Page 92 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

I can’t breathe.

We have to run. We have to get away.

But even if we leave now, what then? Another town, another stretch of endless road. More nights of Roan sitting with her back to a tree, sword across her lap. More cold, sleepless mornings. I can’t keep dragging her through this.

But if we stay, she’ll die.

Unless there’s another way…

The thought slithers through my mind, cold and sharp, and it stops me mid-breath. My fingers tighten around the edge of the table until the wood creaks beneath the pressure.

Another way.

I could give myself up.

The idea shifts deeper, wrapping around my ribs like a vice.

My mother doesn't want Roan. She never wanted anyone else—only me. It was always me. The rogue daughter. The traitor. The disappointment.The asset she let slip away.If I walked into her grasp willingly, she’d have no reason to hunt Roan.

Roan would live.

I’d make sure of it.

The panic that had been choking me shifts into something else. Something heavier. The weight of inevitability settles over my shoulders. My vision blurs, though whether from the tavern’s smoke or the sharp sting of tears, I can’t tell. My heartbeat slows, each thud matching the dull roar of dread in my ears.

Will I survive the clan again?I don’t know. But if it means Roan gets to live—gets to be free—I can endure it.

I swallow hard and glance toward the stairs.Roan won’t let me go without a fight.I know her too well now. Even half-weakened, she'd follow me. She'd tear through the night with that stubborn, unrelenting protectiveness that both infuriates me and makes me want to lean into her warmth.

Unless I slip away while she’s sleeping.

The thought lands like a stone in my stomach.

The ground tilts beneath me. I sit there, the tavern spinning around me, knowing that I’ve just crossed some invisible threshold.

Because now it’s not just a passing notion.

It’s a plan.

You said you wanted to protect her, I remind myself.Well, this is how.

The voices behind me grow louder, so I steel myself and swivel on the stool, mustering a friendly smile. “Excuse me,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “I couldn’t help but overhear. You’re talking about…vampires in town?”

The older man looks me up and down, and for a moment, my heart flutters in fear that he’ll notice something off about me. But he just nods, eyes glinting with the thrill of gossip.

“Aye, a group of ’em arrived a bit ago. Heard they’re staying at the old Miller house. Lot of commotion, or so folks say.”

“Right,” I murmur, gripping the tankard handle to steady my shaking hand. I force my voice to stay even. “Where exactly is the Miller house?”

The table quiets. Three sets of eyes land on me, suddenly more curious than before. The woman closest to me frowns. “Why’re you asking?”

“I just want to avoid it,” I say quickly, fumbling for the lie. “If there’s trouble, I’d rather stay clear.”

They exchange glances, and finally the older man huffs. “Western edge of town, just past the wind-bent pines. Looks abandoned, but don’t be fooled—folks keep their distance for a reason. Even without vampires in town, that place draws trouble. Wrong-doers, squatters, folks with nowhere else to go. Some say it's cursed. Others say it’s just unlucky.”

My mind races, breath growing shallow.They’re so close.

“They’re not to be trifled with,” the woman adds, shooting me a wary look. “Best keep to yourself. Last thing you want is vampire blood on your hands…or yours on theirs.”

---