desire to have this conversation privately, I clench my jaw, furiously wiping away at the blood. “If Harland is hungry, we’ll catch him a squirrel or something. He is hardly a problem worth fretting over.”
“I think he is,” Caz insists, the seriousness of his tone causing me to pause. “Besides, it’s not just Harland.”
I meet his gaze then, and for the first time, I feel the heavy weight of his concern.
The others…who? I can hardly imagine Davorin struggling with the concept of self-control. He’s one of the most disciplined noctis I know, and he past that trait down to his own children, even if they abide by it with their own rules.
Though I could see her bemoaning our predicament and complaining if she thought I’d eaten while the others hadn’t, Renee wouldn’t dream of crossing my father or I, so I doubt she’s the one causing Caz concern.
Which just leaves…
“Ursulette and Rhain, then?”
Caz nods.
Neither are known for their hot tempers, not in the way Harland is. But coming between them and a feed is much like jumping into a pit of writhing, striking snakes.
I know how difficult it can be to endure the hunger. More than anyone. It was me, after all, who lived among the humans until I was a young adolescent. It was me who learned how to ignore my appetite in favor of the scraps my mother would procure for me from the butcher.
If I could go years without drinking a single drop of human blood, then my companions, my own friends and family, could endure a few short weeks. Especially my own cousin. She’s the only one among them who has any inkling of the kind of restraint it takes, for she is the only one to have lived among the humans as I did. At least for a time. Back when she was an adolescent herself and she’d wanted to find her human mother. My aunt. Halira Devonshire.
I forget how long Ursulette was away—half a year? Maybe longer? And in all the time that she scoured the realm for a mother she’d never had the chance to meet, she never fed upon a single human.
Not until she had to save a young noctis who’d found himself trapped by a mob of them.
My cousin saved Rhain from his own foolish demise that night, and she said that when she’d tasted human blood again, it was like an awakening. She’d made a vow to never return to that slumber again.
Still, I expected better from her, from all of them—with Harland maybe being the one exception.
“I’ll set things straight tonight,” I grumble, disheartened by the entire thing, but largely by my own high expectations. They’re noctis, after all. They’re hungry. They’re tired. And if they truly believed I’d fed without them, then it’s no wonder they’re upset. “We’ll be in Nigh soon. Surely, they know what sort of a feast awaits us after such a successful expedition. There will be plenty of time to indulge before the Hunt.”
“Not for all of us,” Caz says, a bit morose compared to his usual tone.
It’s not meant as an argument. I can tell he’s parroting back whatever conversations from the others he’s overheard. But I have no patience for it.
