Ezra
“You’re a man,” she says, but I don’t move.
“Did you get any in your mouth?” I ask her, ready to force her to puke if she’s ingested any of the most poisonous berries on the planet.
“What?”
“In your mouth, woman!” I practically scream, but I reel in the crazy. I can’t freak out on this stranger, even if she is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“No!” She yells, but I grab her jaw and force her mouth open the way I would a small animal. She protests loudly and tries to fight me, but I’m much bigger and stronger than her. She doesn’t have a chance. I pin her down and manage to see inside of her mouth. Once I’m satisfied that there are no berries on her tongue or in her cheeks, I let go of her mouth and climb off of her. She jumps to her feet.
“All right, you’re safe,” I say, but I’m not prepared for the sharp slap across my face.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She asks, rubbing her jaw. She glares at me like I’ve somehow betrayed her, like I’m a monster, like I’m a beast.
“Damn it, woman!” I rub my face. She’s a tiny, scrawny girl, but she can hit. Fuck, can she hit. “What was that for?”
Her jaw drops. “What do you mean, what was it for? It was for tackling me, pinning me down, and forcing my mouth open like I’m some sort of cat. I’m not a cat; I’m a girl, and I don’t appreciate being treated like that by some stranger.”
So that’s the way this is going to go, eh?
“Listen here, girl,” I growl through gritted teeth. I stand up tall, making sure I’m showing off my full height. I haven’t been around many humans. I certainly haven’t been around one who wasn’t afraid of me. This girl? She’s not afraid of me. It’s quite strange, really. “Those berries are the most poisonous food on the entire planet. If you eat one, you’ll be dead in minutes. Do you understand?”
She has no idea how close she just came to death. She has no idea that I just saved her damn life. How would she? This is the type of woman who comes from privilege, from wealth. She’s probably lived a sheltered life where the biggest problem she’s ever had to deal with was which color dress to wear.
“Fuck you,” she spits out. She turns around and starts marching off along the creek. She’s got flimsy shoes on and her shoulders will be covered with bug bites before the sun sets in a shirt like that, but somehow, all I can focus on is the curve of her ass in those tight pants.
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath as I watch her walk away. She’s angry and upset, but she still walks with a sway. She still walks with the confidence of a woman who is used to getting what she wants. She still walks like she wants a damn spanking, and fuck if I’m not the one who wants to give it to her.
I should let her go.
I should let this human wander off in the woods and get eaten. I should let her discover that the jungles of Sapphira are not a tourist destination. I should let her find out just how hard surviving really is.
There’s just one problem: I don’t want to.
I don’t want to let her go.
I don’t want her to get hurt.
I don’t want her to discover that the world is a dark and dangerous place.
I don’t want any of that.
This woman, this human, is delicate. She’s soft and sweet and adorable. There’s something about her that calls to me, that makes me curious. What the hell is she doing in the middle of the jungle without so much as a canteen? What is she doing without supplies, without proper shoes?
Where did she come from?
And why is she here?
I start walking after her, but don’t say anything. After a few minutes, she seems to notice I’m trailing her. She turns around and glares at me. Then she starts walking faster, but only slightly.
I keep up easily.
My legs are longer than hers, and stronger. I’ve been on Sapphira for years and if I had to guess, I’d say she’s from Mars or another modernized planet that doesn’t have jungles or wilderness like this. I’d guess she’s from a place where she stays mostly indoors, where she doesn’t have to work hard.
I’d say she’s from a place that doesn’t even know about Sapphira, if I had to guess.
I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. Years of hunting has made me observant. It’s made me cautious. It’s made me aware. If you’re going to hunt something, if you’re going to catch something, you have to stay ahead of the game. You have to be ready for anything and you have to be able to predict the movements of your prey.
You have to be prepared.
But when the woman suddenly stops, turns, and starts running toward me with a loud scream, it’s safe to say I am not prepared. I don’t move as she barrels into me and starts pummeling me with her tiny fists. It doesn’t hurt and I’m more confused than injured.
“Why are you following me?” She screams. She punches my chest. Punch. Punch. Punch. “Go away and leave me alone! I don’t want you here! Go away!”
She yells and starts to cry, but soon her tears become too much for her and she stops hitting me and just keeps crying.
“Why is this happening?” She says, sounding defeated. Then she sits down at my feet and wraps her arms around herself and just cries.
And cries.
And cries.
And I don’t know what to do with her. I don’t know how to handle this sort of situation. This is unlike anything I’ve ever dealt with before. Animals are easy, predictable. Each type of animal has its own behavioral patterns that rarely vary or change. Whether I’m hunting in the northern or southern parts of the jungle, I can figure out how the animals will behave depending on the weather, the noise levels, the wind. I can predict these things and I can catch my prey accordingly.
This woman, though?
She’s nothing like what I’m used to hunting.
And hearing her cry makes me feel a little sad.
It shouldn’t. I don’t know her. She’s not Hayden or Quinn or Fiona. Hell, she’s not Gaz. I don’t have any emotional attachment to her, so it doesn’t make sense that I would feel anything for her.
Quinn is the gentle one, the compassionate one. My brother has a heart bigger than I can possibly imagine or understand, but I’m not that way. I’ve never been that way. No, I’m cold and calculating. I’m a hunter through-and-through. I’m cautious and callous because I have to be in order to catch my prey.
It’s the way I was built.
But seeing this little human is making me feel things I’m not prepared to feel. I don’t like the way she looks when she’s sad. I don’t like that I’ve frightened her. I don’t like that I’ve made her feel scared.
So I do something I shouldn’t do, something I wouldn’t imagine doing in a thousand years. Instead of leaving, instead of abandoning her, I sit down in front of her, pull her easily into my lap, and wrap my arms around her.
I don’t speak and she doesn’t resist. She just keeps crying and I’m not sure what to do. The only female I’ve ever held like this is Hayden. My little sister has been to hell and back again in her young life, and there was a period when all she did was cry. After her kidnapping, I used to hold her while she sobbed. I would rub her back and I would sing to her.
Maybe that will work on this little human.
I pull her closer to myself.
I’m sweaty and covered in dirt and grime and jungle, but she’s dirty, too, and she doesn’t seem to mind the fact that I’m not pristine. Maybe she’s not as big of a snob as I thought.
I begin to rub her back and she tenses slightly, as if she’s surprised at the touch. Her sobs slow a little bit, and I feel relieved. Good. This is working. I rub her back with my hand and try to remember the words to the song Hayden loves so much. My sister is very particular about her music and when she was lost and hurting, she was even more insistent on keeping things a certain way.
I had to sing the same damn song every time I held her.
Now I sing to the human.
“When you were lost,” I begin. She instantly stops shaking and her sobs downgrade to sniffles. “You were never alone. You were never on your own. You were never truly lost, you know, because you were always in my heart.” The words come back to me and the melody carries in the air.
The jungle seems to grow smaller, more quiet, as I sing to the girl in my arms. After a moment, she rests her head against my chest, but I keep singing, keep rubbing her back, keeping touching her while I finish the song.
There’s something different about this girl, there’s something special that makes me want to know more about her. Why is she here? Why is she in such a rush? More importantly, where is she going?
Or what is she running from?
I realize suddenly that maybe I had her pegged wrong. Maybe she’s not here to ruin my hunting expedition or to explore the woods. Maybe she’s here because she doesn’t have a choice. Maybe she’s here because she’s afraid. Maybe she’s here because someone is after her.
Maybe that’s why she doesn’t have a bag.
Maybe she’s on the run, maybe she’s scared, and maybe she’s being hunted by something worse than me.
I pull her closer and I keep singing.