Page 12 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

I tap the edge of the stone with my boot, remembering the strange glint of her eyes and that moment I thought I saw something flash behind her lips—fangs.

Gods, I must’ve imagined that, right? Unless…

Vampire.

The word tastes wrong in my mouth, even in thought. Not because I haven’t heard it before—we all have, anyone who’s done time near the borders. Whispered rumors in taverns. They say vampires are fast, near-immortal, beautiful in a way that makes your spine itch. They drink blood, vanish into mist, and some—if the stories are to be believed—can walk under the sun.

Those are the dangerous ones.

Now I might be sitting ten feet away from one, if my suspicions are right.

I glance toward the firelight, toward Aria. She doesn’t look dangerous now. She looks like she’s hanging on by threads.

And if sheisa vampire, what then? Do I run? Drive a stake through her heart?

The thought curdles my stomach. She’s clearly in no state to attack anybody. She saved her own life by crawling here—barely. I look at her bandaged shoulder, thinking of how that thick blood seeped out.Different,that’s for sure.

Still, something doesn’t sit right. That wound on her shoulder? If she were really one of them, wouldn’t it have healed by now? From what I’ve been told, their bodies knit back together like torn cloth. But Aria bled. She bled a lot.

And now, hours later, she’s still weak. Still trembling. Still broken.

Unless she can’t heal. Not like this. Not when she’s too hungry.

The realization hits me low and hard, a cold weight in my gut. Too hungry to heal.

Shit.

My gaze flicks to her face again. Her lips are cracked, her color worse than it was. And if she is what I think she is—if she’s a vampire, and she's hungry—then we’ve got a problem. What happens when the hunger wins out? What happens when instinct takes over? My fingers brush the hilt of my sword instinctively, but I don’t draw it.

Because here’s the thing that matters: she hasn’t hurt me. She hasn’t even tried.

And if I leave her like this, she’ll die.

Aria stirs again. Her lips move like she’s speaking in a dream, but no words come out. I watch her brow furrow, see the flicker of fear pass over her face like a shadow. Another nightmare. And I’m just sitting here, arguing with my own damn conscience while she bleeds out beside me.

I sigh, dragging my pack closer, fingers brushing over the straps. Normally, I’d already be gone. Travel light. Don’t get involved. Don’t stay anywhere long enough to get entangled. But here I am, stuck in a half-collapsed ruin with a maybe-vampire whose name I only just learned.

And still, I can’t bring myself to leave.

Something in me wants to give her at least a chance—mend that wound, keep an eye out for whoever’s tracking her.

I rub my thumb over a seam in my glove, leather worn smooth from years of habit. Then I toss a stick into the fire, watching it spark and curl into smoke.

“Alright, Roan,” I mutter under my breath, “you’re in this now.”

If someone’s hunting her then I need to be ready. Not just for her sake, but mine. I won’t get caught off guard.

But who the hellishunting her?

That’s the part that claws at me.

Hunters? Mercenaries like me? Or is it something worse—her own kind? That thought sticks sharper than I expect.

I’ve never had to fight a vampire before.

The stories are always the same: faster than a blink, stronger than ten men, and clever enough to make you think you’re safe—until your blood’s already on their hands. But none of those legends account forthis. For a girl curled in on herself by a fire, clutching a bandaged wound, half-starved and shaking in her sleep.

She doesn’t look like something out of a nightmare. She looks like someone still trying to wake up from one.

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