Perspective of Zane

It was cold and windy as the hidden suns began to set. I ran through the claustrophobic forest with no regrets until I found myself caught in a bear trap. Of course, this wasn’t how I planned my day, but I didn’t mind the pain. It pulsed up my leg until even the snow began to feel warm and wet. I figured it’d be a fitting way to die, the mix of starvation and blood loss. The view of snow covered branches swam in and out of my vision and my body lost all sense of touch, no cold nor warm, no pain, not even numbness. Inconsistent hours or minutes passed by as the sky got darker.

I felt somebody pulling at the metal teeth that’d caught my leg and the realization that I’d fallen asleep fluttered through my mind. It didn’t seem real. I tried to hold back a grin as I screamed in agony, unable to play dead any longer. The pain surged up my body, crawling up my spine and down to my fingertips. I grit my teeth, trying hard not to lose myself as the instinctive fear swam somewhere inside me. I couldn’t help it. I giggled uncontrollably as whoever that dark blob was crudely pieced my broken leg back together. How do you breathe again?

Sweet spices and blood pricked my nose as the vision of a dim wood cabin appeared before me. Is this how I die? How cliche. Heavy footsteps wandered around the house, stopping only briefly at the door. Next to me on a nightstand was a glass of water and what I guessed were pain killers. Maybe roofies. I didn’t have the strength to move, -the blanket over my chest felt like twenty pounds- so instead I just layed there with my eyes closed, trying to get my breaths to feel normal.

 Someone came into the room. I could smell the smoke. They set something on the nightstand and crept back out. I thought I could hear them leave the house, but I was too tired to tell. The more I thought about it the less real it seemed. Had I imagined it? Maybe. 

Struggling against the weight crushing my wounded body, I opened my eyelids and turned on my side. I tried to figure out where I was, moreover who he was that had brought me here -- I assumed it was a he given the crude decor of the room and the dense smell of death and aftershave. A plate of pancakes and fruit drowning in syrup and whipped cream sat on the nightstand and my stomach ached at the sight of food. My arms shook and wavered when I forced myself to sit up, pain searing hot in my left elbow and down my right side. I’ll be honest, it hurt a little more than I liked it. Shoveling food into my mouth with bare shaking hands, my elbow looked broken. Blackened bruises leeched around the sore where my bone jutted out something unnatural. Syrup dripped down my chin and seeped into the blanket and the lower half of my shirt. 

Stomach cramped and swelling, I lay back on the pillows licking the stickiness of my fingers. There were sounds of someone coming in through what was probably the front door. I watched his shadows moving underneath the door. 

“How long are you going to sneak around out there?” I called.

There was a pause in his movement while he contemplated the question. The door opened somewhat hesitantly. Armored in heavy metal and leather and bound tightly in those pants, he came into the room but kept his distance. 

Are you seriously afraid of me? I can barely stand moving, let alone anything else.

Whatever his expression may have been was hidden behind a thick black hood. 

“Why bother saving me? I’m sure there’s not an ounce of remorse in your body, so why keep me alive? Why even bring me here?”

“Wouldn’t’ve been any fun.” He unfastened the leather braces on his forearms. “You were basically already dead when I found you. Killing you then would’ve been a mercy.”

I smirked at the irony of it. Mercy isn’t what you wanted? You should’ve killed me. Excitement or curiosity or fear twitched in my nerves as I watched him unfasten the metal plates and let them clang to the floor. “No need to stay so far away then. You’ll kill me now won’t you?”

Stepping over the discarded armor, he walked to the side of the bed, the scent of smoky death emanating from his bloodstained clothes. 

“If that’s what you want.” He unsheathed a knife as long as my forearm and climbed on top of me.

I groaned reflexively at the pain, but my smirk was still glued to my cheeks. He lifted my shirt with a thumb, exposing my battered stomach. Scratches from thorns and tree branches still burned raw and rose petal pink. Surprised by the warmth of his body, I twitched slightly, trying my best to stare into his eyes. Or about where they should’ve been. He held the point of the knife to my neck and with his other hand, clenched my windpipe.

Straining against him just enough to speak, “Are you sure you want to kill me now?” I paused, waiting for an answer, but got none. “It wouldn’t be much different than if you had killed me when you first found me. Instead, wouldn’t you prefer to have me when I’m healed, and I could give you what you really want? You’re more than welcome to kill me now if you’d like, but wouldn’t you rather kill me when I could actually struggle? Right now, I'm not much more than a lump of jelly. I can’t even move.”

Pondering this for a while, he released his grip on my throat and leaned back. He shifted his weight atop me a few times, sighing and beginning a few sentences-- all of which died upon his lips before they escaped as more than a sound. 

I could sense his grin spreading across his face, even through his menacing words, “and what if I got impatient? I might just decide to tear through your soft little stomach out of boredom. I could carve you into pieces, keeping you alive until the very end.”

“You can do whatever you want with me. I want whatever you choose to make you happy. Still, I don’t think you’d be happy just killing weak, powerless prey like me. What you want is a true hunt, something you can chase down and torment, something that will struggle and feel fear. I’m not that prey right now, but I could be, if you waited.”

The itch of rage festered in his joints as he weighed this choice. He kept the knife just under my jaw as he leaned down and licked my chest. So full of bloodlust. Holding my arms down, he began to bite me, though I had no intention of struggling. The ache in my elbow surged down through my shoulder, and it was then that I realized the pain in my ribs. They were probably cracked; they ached like hell. At least his weight on top of me cut off the pain of my broken leg. Panting like a hungry animal, he moved slowly upward until he was at my neck, and then bit me hard until blood ran through his teeth. The blade of his knife slipped away, he desperately licked my blood. I felt his body relax, the pain in my chest surging when he shifted his weight again.

 Staring at the ceiling -avoiding looking at his pants- as heat swallowed my cheeks, he lifted his head to look at me. I was grinning like a fool. I tried my hardest to stop, but my lips curled up and quivered as blood dripped from his mouth onto my collarbone.

“You’re not the least bit afraid of me,” he stated grimly.

“I’m not much afraid of dying. Even if I were, I know you won’t kill me until my leg is healed. It wouldn’t be any fun for you, and I'd truly hate to disappoint you.”

He layed down beside me, resting his chin on one palm. “How long is this supposed to take?”

“It will take less time if you set my bones and bandage my wounds. Think you can manage?”

He made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a growl and got up from bed. I sighed myself, watching him as he left. The bite in my shoulder twitched and moistened the pillow underneath me. 

In a moment he returned. His shape was kind of fuzzy, my gods I felt awful. I felt something.. somewhere. I’m not really sure what happened after that. I faded in and out a bit, from the pain or blood loss or some other ridiculous and unnecessary bodily function.