Humans, the hunter suspected, had the most compromised immune systems. One that was easily triggered from injuries and illnesses which crept out of the dark and seemingly engulfed them whole rendering them useless.
He had known this for quite some time but having first hand experience had made him realize just the depths of sensitivity to their vessels.
This little bird was broken and sinking in a murk of fever.
His shadow cast a length of darkness over her frame hidden beneath the bed sheet as he stood by the bedside studying her with an empty, bottomless gaze. So black was his gaze that the lampstand's flame suspended in each eye, watchful.
A thin oil of sweat filmed her brown forehead and he considered dabbing at her forehead, but there was a transfixing way in which the rivulets of perspiration trailed down the delicate line of her temple which pulsed faintly from the artery just beneath.
Everything about her seemed so… fragile.
Breakable.
Pitiful, he mused as his eyes trailed over the slight length of her nose which seemed to slope slightly at the tip. The way her soot lashes fluttered restlessly as her eyeballs rolled back and forth in tandem to whatever dreams she was having.
He wondered just briefly what she might be dreaming about.
Hopkins, perhaps.
The thought made his mouth corner quirk in dull amusement.
Hopkins.
The hallucinogenic tentative cry of her voice as she called out to that person over and over, and sometimes he heard her whisper mum just at the threshold of his hearing as he stood outside the house whittling away at a pair of crutches.
"I told you…" there it was again. His eyes fixed on her face, the only hint of his inclination towards her voice was the glint of curiosity like a flickering light in those dark pits of eyes. She was mumbling again, and he wondered if she was naturally talkative.
She happened to be in her sleep.
The hunter walked out of the room and quietly shut the door behind him. His mind lingered briefly on her before moving towards other things. More important matters to be attended.
Such as her car.
It was still idle where he had left it. He had gone back twice now in the dark of night to search the vehicle thoroughly and remove all her articles, which were not many. He sorted through them with a careful eye and eventually placed them in a box by the doorway for when she woke and needed them.
Because she would need them eventually.
The stove top hissed as gas pumped out and he struck a match, lighting it as the glow briefly lit the sharp corners of his face then dulled.
Dinner would be simple tonight.
The sound of vegetables chopping, cans opening and gurgles of water boiling filled the house as he glided from one corner to the next, preternaturally reaching for condiments and ingredients, dumping them in the pot and stirring until the beans and beef began to take on a decadent color.
Within an hour he was standing by the doorway of his home leaning against the frame with the bowl in hand and tortilla. He scooped the beans with the tortilla and ate with eyes steadfast on the horizon watching as the sun slowly sunk to its knees and darkness pervaded the earth.
Hopkins.
Mum.
The girl had yet to wake up and acknowledge him.
Crickets and the croaking of frogs echoed in the darkness. He watched as a star and then another began to wink into vision, twinkling in the blanket of eternal night above them. The air was cool and he traced no other intruding scent.
Tonight would be quiet, he perceived.
There had been no wolf tracks around his traps and the collectors had not updated him on their needs. He assumed they were satiated by what he managed to get, and the wolves had slowly gotten the message to stay away.
For now.
The hunter glanced at his wrist watch. It was five minutes to nine. Pushing off the frame, he turned back in and shut the door with the back of his foot before heading into the kitchen.
Time paced itself as he wound down for the night, checking the locks and windows, drawing the curtains and satisfied by the security, he finally climbed the steps and drew a hot shower.
Afterwards he slipped on his shirt and pants and walked down the hallway with one hand toweling off his wet hair. Her bedroom door was still firmly shut.
He began to walk past it when his eyes flicked to it. His glance was brief, seemingly casual, and any other person would have continued on but for some reason the hunter halted.
He reached for the doorknob without thinking and twisted it. Then pushed it open.
The room was dark save for the golden hallway light which spilled in from behind him casting his ominous shadow across the room, its height stopping short of the bed frame.
He saw her before the light even reached her face.
