Page 15 of Some Like it Violent

He was silent for a moment, his eyes locked on the jar before looking at my face, studying me. “Whatever you cook, I’ll appreciate it,” he said, his tone holding this strange, dark gratitude that made my stomach twist.

And then he turned and left to take care of the fire, and I stood frozen, staring down at the dried hemlock. I could picture him eating the meal I’d make, his sharp jaw tightening as the poison worked its way through him. I could imagine him slouching forward before falling to the ground.

I could imagine poisoning him… just like I had my father.

But that hadn’t just been about self-preservation—it had also been about vengeance and justice.

And as I stood there, my fingers tightening around the jar, I couldn’t shake the gnawing, treacherous thoughts that this didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel like something I had to do to be safe, and I didn’t know why I felt so strongly about it.

For some reason, Ireallydidn’t want to see Kane broken and lifeless.

I closed my eyes and listened to him in the living room. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but it traveled through my very marrow, and I wanted it to grow until it consumed all of me.

I craved the monster in my home.

I swallowed hard as I put the jar back in the cupboard and grabbed a different one, this one containing driedSalvia divinorum. I didn't want to kill him, but I needed to change the power dynamic.

With that thought—and plan—in mind, I started my task of making dinner.

9

KANE

Ifinished with the fire, making sure there was enough wood to last through the night and early morning. To my surprise—and slight disappointment—she hadn’t tried running.

The hunter in me wanted to chase her.

Dinner was quiet except for the sound of our silverware lightly making contact with our plates. The storm was fierce, and the wind howled outside. Evelina sat across from me at the small wooden table, and I could see that she was nervous. It was understandable, although I hadn’t touched or hurt her.

I watched her like a hawk though, and I noticed her movements were deliberate as she cut into her steak as if she were trying to appear relaxed. But she’d occasionally glance up at me from under her lashes before quickly looking away when she saw I was already watching her.

But her discomfort didn’t bother me. I couldn’t blame her. After all, she was a prisoner in her own house, and I was the one keeping her captive.

Still, there was something about her right now—something that had my instincts prickling.

It was the way she held herself.

The way she kept glancing at me without meeting my gaze.

How she nibbled at her bottom lip, and how her hand lightly shook every once in a while as she used her fork.

But she could try to act like she wasn't bothered all she wanted. I was a predator and could scent fear and unease from my prey.

I focused on the meal she prepared for us. I couldn't remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal, and the fact that she prepared it for me had something in my chest tightening.

The steak was cooked perfectly, and the mushroom gravy was rich and flavorful. She’d taken care of me by cooking this meal for me, even if she hated me for keeping her as my prisoner.

“This is good,” I said, breaking the silence. I kept my voice low and rough, my focus on her. “Never had such a well-cooked steak.”

She didn’t respond, just speared a piece of meat with her fork and brought it to her lips. Her movements were slow, deliberate.

Too deliberate.

“Thank you,” she finally replied and glanced up at me, holding my gaze with her own.

We didn’t speak while those words seemed to hang between us.

I cleared my throat, leaning back in the chair. “I meant what I said. I’ll keep my word. I won’t hurt you.”

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