Page 10 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

I swallow, tasting copper.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask softly, the question slipping from my lips before I can call it back. I’m not sure if I want to her to answer.

She glances away, as though my question unsettles her. “Couldn’t just…leave you there.” Her voice is gruff, uncomfortable. “I’m not a saint, but I’m not a monster, either.”

At the wordmonster, my breath catches. I glance down at my torn cloak, the dried blood crusted on the fabric. Monster. The word lands hard. My clan wore it like armor—like pride. We are the strong. The feared. We take what we want because it is our right.

But I never wanted to drink power like that. Never wanted to rule with blood on my tongue.

Roan leans forward slightly, resting one arm over her knee. “Anyway,” she adds, a short sigh escaping her lips, “if it makes you feel better, I’m not expecting anything. Just figured you needed help.”

The knot in my chest tightens. Relief and guilt twist together until I can’t tell which one is sharper.

“Thank you,” I whisper. The words taste foreign, like language I’ve never spoken but somehow still know.

She nods. Her shoulders ease, just a little, and the edge in her eyes softens. “Try to get some rest,” she says quietly. “I’ll keep watch.”

I cradle my injured arm close to my body and lean against the cold stone. Warnings clamor in my mind—don’t trust her, don’t trust anyone. Especially not a human with a sword and a voice that sounds too much like a lullaby in the dark.

But I’m tired. Gods, I’m so tired.

Overhead, the stars are fading, blotted out by the first dredges of dawn. I focus on the ones I can still see. I count them, one by one, as my breathing steadies. My eyelids slip lower, but not before the memory returns, uninvited. My mother’s face—sharp and cruel, her voice honeyed and hollow.

"Suffer now, or suffer later."

I grit my teeth and will the image away. The stars blur. The cold presses in.

And then…darkness.

***

I jolt awake to a soft rustling sound. The stone beneath me feels unfamiliar for half a second, and panic sinks its claws into my spine. My shoulder throbs violently beneath the bandages, and for one terrifying moment, I think I’m back at the estate.

I’m not.

A shape stirs in the dim firelight—Roan, crouched near the far side of the chamber, stirring the faint embers of a small fire. She glances back over her shoulder, her face drawn with fatigue.

“You’re alright,” she says, though it sounds more like a question than a statement.

My hands shake as I brace against the ground, dirt pressing into my palms. “Yes,” I rasp. “I just—thought…”

“Nightmare?” she asks gently, rising to her feet with a small grunt.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. My jaw aches from how tightly I’ve been clenching it.

She doesn’t push. Instead, she jerks her chin at the barely-lit sky. “Sun’s not fully up yet, but it’s close. Figured I’d warm things up for a bit. You were shivering.”

Gratitude and something else—an unnamed emotion—clench in my chest.

I brush damp curls from my forehead and try not to notice how badly my hands are shaking. I feel…hollow. Starving.

“Thank you,” I whisper again, and hate the way my voice cracks.

She watches me too closely. Her eyes narrow, studying the pallor of my skin, the dryness of my lips. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs, then adds more cautiously, “But you don’t look alright. You look—” She stops herself.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, too quickly.

She doesn’t argue. Just retrieves the canteen and holds it out again. “Drink.”

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