Page 50 of Starve
“That’s the only way you can die?” I breathe softly, not realizing how close I’m leaning. “Tear out your heart or cut off your head? That’s very vampire-lore of you.”
He snorts, shaking his head, and Cairo releases himself from my hand to settle back on my stairs, where he’s definitely getting blood all over the wood. “I suppose setting me on fire would work. We are quite flammable. But because of that, it’s not something we’re willing to do to each other.” When Cairo heaves himself to his feet, I’m up with him, immediately gripping hiswrist even though I know I couldn’t stop him if he wanted to shake me off.
“Wait,” I breathe. “Please don’t go.”
He wavers. I can feel him consider my words even as he stares thoughtfully at the trees. But when I tug lightly on his arm, Cairo pauses, giving me a look over his shoulder. “Just for now,” he agrees at last, seemingly unsure of the commitment. “I have to eat in the next day or so.”
“I could fix…” I trail off when I realize how stupid that sounds, and his eyes narrow as he pins me with his amused gaze.
“No, little bird. I don’t think you want to be involved in my meal plans.” He rolls his shoulders with a grimace that only makes fresh blood soak into his shirt, and I hear the grating groan in his throat from pain.
“Come on.” Before he can change his mind, I pull him up the stairs, though he’s definitely putting in all the work for himself. He doesn’t need to lean on me, or even really need to let me pull him along, as my blood-slick fingers fumble at the unlocked back door. I can hear his derisive scoff, and I’m sure he’s burning to tell me something about my lack of common sense.
But honestly, it appears I forgot to lock it after letting Moro out for the last time before bed. “God, you’re such a mess,” I mumble, when I’m able to see him in the low light from the living room lamp. He turns away from it, eyes squinting shut, and it gives me time to catalogue his wounds.
“Your clothes are wrecked,” I add. “I don’t suppose you have some secret stash nearby? Surely you don’t just roam naked in the woods when you aren’t, I don’t know, terrorizing people or living in asylums for fun?”
Cairo snorts. But let’s me drag him back to my bathroom, the same place I first brought him when he showed up here injured and filthy. Though this time is definitely worse, and I’m not quiteas afraid of his sharp edges as I had been then, though it’s only been such a short amount of time.
“Cairo…” I sigh as I look at him in the light from my bedroom, having not turned on the bathroom light. He prefers the dark, and I would be able to tell even if he hadn’t told me so. Unfortunately, I don’t have magic—or cursed—glowy eyes, so I need at least a little light to see him by. Just like last time, Moro hops up onto my bed, stationing herself as lookout even though she’s curled up in my usual spot instead of standing sentry duty.
“What’s wrong, little bird?” He flashes his fangs at me in a grin, and obediently leans down so I can peel his mangled shirt off over his head. “Don’t like what you see?”
“Of course I don’t like seeing you all fucked up,” I’m quick to snap, though my voice is light and without any real malice. “You don’t think he’ll come here, right? To like, finish you off?”
Cairo shakes his head. “Tyler doesn’t know where you live, or I wouldn’t be here. And he’s never been a good enough tracker to find anything. Except for Hattie.” He rolls his eyes. “I think she’s some kind of magnet for him, but that’s not important.”
I want to ask more about it, but I file away my questions for later. He’s right. It’s unimportant right now, when I’m much more concerned forhim. “Why didn’t you do what he did?” Once I’ve got the shower on and heating up, I carefully unbutton the front of his jeans. Cairo stiffens, though I can’t tell if it’s from the question or my bold, unhesitant actions. His fingers find mine, and when I look up at him, I see a glint of surprised amusement in his face.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you naked, obviously.” I roll my eyes, and his smirk grows.
“Oh yeah? You’re the one in charge now?” He’s avoiding my question, and I tug on the front of his jeans, though he isn’t exactly putting up any kind of fight. I swear I hear apurring sound in his throat, and his hands drop to my elbows, encouraging my actions as I peel his jeans down his bloody thighs, along with his underwear.
It’s the first time I’m really seeing him, without the haze of heat and passion and tinge of fear the other night. My gaze flickers to every part of his olive skin, whether it’s bloody or clean, and with his jeans at his knees I reach up to trail my fingers over the v of his hips and upward. “Why didn’t you want to hurt him?” I ask, more direct this time.
“Last I checked, I wasn’t just batting at him with sheathed claws,” Cairo snorts indignantly, reaching out to tap my cheek with his fingers that end in sharp, bloody nails.
But I just look at him, undeterred. “Liar. I don’t know a lot, but I’m not stupid. I watch Animal Planet.” That gets an eye roll from him that speaks volumes. “He was trying to kill you.” I gesture to his neck for emphasis, and then poke at his chest, beside the worst of the claw marks. “You said earlier that the two ways to kill you are decapitation or ripping out your heart.”
He looks sullenly away from me, toward the shower, then back at me with all the innocence of a puppy who’s just eaten my shoes. “Shower’s gonna get cold,” Cairo remarks weakly.
“Then let it. Why were you trying not to hurt him when he wanted tokill you?”
I don’t know why I’m expecting an answer. Even standing there and glowering at him, he doesn’t look like he’s about to back down. Instead he sighs, casting his gaze up to the ceiling. In a sudden flurry of movements, he strips me out of my clothes just like I’d done him, amidst my yelps of disagreement and my hands trying to fend him off.
But I suppose fair is fair. Especially when he hoists me against his chest and steps into the shower, under the hot spray that immediately has dark blood cascading in rivulets down my drain. “You’re gross,” I tell him, staring down at the blood andwater eddying around my feet. He just purrs a laugh, reaching out to comb his fingers through my loose, blonde hair. “Why won’t you answer me?”
Cairo continues what he’s doing, until he has me up against the wall with his face pressed to my neck and his hands on my hips. He reminds me of a giant cat trying to get closer, trying to touch every part of me he can. But this isn’t about me, when he’s so injured. It takes a few seconds for me to push him off, especially when I want him right here, with his body covering mine. Iwanthis oppressive warmth, and his touch that’s so different from anyone else’s I’ve ever felt. I love his quiet ferocity, his feral nature, and everything about him I’ve come to know so far.
But I want to take care of him.
“Stop trying to distract me. If you aren’t going to answer me, just, I don’t know, purr more,” I complain. I manage to push him lightly against the wall of the shower, conscious of his wounds even if he isn’t. Cairo watches me, a question in his glinting eyes, as I smooth my hands over the uninjured planes of his hips.
“Let me help you.” It isn’t a question, and just barely a request.
“You don’t have to,” Cairo replies, in an echoing tone that sounds so much like my own voice it sends a shiver down my spine to hear it.
