Page 10 of Scavenger's Oath
Like an animal!
I can still feel his touch on my skin, as if it burned through to my soul. The sharp slam of the cell door still rattles through me even now. His scent still lingers in the air around me, echoing his deranged words.
The skull mask was like a sick innuendo of the death he brought with him.
Three of them. All masked.
What kind of ugliness hides behind those masks?
My arms tighten around my knees.
Oh god, what now?
How long will it be until they kill me... or worse? Are these guys the cannibals that I was told about? Was that a barbeque that I was watching?
A soft thump from down the hall makes me jump out of my skin, my heart leaping into my throat. It’s probably nothing but my mind fills in the blanks with something worse.
Then I hear footsteps. Careful ones.
At the sound of the door creaking open, I freeze, sweat breaking out with renewed fear. The cot suddenly feels too small to hide on.
A huge shadow comes into view, and I find myself grateful there are bars to protect me.
If it’s Death again I’ll scream. I’ll fight. I can’t go frozen again like before.
As the shadow steps deeper into the room, the moonlight shining through the windows casts just enough light to illuminate the man.
Unmasked!
Not the face of Death, not the Devil… the Nightmare.
The mask is stuffed into the back of his cargo pants. That sack-like material unmistakable, just like his massive frame and the scars slashed across his lean muscles.
A large, jagged scar on the side of those washboard abs and another on his bicep with various smaller ones peppering his arms and ribs. As he steps closer into the light an oddly shaped scar, placed perfectly on his huge pectoral muscle, becomes visible.
Are those scars from his victims? From… eating them?
My stomach twists. Maybe that’s how they stay so strong—lock people up and eat them slowly. Keep their food alive long enoughto never go hungry.
His body is carved and defined in a way that makes my pulse skip. His skin, sun warmed, like he's spent days outdoors. Even in this lighting it seems to glow.
As my heart thunders in my chest, his face stuns me. Sharp features, chiselled jawline, high cheekbones, and luscious lips set in quiet concentration. His black hair, thick and tousled, falling over his forehead in an effortlessly perfect way.
He's terrifying, yes. But disturbingly beautiful. Like something dangerous you can't help but reach for.
My breath hitches as I press my back tighter against the wall and bring my knees up close, fearing that he might still be able to reach me through the bars in this narrow cell.
He stops abruptly, as if noticing my retreat.
“I'm not gonna hurt you,” he says softly, his voice matching his green eyes. Gentle, as if he’s trying not to spook me.
That’s what they all say, right before they do. But something in his voice doesn’t match the threat I was expecting.
He takes another tentative step, clearly trying not to make any sudden movements. That's when I notice something neatly folded in his hand.
A blanket.
“It’s cold,” he states quietly.
