Page 44 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

Slowly.

I remember what little I know about vampires and their healing—fast, near instant if they’re well-fed. I’ve kept her on a steady supply of rabbits. It should be enough.

“Let me see,” I say, setting my knife aside and leaning forward.

She stiffens. “It’s fine.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Humor me.”

Reluctantly, she shifts the fabric aside. My fingers hover, then brush the edge of the healing wound. Just a light touch. Gentle. Careful. Too careful.

Aria shudders.

Not a flinch, not a recoil. A shudder.

My breath catches. She’s warm. Unexpectedly so, considering. She feelsalivein a way I wasn’t prepared for.

Her body stills under my fingers.

I yank my hand away before I do something stupid, before I let myself linger and learn too much—like how she’d feel pressed against me, how the warmth of her skin would seep into mine.

“Not healing as fast as you should be,” I murmur, forcing my voice even.

She clears her throat, still not looking at me. “Animal blood isn’t as strong,” she admits, rolling her sleeve back down. “It works, but… it’s not the same as human blood.”

The words settle uneasily in my gut. I nod once, flexing my fingers, still tingling from the contact. “Guess that makes sense.”

She stands suddenly, too fast. “I’ll grab more firewood.”

I open my mouth to stop her, instinct ready to protest—she’s still not fully healed and I don’t want her out of my sight—but I swallow it. She’s trying to be useful. To keep some piece of control.

“Sure,” I say. “We’ll need fresh branches. We’re down to scraps.”

She disappears into the trees without another word, her cloak trailing behind her like smoke.

The camp feels colder without her. Emptier.

And I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, pressing a palm to the center of my chest like I can soothe the ache blooming there.

Maybe she needs the space.

Maybe I do, too.

I tell myself it’s responsibility. Duty. That I’m just doing what anyone decent would’ve done. But that excuse has worn thin—and now the truth settles in my gut like a stone.

It’s not just responsibility anymore. It hasn’t been for a while.

It’s crept in slow, like tidewater through a cracked wall. At first, she was just a girl bleeding out in ancient ruins, hunted, half-conscious, barely more than a whisper of a person. I couldn’t leave her there. So I didn’t. Then came the rationalizations—she was weak, I was capable. Keeping her alive made sense.

But now?

Now I watch her too closely. I know the way firelight dances over her skin like it belongs there. I know the exact shape her lips make when she’s lost in thought. I know the rare softness in her face when her guard slips, the quiet curve of her smile that undoes me more than any blade ever could.

And I know how she shuddered beneath my touch.

And how I want to make her do it again.

I exhale, sharp and unsteady, and drag a hand through my hair. The gesture does nothing to settle the fire under my skin.

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