Page 48 of Mongrel
“True.” He loops his arm through mine. “How was your dinner?”
“Toasty. Buttery. Beany.”
Laughing, he tugs me closer. We are alone under the stars, as we often are. There aren’t many other travelers at night in general, and tonight there are none at all. The road is far too dangerous for night passage; it would be easy for horse, cart, or man alike to veer off into a muddy bog and get hopelessly stuck.
The storm’s damage will keep travelers from a quick passage for days. The debris in the road will have to be cleared before wagons can safely pass this section again. Perhaps that will help us catch up, as the detritus won’t slow down a vampire and a werewolf like it would a horse and cart.
As much as I enjoy the feel of him next to me, tonight we must strive for distance. I give his arm a squeeze before letting go and tugging off my hat and shirt.
“I do love this part,” says Bowie.
My cheeks warm. Even after he kissed me senseless, his attention still makes me bashful.
He takes my shirt and folds it, then packs it and my hat neatly into our bag. At this point, he’d often turn or avert his eyes, or at the very least, pretend he wasn’t staring. Tonight he stares brazenly, eyes roaming my torso with a flare of hunger. Or thirst.
My nipples harden under his loaded gaze.
He’s fed me; it’s only fair I offer to feed him. That’s what I tell myself when I step into his space and arch my neck.
Bowie staggers backward as if pushed. “Oh,” he says, his hand flying to cover his mouth. “Oh my. I can’t.”
“Of course you can.” My brows knit together. “You’re hungry. So eat.”
“It’s not so simple.”
“Why not?”
His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “What if I can’t stop?”
His fear is tangible, hovering in the air between us like fog. I want to squash it. “How often does that happen?”
Crickets chirp, filling the silence as Bowie’s expression turns sorrowful.
“Only once.” The words sound haunted as they roll off his tongue.
I suppose once was enough to fuel his terror for a lifetime. But there’s something I don’t understand. “Why would you be afraid of hurting me, but not Jakob?”
Bowie hugs himself and takes another step back as I step forward, shaking his head. “I don’t crave Jakob like I crave you, Andras. Please.”
Halting, I consider this. Bowie craves me? It seems too good to be true, and though I’ve had evidence of his desire, it’s still hard for me to believe. I want to help him with this block he has around feeding, but pushing anymore tonight feels overbearing. He’ll need time to trust himself as I trust him.
“All right, I understand. I’ll shift so we can be on our way, but, Bowie, when you’re ready, my offer stands.”
The effort he makes to nod is painfully obvious.
Melancholy stirs in me as I rouse the wolf. My poor Bowie must be hungry all the time. I’m resolved to help, but I get the feeling he won’t make it easy.
That’s all right. I don’t need easy; I just need Bowie.
Chapter 16
The next two nights are spent traveling to Pest. I pick up whiffs of the old scent trail on occasion, mostly where the girl snatchers stopped to relieve themselves, and the smells are strong enough to let me know we remain on the correct path.
I’ve become better at setting a quick pace, one I can maintain for hours without injury. Bowie insists on checking me over after each hunt and has forbidden me from tackling beavers, which is fine with me. I prefer rabbits anyway, and they have far less muscle with which to fight back.
There’s been no trace of Cecily’s scent, but I hadn’t expected it. I still think we’ll pick up her trail somewhere in Pest, and from there, either north to Csejthe or west to Sarvaar. Barring another drenching rain, determining the direction should only take a few hours.
We descend toward Pest. The walled city sits on the bank of the Danube River. A fog has settled over the land, and mist rises from the water in wisps and coils. On the far side, across a floating bridge, lies Buda, which makes Pest look small in comparison. A castle stands in the distance. We’ll journey over the bridge to Buda tomorrow night. Ivaz offered to arrange lodging for us in Pest at an inn called The Twig and Berries, so that’s where we’re headed—and in a hurry because it’s far too close to dawn for comfort.
