Unnatural Instinct: Blood Run

11.

You can't stay here.

It must be hours later and you're still awake. The flames of the torches and the little fire have burnt out, leaving only a small glow amid the coals cooling on the ground. The moon beams into your shelter, against the sea of pelts and the thick, hairy forearm draped over your waist. He hasn't moved, you haven't moved, and your body is starting to ache. But you resist the urge. If you turn, you might wake him, and then you'll have to start this all over again.

You can't stay here. No matter that he doesn't hurt you or holds you so tenderly. You're still here against your will. And despite all the uncertain and frightening emotions swelling inside you, he's only using you for one thing. You know what's going to happen. Once he's done with you, he'll abandon you like the rest of the women, and you'll be stuck with his offspring to grow and nourish back at the village. Just like your mother and grandmother and generations before them. It is the way of the males: to use and abandon. When all is said and done, you're just a piece of meat to him.

And yet, when you look down at his twitching fingers, your eyes swell with tears. His back is warm against yours. His breath is hot against your ear.

Closing your eyes, you bite back a sob. Lucky you do because it's at that moment he chooses to roll away from you. You freeze, listening. He grunts and licks his lips before his breathing falls back into its usual pattern of sleep.

So you wait.

More time passes, and slowly you sit up, watching him closely. He doesn't stir. Carefully, you ease yourself to your feet, keeping to a crouch due to the low height of the ceiling. Again, you watch him, and again he doesn't stir. Your heart's racing as you creep out of the shelter. As you step outside, you straighten your back and take a breath. The sky is clear, the moon bright—a perfect night to make your escape.

You glance down at your feet. He tossed away your shoes earlier that morning. Unlike him, your soles are soft. It's going to be hard and painful but what else can you do? Now that you're away from him, your skin turns cold and you wrap your arms around yourself. You contemplate going back for a pelt but quickly dismiss the idea. Just go. You won't die from the cold if you keep moving. Just go.

But what if he wakes up, discovers you're gone and comes after you? Your eyes fall upon the netting of knives hanging from the wall but you quickly look away. Not a chance. There's not a chance you could kill him. You're not barbaric like him.

There won't ever be a better time than now. He's cleaned away your blood. You still smell of his seed. Predators and rivals won't have you. You're the safest you'll ever be to try the forest on your own. And if he wakes up, so be it. What have you got to lose? It's not as though he'll eat you. You won't be any worse off, just back where you were at the beginning with fewer days to count down before he finally takes you for his own.

Biting your lip, you take one last look at him before hurrying away.

It's darker than you expected, the thick canopy blocking out much of the moonlight. In places it's so dark you have to feel your way through. You hadn't thought of that. Before you started, you had a vague sense of direction but soon you're very lost. You keep going, wiping the streaming tears from your face as you stagger and lurch. Every footstep is agony. Sticks and rocks and an assortment of unnamed prickly things stab at your soles. And soon, no matter whether the ground is soft or sharp, it feels like you're continuously walking on glass. And it's that which makes you suddenly stop. Not because you're lost, not because you can hardly see or because you're so tired you have to force your eyes open—physically you just cannot go on.

With a tearful gasp, you slump to your backside, leaning your back against the trunk of a tree. All you can do is wait for him to find you. Wiping at your eyes, you hold yourself. Since you're no longer moving, the cold readily sets in and soon your hands and feet are numb, except for the occasional throbbing pain that shoots through your toes.

You can't know how long it takes for him to get to you or how long you've waited, all you know is that you're asleep when he rouses you and it's still dark.

You blink at him as he crouches in front of you, his hands dangling between his knees. The moonlight filtering through the branches shines against his hair and eyes. He doesn't say anything and doesn't seem angry. He just looks at you with that strangely discerning gaze. You should hate him for what he's put you through but all you can feel is embarrassment, shame and disappointment. You always thought yourself so capable.

Without speaking, you turn your head away, gripping yourself as you shiver. His big hand touches your thigh and it feels astonishingly warm. Then he reaches out to touch your face. He gently takes your chin and turns your head. Your eyes meet. A tear rolls onto his fingers. He makes a sound in the back of his throat that's almost a whine.

Then his arms are around you and you're in the air. You can hear the snap and crunch of the sharp forest floor beneath his feet—it means nothing to him. He holds you close so your cheek is pressed up against his chest and the warmth of his body leaches some of the ice from your skin. He moves at a steady pace and you're comfortable enough that your eyelids droop.

By the time you return to camp, day is breaking. You catch a vague glimpse of the brightening clouds before they're replaced with the thatch roof of the little shelter. Carefully, he nestles you into the bedding of pelts, throwing several layers over you as he crawls in behind you and begins rubbing you down with his hot hands. He makes that whining sound again. Then his arms are wrapped around you and he's pressing his nose into the back of your neck.

You close your eyes.