And he knew.
Instinctively, or perhaps it was the bare shift of her breathing, irregular for someone who was sleeping– yet desperately trying to control it. It was the hick of fear, a slight chill of terror that came with the hush of her eyelashes fluttering shut.
The hunter's frame filled the width of the doorway as he stood there, eyes casually gleaning over the girl's slack face.
A little too flushed for fever.
A little too tense for slumber.
The niggling itch in his lower left rib cage returned and a gentle breeze seemed to curl along his nape raising fine brown hairs. The corner of his scarred mouth lifted in a baleful smirk, soft enough not to be seen but he felt it.
She was awake.
And what a good pretender she was.
For a drawn moment he considered letting her be, shutting the door firmly and heading back to his room where he would lie on his bed wide awake listening to the silent shuffling and pained moans of the girl as she tried to gain her bearings.
But he did not.
He looked at her fixedly– so fixedly that he noticed a deepening flush of chagrin cloud her ears.
"You've slept for quite some time."
His voice resounded across the bedroom and cut what little thread of tension that sustained the silence. It seemed to jar her awake for her eyes widened owlishly, and through the haze of sickness she stammered. "Where am I?"
One hundred miles within the dome of Lycanthrope territory.
With an ease that bespoke casual familiarity, he propped one shoulder against the doorway and looked briefly around the room as if the answer might conjure itself from the air.
When his eyes finally met hers, she flinched.
His mouth twitched. Poor birdie. "Daed town."
"Daed town?" A line of bemusement deepened between her brows and she glanced sideways at the table as she cleared her throat, licking at the cracks on her lips. He noticed the struggle of her movement, how her wounded hand curled into a trembling fist but she still could not lift it.
Poor broken bird.
Still, he was mildly surprised by the wall of pride that glazed over her eyes as they returned to him. She did not want his help, or maybe she didn't want him to see just how helpless she was on the bed.
Waking up in a random home within the territory of beasts that once hunted humans, he could not blame her self-preservation antiques.
"One hundred kilometers within Lycanthrope territory." He amended, watching closely for a reaction. And it came just as expected, that shiver of fear which surfaced beneath the proud mask before she could manage to shut the curtains again. "... happened to find you passed out in your car by the highway."
"Really?"A nod.
She bit her lip then swallowed and he watched her thin throat jerk spasmodically. Again her eyes drifted to the tall glass of water.
Her vision misted over as she sniffled and, after a long silence, she met his stare briefly. A touch and go. "Do you have my phone by chance?"
"I don't." He said, "your car is in tow and everything in it." As her face fell, and oh how it fell into gentle dismay, he felt something delicious in the base of his belly. These reactions were seemingly so normal and open but it had been so long since he had any kind of interaction, much less human, and this– despite her bedridden circumstance– was something he found himself quietly leaning into.
"Though I will be heading into town tomorrow."
Her face perked up, if it was possible with the sullen color. "I would appreciate it if you could bring…" that clouded expression and disconnected silence. It seemed her memory was murkier with the fever. "... whatever I may have left in the car?"
So unsure.
"I will."
"Thank you."
He stood by the doorway watching her steadily, and he had no reason to linger but there remained something unsaid… something either of them were leaning into but the prospect of it felt too intimate… and yet, they would be seeing each other more than often. He knew exactly what she was going to ask by the way her eyes flicked back to him then the bed or her broken arm in a cast.
She did not speak.
The hunter pushed off the door and tilted his head in a parting nod before pivoting on his heel.
"H-hey–"
He stopped but did not look back, not until she spoke.
"I'm Mykah…" that nervousness. He did not need to see her to know that she was biting on the corner of her lip, gnawing the skin to a tender bruise. "... yes," so unsure, "I'm Mykah."
The hunter hovered, then glanced over his shoulder at her. When he smiled she caught a glimpse of inhuman teeth. Sharpened canines.
"Ezekiel."