Mykah had a tendency to doze off as old people did, suddenly and heavily, her sleep only separated from the waking world by the thinnest of veils.
It was hard to stay up because of the fever, and most times she drifted off only to jerk awake from a startling dream or a thirst that seemed unquenchable.
Her dreams were vivid and terrifying to say the least. Many times images of wolves chasing her or a python yawning its toothless jaw open at her in a ghastly slow manner that had her snapping awake glistening in sweat.
Today was no different.
Her eyes snapped open and she felt the galloping of her heart within the trembling walls of her ribcage. She was lying on her side and, as her vision cleared, she noticed a rag had been placed on her head. It was still cool to the touch with rivulets of water trailing down her hair.
Mykah reached up with her good hand and touched it then slowly pulled away and reached for the glass of water with a straw in it.
That's when she heard the door open and shut downstairs.
He's home.
She had no discernible reason to be afraid of the man, yet the wariness crept in and had taken up residence in her mind, acknowledging itself every once in a while.
Such as now.
The steps seemed to recede downstairs before they began to ascend the stairs. Rearranging herself on the bed, Mykah shut her eyes and measured out her breathing hoping it would not seem so noticeable.
A part of her, the delusional, hoped he would pass her by.
The doorknob began to turn.
Her heart did a treacherous leap and she could all but play unconscious as the figure stood by the doorway, hovering there just watching her. She fought the urge to swallow the thickening saliva, tried not to make any movements, yet the curious part of her peeked through her lashes just enough to see him from the waist down.
Ezekiel, it seemed, really liked leather belts. The one he wore today was brown and woven through a simple pair of jeans that seemed to have seen better days. Yet he looked clean.
She dared not look above his waist, even as he stepped into the room with casual ease and began to move around adjusting this and that.
Where did you go?
Suddenly his silhouette appeared by her bedside and she tried not to flinch. She hoped he could not hear her heart thrashing about.
He hovered before her, and she realized that he did that very often. Hovering. Waiting. Stalking. The scent of him was redolent of the woods he must have been walking through the whole day, and underneath that was something smoky and distinct, as if he had been sitting by a fire sipping something bitter.
"How do you feel?"
He spoke so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that she could not help but flinch away. And to mask the reaction, Mykah feigned a sleepy blinking expression while avoiding his gaze as a chagrin flush dotted her cheeks.
"Woah," she began awkwardly, "... you scared me for a moment."
Ezekiel's eyes clasped hers, and he tilted his head in dry amusement as if to say. Did I now.
"Um," he was tall. Lycanthropes, according to her research, were a good six feet plus averaging seven feet while their women would sometimes tower above the men. They were colossal beings. She could see it now with him so close to her, from the width of his shoulders to the smooth length of his powerful legs clad behind those faded jeans.
Mykah shifted on the bed, "I'm okay…" she bit her tongue and sucked on it. He took his time looking at her, really looking and she realized that the sweat on her forehead was evident of the fever, she wondered just how bloodshot her eyes were.
And could he make out the dull thumping of pain that continued unabated behind her eyes?
When he spoke, his voice had taken on a tidal calm. Something almost pitiful, or a mimicry of it. "You haven't drank your water."
Oh.
Mykah's eyes fleeted to the glass still sitting by the nightstand just out of reach. Her fingers in the cast twitched and she looked at the blanket while pulling at one of the loose threads suddenly sullen. "Couldn't use my broken arm…" she paused and squinted up at him briefly, meeting those dark amber eyes then away.
Why was it so hard to meet his gaze?
It's not like he's a murderer.
No, he's a goddamn lycanthrope.
Lord knows what he eats for dessert.
Children, possibly.
"Would you like some help?"
Removed from her thoughts by his consideration, she appraised him with a single hesitant glance then looked at the glass just sitting there, taunting her shrunken shrivelled mouth.
The battle was short lived. "I would appreciate it."
She had not thought far enough to consider what he would do to help her. But when he began to bend over her and with one smooth motion slipped an open cool palm behind her shoulder, raising her into an upright position, Mykah stiffened and clasped at his wrist with her good hand.
The sudden change in position left her dizzy and she swayed slightly in his grip before steadying herself as blood rushed upwards.
She avoided his face as he scooted her back onto the headboard.
Clearing her throat, Mykah offered a simple nod while fixing her gaze on the glass of water. "Thank you."
He handed her the water and she sipped at it with the straw, tentatively at first, testing the limits as the cool moisture flooded her mouth. But then the thirst broke through and she began to drink at it gluttonously, focusing on the water in hand and not the lycanthrope that was standing there. Hovering, and watching with what seemed to be amusement capering behind those dark eyes.
It was satisfying. Like a dying man that happened to stumble across an oasis in the desert, she drank the glass empty until only slurp slurp sounds echoed.
Mykah stared at the light glass in her hand conflicted, her mouth now wet and glistening, before tentatively lifting it as an offering to him.
"Do you mind–" his hand closed around the glass before she could finish, long fingers brushing over hers with casual intent, she felt the roughness of his touch and then he was withdrawing the glass and heading out of the room to refill it.
Mykah watched after the back of his grey cotton shirt with a sweat stain at the centre. Her face turned towards the window which had curtains drawn over it making it near impossible to see outside.
