The Hunger

I woke up to the scent of blood. Getting up, I went out to the living room to see what was going on. Wolf must have gone hunting, because when I looked out the window, I saw that she wasn’t alone. A shirtless man was bound by his wrists and dangling from hook of the carved post.

She was in front of him, dancing while classical music played from… somewhere. It sounded like it was all around us. Her movements were wild, extending her limbs to leap and twist in ways a normal person couldn’t. Dude already had a few cuts on his chest and stomach, and as Wolf twirled, she stuck out a claw to add another. He probably would have been screaming, but his mouth was sewn shut. 

I’ve never enjoyed torturing people (except for Carmine, but that piece of shit deserved everything he got). I took part in it when Wolf wanted me to, of course, but I never got anything out of it like she and Fell did. In that moment though, as I watched her violent dance, I felt the hunger.

She suddenly moved closer to the guy and, with one hand, began to slowly drag her claws down his chest. I could practically taste his blood as I watched it spill. I imagined the sensation of biting into him and indulging every fucking one of my senses with his pain. Despite that, I forced myself to turn away. Looking down, I saw that my own hands were bleeding. I had apparently formed claws without realizing it and dug them into my palms. Needing some kind of relief, I licked my blood off them as the little cuts sealed themselves up.

I lit the wood stove to cover the scent of blood with the smell of smoke. Then I went back to the window and, without looking out again, closed the curtains. That, along with the taste of my own blood wasn’t enough to satisfy the hunger but it took the edge off so I could bear it until Wolf was done feeding hers.