Page 6 of Little Fangs

I stacked wood in the fireplace, feeling like I was on Survivor at final tribal, playing for my life whenever I made fire. I added the woodchips and the soft, dry bark I’d collected from the small deposit bag at the side of the fire. It was cheating, though, since I had a firelighter, and it caught fire instantly, ready to burn through the night.

“I’m ready,” Micah said, standing behind me as I was on my knees.

“Jeez,” I grumbled, grabbing my chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I’m sorry.” His expression wiped into a look of almost tears.

“It’s fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m just not used to sharing the space with anyone else. But you look good. Smell better too.”

His lips twitched into a smile. “Thank you. It’s kind of like wearing a tent.” He spun somewhat, letting the edges rise as if spinning in a ballgown.

“I won’t take offense to that,” I chuckled, standing in front of him. Considering our size difference, it must’ve been a carnival tent. “I’ll finish dinner. Are you good with boiled potatoes?”

“I think so.”

“Think?”

He shrugged. “Food isn’t important to my diet, and some foods make me queasy, but mostly because my stomach forgets how to process it.”

“Good to know,” I said, looking at his hair, sticking up, appearing dry. “Did you wash your hair?”

“Yes, Sir. I washed all over,” he said.

“You dry quick?”

“It happens.”

I wanted to touch it, but I refrained. “You get comfortable, and I’ll call you in when it’s ready.”

In the kitchen, there was a small dining table with boxes on it. I hadn’t eaten dinner there in a while, but for Micah I’d make an exception, and while both steaks were grilling in the pan with butter and some herbs from the garden, I cleaned the table.

“Smells so good,” he said, walking in with Misty leading.

“I guess Misty told you it was ready,” I said.

He snorted. “I think we’re becoming friends.”

Best friends by the look of it.

I grilled my steak a little longer than his, since he wanted—or needed—his bloody, and I liked a lot less of it.

“Thank you for everything,” he said as I plated both of our steaks with small, boiled potatoes. “It looks delicious.”

It was the first time I’d cooked for someone else in a while. It was nice to hear a compliment rather than Misty’s meowing pitching higher, as I assumed she was happy about the smell or taste of her food.

I wanted to know more about Micah, considering I’d never seen him around. I had questions, many of them, which I’d thought of and then forgot while I was working today, but I knew they’d come back to me. Most importantly, I wanted to know who he was running from yesterday. He didn’t owe me an answer, but it would be nice to know who was out there in my woods terrorizing people.

He was ravenous, biting into the steak and yanking it out of his mouth with the fork, the gold chain loosely wrapped around his wrist going up and down with each motion. And blood dripped down his chin. I reached out to wipe it, at least to stop it from getting on the clean T-shirt. Quickly recoiling my hand, I said, “I’m sorry. I’ll get you a napkin.”

“It’s okay, I—” He looked at the hunk of steak on the plate. “This is divine. I never usually get this much.”

“So, can I ask where you came from?”

Misty meowed from under the table. Micah stared at me, and the warm air around us turned cold. He stumbled over his words a moment before shaking his head.

I got him a napkin and tucked it into the front of the T-shirt, once more apologizing for touching him, but it was instinct, like he needed someone to take care of him. And in that moment, I knew I couldn’t send him back out there. I didn’t know who he’d be going out to—the wolves, the vamps, the witches? Whoever it was, they had him scared out of his mind.

“I think you should stay the evening,” I told him as I sliced through my steak and tucked in.