How far am I from the dome?
Daed town. He had mentioned it to her before and she hadn't seen that town on the map while studying it, which made her wonder just how far she had gone into the dome.
A cold finger touched her spine and she shivered for no particular reason. It's the fever. That's all it was really.
Once she was well and dandy enough, she'll ask him for a ride into town to pick up her car and head back on the road for humanity. Out of this forsaken, closed-off region that belonged to cursed beasts.
Ezekiel returned with a glass of water and a plate of sliced fruit. The sight of it awakened a hunger in her that had quietened from the sickness. As if her body realized she was just that… a body with needs.
"Do you like fruit?" The question was unexpected and Mykah's hand hesitated halfway from the glass he was holding out to her. She met his eyes then cut to the plate with a sparse amount of fruits in tentative placing.
A small banana cut into bite size circles and a red pawpaw. Soft feeds.
"I do, yeah." Reaching for the plate she drank the water first until her thirst was mollified, then began to eat the banana, chewing it slowly while aware of his presence drifting along her periphery as he moved to the seat in the corner.
She ate.
He watched.
The pawpaw was sweet in her mouth and her throat felt soothed now, no longer pinched from the dryness. "Did you find my phone?" She blurted out, and to mask the anxiety, she stuffed another pawpaw in her mouth and chewed.
Ezekiel shook his head, "No. I would assume it's among your items in the car impounded."
Mykah nodded and continued to eat, busying her mouth to prevent asking anything that might allude to her wanting to desperately leave.
Why was she afraid?
Why was she acting as if it wasn't something normal?
Surely he would understand her predicament. Waking up in a world where predators stalked everywhere, it was only natural to want some relief and safety. And for her, safety meant leaving this place.
Ezekiel shifted then. She watched as his elbow rested on the arm rest, and with a graceful air rested his chin on the heel of his palm. The way he watched her seemed so… curious… yet had a decadent feel to it. As if he had never seen a human before and wanted to indulge his curiosity with her presence.
"How did you end up in the dome?"
Mykah blinked, taken aback by the question. Her chewing stopped if only for a heartbeat before she took another bite and purposefully slowed down while ruminating.
She swallowed, "I… uh… I'm not entirely sure." Blue eyes flashed in her memory. She scratched her scalp then added, "It had been a long night. I went out for dinner with a colleague"—true—"we got drunk"—false—"and I think I put the wrong coordinates in my GPS."
Also false.
In the silence she could hear the clock ticking by the wall, her own heartbeat and the cadence of her breathing as she met his eyes briefly, wondering if he took bait.
If anything, Ezekiel's expression seemed impervious. Either he had a knack for carefully schooling his emotions and concealing them, or he felt none at all. Mykah would not be surprised if he had none.
She remembered his smile right before he exited the room. The flash of canine winking at her. Her gaze dropped to the plate balanced on her lap, a few slices of banana left.
"Thank you, for saving me." He could have left her to perish in the car, or worse another lycanthrope might have found her and had other plans. Yet he didn't, so she counted that as some mercy extended from whatever god was watching from above.
That realization should have dampened the fear that acknowledged itself every now and then. But it didn't. Still, she had to count her blessings.
"No skin off my back." He replied and began to rise. A sort of urgency rushed up her throat as she watched him turn for the door.
"When is today?"
Ezekiel paused and glanced at her, a disquieting feeling nagged at her chest. "Twelfth June."
Oh. Five days already. That must mean they should be looking for her already. Her team of researchers, or her family… whichever is noticed first. She was scarcely ever truant at work and her absence should count for a few raised eyebrows.
"Okay," relief. Yes, that rush of cooling waves over her. She slumped slightly against the headboard forgetting momentarily that he was watching her every perceptively.
"Okay." She was nodding to herself now. Suddenly her broken arm did not matter in the grand scheme of things, not when he would come looking for her.
Ezekiel took note of the serene calm that shuttered over her anxious features, smoothing the lines out and for a brief moment he caught glimpses of the youth beneath all that harrowing dread.
His broken bird had a young, innocent curve to her features. Soft.
He turned to leave and shut the door quietly behind him. Walking down the stairs, Ezekiel replayed her words in his head, turned them over as he feet guided him with ease through the kitchen and towards the living room where the box of her items stood by the door.
He picked it with ease and stepped out. The sun had began to set with its rays stretching out one last time like a cat ready to nap. It was cool now, the air a gentle palm guiding him to the shed where a can of gasoline had been placed at the entrance.
He picked that too and, tucking the box under his arm, walked out into the woods.
Her unease was discernible and tangible to him. A strained thread wrapped around her form and a part of him desired to cut that thread and watch her slacken, frightened at first, then steady as she got to her feet and bloomed before him.
A few days was all she needed really.
His mouth curled, the scar on his cheek twitched and he found himself staring at the ground passing beneath him as he smiled small and wistful.
At the clearing he dumped her items on the ground.
The books, her bookbag, her wallet and the top of the pile–
Her phone.
He doused it all in gasoline and pulled out a matchbox from his back pocket, striking it. The flame hissed as it came to life casting a golden glow in those empty eyes.
He watched it fall onto the pile.