Starve a Curse, Feed the Soul

Chapter Eleven: Surrendering

Swiftly swaying on dark, two-toed hooves and eight white claws, the Wendigo's keen, eager eyes followed the resolute prey slowly descend to his level, carrying his meat-filled bucket, a third time down the creaking, stilted stairs.

The beast licked underneath his slavering muzzle's flaps and teeth, all the way to his snout.

"MORE!"

The hauling woman scoffed gruffly as she returned to her previous spot of several meters away, as always.

She had stopped wearing the earplugs. Ever since her sneaky, crazy-ass cat slinked down the cellar, Summer wanted to be on the high alert for any more mishaps. Thus, her hearing was especially grateful that Ben had reduced his impatient howls and strident shrieks. There was the resounding roar of his demand, of course, but at least, his deafening bestial noise wasn't as consistent as it had been. Summer figured it was probably from the combination of adapting and expecting to be fed... and not wanting to tear up his throat from all the wailing.

Hell, the Wendigo probably had triple the amount of vocal cords with the creepy mimicry.

Carefully putting the pail down at her feet, Summer exhaled with relief that her strained back was no longer akin to overly pulled taffy.

"MOORE!"

"Yes, Ben. I've gotten your memo engraved on my throbbing skull," she muttered with eyelids screwed tightly, waiting for the internal ringing to wane off.

With a raring snarl, the pulling beast extended a shackled, lengthy arm as much as it would stretch for the unreachable, resolute prey.

Not wishing to redo the same trick twice to bring the stew to him, Summer had to rethink of another way without getting her hand ripped clean off in the process. The beast's hungry sights only considered her when she held the scent emanating bucket. So perchance, he was just focused on consuming the cooked human flesh that didn't make him develop tormenting growth spurts.

Despite the beast's main motivation for the odd, human-faux cuisine, Summer did not trust him as far as she could toss food at him. It was the equation of feeding a capricious crocodile. Yes, a huge, predatory reptile can learn to accept food from its handler, but the handler sure as hell doesn't put a hand in its mouth with the raw chicken.

The shade of the woman's hair may be light, but her voice certainly did not carry an Australian accent.

Summer ruffled the back of her curls. She really and truly had thought that over two hundred pounds of protein would be sufficient...

"MORRRE!"

And evidently, it was not.

After another couple minutes of temple tapping, the woman conjured up some possible distractions. She pretended to pull out a gravy coated chunk, and held it in a fist. Then, she mocked a throw across the near empty room to see if the beast would attempt a search for the made-up morsel.

Without a single jerk of his head, the Wendigo squinted his eyelids and blew a querulous snort.

He didn't buy it.

The tensed woman's shoulders jerked stiffly. Just as well. That would've seemed too easy for her liking, anyway.

With a mulled sigh, she bend over and plopped her hand in, once more, which prompted Ben to peer into his much chewed and practically destroyed, original red cylinder. He growled as he loudly hit the rims of the bucket with his claw tips, expectantly.

With a crooked frown, the woman shook her head.

Fast learning, smart-ass.

Summer glanced down at one of Ben's unnaturally long, middle fingers. The scratch that Posey had induced was fully healed. Even its outline was completely gone.