Page 21 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

Once that’s done, I unroll a thin bedroll from my pack and toss it down in the driest spot I can find. “It’s not much, but it beats sleeping on damp leaves,” I say, straightening up and dusting off my hands. "Take it," I say, nudging it toward her with the toe of my boot. "You need the rest more than I do."

Aria shakes her head. “No, I couldn’t possibly… You should take it.”

My brow furrows as I tuck my hand behind my neck, massaging the tension there. “Nah. Trust me, I’ve slept on worse—tree roots, mud, a busted dock once, during a storm. You, though?” I glance at her shoulder. The bandage’s frayed edge is faintly stained. “You could use the cushion.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I catch her look. She’s torn between manners and misery. I cock an eyebrow, daring her to fight me on it.

Finally, she sighs and settles onto the bedroll with a wince. “All right,” she mutters.

“See?” I lean back on my heels. “You can be agreeable when you try.”

She rolls her eyes, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, but her body eases a little as she sinks into the fabric. I resist the urge to hover. Instead, I busy myself with rearranging my supplies, making sure everything is within reach if we need to move fast.

The canopy overhead rustles with the breeze, scattering flecks of sunlight. Aria tilts her head back, closing her eyes for a moment, and her posture loosens just a hair.

I lower myself onto a patch of dry moss and start working through my pack. Jerky, stale bread, one half-emptied tin of some questionable stew I’ve been avoiding. I chew a strip of meat slowly, jaw aching with each bite. My eyes drift back to her, just once. She hasn’t fed since earlier, and that rabbit I caught won’t keep her full for long. Not at the rate she’s burning through whatever energy it gave her.

Somewhere nearby, water trickles over stone—a stream, maybe. Good. That means I can wash up, clean the blade, and get a fresh drink before I go looking for another meal.

“Gonna need to get another rabbit,” I say, more to myself than her. My voice comes out rougher than I expect. “Shouldn’t be too hard, tracks looked fresh coming in.”

Aria blinks at me, then tilts her head. “You don’t have to—”

I cut her off with a sharp look. “I’m not letting you starve, Mouse.”

She huffs, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I wouldn’t starve.”

I snort. “You’d be miserable, though.”

That earns me a quiet glare, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she picks at the loose thread on her sleeve, thoughtful.

Silence settles between us, not uncomfortable, but heavy in its own way. I chew the last of my jerky, lean back against a moss-covered log, and let my eyes close for a beat. I can feel her watching me, just like I’ve been watching her. Not with suspicion anymore. Something gentler. Something stranger.

I could get used to this.

After a stretch of silence that hums low and warm between us, Aria speaks.

“You’re a lot nicer than you pretend to be, you know.”

I let out a bark of laughter, a bit too loud in the hush. “Nicer, huh? Don’t spread that around—I’ll lose my fearsome reputation.”

Aria actually smiles then, the tension on her face easing. It softens her, makes her look younger—though I know better than to trust appearances when it comes to vampires. They’re said to age differently, gracefully. Time barely touches them, smoothing away the years where it would carve lines into the rest of us.

Still, I wonder. Just how old is she? How long has she spent under her clan’s rule? The thought lodges deep. Heavy. Uncomfortable.

Before I can ask—before I can start peeling back things that probably aren’t mine to touch—Aria tilts her head and murmurs, “I don’t think anyone’s buying it.”

I blink. “Buying what?”

She huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Your fearsome reputation.”

I snort. “Is that so?”

She just smirks, arching one elegant brow in that way that makes me feel like I’ve already lost some unspoken game. She knows exactly how to get under my skin—worse, I think she likes doing it.

And gods help me, I think I like it too.

The air hums with the lingering warmth of the sun, but there’s a chill creeping in, threading through the trees like a silent warning that night is on its way. My focus lingers on Aria. The smirk on her lips, the way the tension that’s lived in her shoulders since we met has finally eased just a fraction.

---