There's nothing we have in For starters, I don't need to snack on people. – My tone was rough, but hey, facts are facts.
Noah, also known as Roger, gave a theatrical shrug, like he was just another poor soul in an unfair world. He stood up, grabbed a barbecue spatula, and started plating some well-charred meat onto fancy dishes. Then he set them around the table—including one in front of me.
I don't eat Ah yes… but you're my guest, and as a gracious host, I couldn't ignore the rumbling in your So I've served you a delightful deer steak. – He glanced toward a baby deer prancing at the forest's edge. And now I knew what happened to its mom.
He was messing with me—on purpose. He clearly knew what I preferred to eat. He was very well-informed about me, and he just couldn't help rubbing it in.
Before taking his first bite, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. From the trees, a small figure sprinted toward us. I stared in disbelief.
It was that kid. The creepy little dude on the toy car who once tried to eat me alive. He looked more normal now—just slightly crumpled.
As the boy arrived, Roger spoke:
Before we dig in, let's clear up a few Lil Baby G, didn't you have something to say to our guest?
The boy stared at the ground and mumbled:
I'm sorry I attacked you… Nope! That's not what I meant! First, apologize to the esteemed Miss Rogers for being the most cliché horror movie child ever—one of those - totally obvious little monsters - who just had to try and eat the heroine.
Also, I demand a personal apology for you changing your real name— Benny—to that absurd rapper alias.
I'm sorry! Ugh, why is this happening to me… – the boy hissed, then zipped off into the woods at warp speed.
The strigoi smiled, clearly satisfied.
I hope we've cleared up all our little issues
With slow, refined cuts, he began slicing the venison, following all the etiquette rules like some noble at a Victorian dinner party. As he carved, he started monologuing again:
If I may, my dear guest, I'd like to talk a little about you. You're a fascinating result of human and supernatural evolution. Born from the highly irregular (if I may say so) union of two entities from beyond the
Your mother, known as Ilania, was already centuries into her unquiet ghostly state when she merged minds with another... being—clearly also of the dead. And lo and behold, you were born. Fully formed as a seventeen- year-old human girl, though not without quirks: no body odor, resistant to heat and cold, enhanced stamina, minimal need for food, water, or sleep deprivation. How you haven't been chopped up on a lab table is beyond me.
I scorched the crotch of some smug jerk from the Institute of Sciences when he showed up with a blank check and asked to turn me into a meat Ahem… – the strigoi coughed, trying not to laugh, and dabbed his mouth with a snowy white handkerchief. Then he popped another meat slice into his mouth and said: Sounds like the good professor had a rough But let's get back to you, dear Alenari. Go on. – I waved lazily and asked if he had any Sadly, and I hate to say it… I'm a But for you—I'll make an exception.
A round amphora of rakija appeared on the table out of thin air. I blinked at the exotic liquor but figured, screw it. I poured myself a shot.
Cheers! – I downed it, looking every bit like a seasoned Which, for the record, I'm not. But tonight? I deserved all the alcohol in the world. The amount of crap I'd dealt with? Whew.
Much obliged. – Noah replied primly, scratching his carefully groomed beard—clearly shaped by a trimmer. His eternally styled chestnut hair, streaked with a touch of silver, looked especially polished today and smelled faintly of pineapple, passion fruit, and gardenia. He wore a deep- cut T-shirt and a cardigan made of some mysterious fabric wrapped around his Thick veins ran up his tanned, wiry arms, and one fat vein bulged right out of his neck.
Roger's plush, sensual lips kept narrating the story of me, while I silently admired his aristocratic profile:
You entered this world with the body of a seventeen-year-old, but the mind of a newborn—you couldn't even speak. You had to spend only a single year within your mother's layer of reality, and by the time you hit legal age, you were ready to function in society, displaying astonishing cognitive and social skills, seasoned with your unique body-soul abilities— what you call the mind moves.