Predator

19

A feeling named jealousy quickly spread through his heart. This emotion wasn't unfamiliar; he had felt it an hour ago when Amelia was sitting in a room that wasn't hers, nibbling on a muffin. It was akin to the territorial marking behavior of a dog, a "claiming" instinct that appears in both the animal world and human society. It's a stance of "I must have it," marking the territory and showing fangs and claws to warn against intruders.

This feeling had only arisen for Liam during battles with wild beasts—fighting to survive. Later, he was unintentionally drawn to a sparrow that had ventured into a wolf's den. What would have happened to her if he hadn't intervened? Would her sweet song have been cut off, her feathers bloodied and plucked, devoured by the pack until they licked their teeth clean of bird flesh?

Black hair and brown eyes, honey-colored skin, understanding Italian. Keeping her close meant he didn't have to wear a mask all day, didn't have to be the sharpest blade in someone else's hand. She was his "claimed" prey. He meticulously painted the horrors of the outside world, severing every retreat or path Amelia might take to seek help from others. His captive bird could only be bullied by him, but also only protected by him.

Was the muffin given by someone else really that good? The room was quiet, no one answered, only the light creak of military boots on a water-stained floor.

Amelia woke up again, and it was night. She was still in the nightmarish space, her body aching from rough treatment. She shifted her legs uncomfortably. In the darkness, the man's back was slightly hunched, like a lurking beast.

"Don't move."

Amelia froze. Liam noticed her subtle movements but didn't say anything, seemingly losing the interest to continue teasing her. The sharpness in his demeanor softened slightly as he pulled off his shirt. When the bed dipped beside her, and her shoulder was gripped, she found herself face-to-face with him.

"Why are you so far away? I'm not going to eat you."