Page 65 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

Iglanceupfrommy half-finished meal, absently rolling my tankard between my hands when movement at the bottom of the stairs catches my eye. Aria.

A flicker of warmth stirs low in my chest before I can stop it—a remnant of the night before, of waking tangled in her warmth, of the soft sound of her breathing against my skin. The memory is dangerous. Too easy to sink into.

She stands frozen at the landing, dark hair slipping forward as she peers into the common room. But something’s wrong. The relaxed ease of waking beside her is gone, replaced by a tightness in her posture, the way her fingers clutch at the banister like she’s bracing for a blow.

My stomach knots.

Then, as if deciding something in an instant, she turns on her heel and disappears back towards our room.

The warmth from before vanishes, replaced by cold unease curling in my gut.

What the hell was that?

I barely have time to register the weight in my gut before the conversation at the table beside me cuts through the tavern’s background noise.

“—bounty’s high enough to turn anyone’s head.”

I still.

“Vampire girl, dark hair. Some noble’s runaway brat. Word is, the clan wants her back alive.” A rough chuckle. “Alive don’t mean whole, though.”

Ice floods my veins.

Shit.

I’m on my feet before I have time to think, my chair scraping loudly against the wood. Grabbing my pack, I sling it over my shoulder. My instincts scream at me not to attract attention, but my movements are too hurried, too sharp. The table discussing the bounty—two men and a woman, all dressed in worn traveling leathers, blades strapped openly at their hips—continue their conversation, oblivious to the way my pulse thunders in my ears.

“—last sighting was a town over. They’re closing in.” The woman speaks in a low, confident drawl, tilting her tankard to her lips. “She won’t last long on her own.”

The larger of the two men chuckles, a rough, unpleasant sound. “Doesn’t have to. Not when she’s worth that much coin.”

The third scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “If it’s smart, the leech will let itself get caught by its own kind. Better that than the alternative.”

A sharp laugh. “What, someone like us getting to her first?”

My fingers tighten around the strap of my pack, breath slow and controlled despite the fire curling in my chest.

I slide the empty bowl of stew and half-empty tankard back toward the barkeep with a curt nod. He barely glances at me before turning to another patron.

I take the stairs two at a time, heart slamming against my ribs.

Mouse.

What the hell are you doing?

I push the door open without hesitation, already bracing for the worst.

Aria stands at the small table, shoving items into her pack in frantic, uneven motions—an extra cloak, the handful of coins we looted. Her hands tremble as she works, but the moment she hears me, she goes still.

Slowly, she straightens, her shoulders tense.

And when she turns, I see it—the guilt flashing in her eyes, raw and undeniable.

Just like that, every suspicion rattling in my head is confirmed.

“You’re leaving,” I say flatly, voice rougher than I intend.

She clutches her pack to her chest, lips pressed into a thin line. “I—yes,” she admits, stumbling over the words, raw and hesitant. “It’s for the best.”

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