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6 || predator

The Professor found her half a mile from his cabin, well after midnight.

Laying against the trunk of a tree, pale as the moonlight and barely conscious, the object of his yet ongoing investigation appeared to be nearer death's door than his own. All efforts to bring her around and get any response were labored in vain as her body fought the relaxation of senselessness and the rigidity of hypothermia.

Breaking through the crust of the snow that she'd fallen into, he pried her prone body off the frozen ground and hoisted her over one shoulder, casting a cursory glance around. He spotted her biohazard of a rifle, practically a block of ice lying next to her tree. He squatted and grabbed it cautiously by the strap before turning back to return to his cabin.

Outfitted with sturdy boots and thick winter gear, half a mile passed quickly and easily before the light and heat of his fireplace washed over them. As he placed her gingerly on the floor in front of the fire, he wondered how she had ever made it the first five and a half miles in the tattered clothing that Havel kept her in.

He ran his hands in a tingling trail from her shoulders to her fingertips and watched color bloom beneath the skin, her palms growing warm in his.

Satisfied that she wasn't fading, The Professor rose to his feet and collected as many blankets as he could find—from his bed, from his closet storage, from his latest supply shipment—and one of his extra sweaters for good measure, and tucked the entire pile over and around the frigid young woman until she was no more than a pink face amid a mountain of laundry. He checked that no fingers or blanket corners would fall into the open flame, and retreated to the kitchen to heat water over the stove.

Nothing of the sort had happened even once in the years since he'd been assigned to Havel's colony. The community elder had always kept a tight leash on his human possessions, up to and including the implant in Areum's neck that would electrocute her unto death if she crossed a certain distance boundary from the colony. To think of her running away from home (in clothes that would be too breezy for some summer months) in the dead cold of night to hike six pitch black miles seemed too foolish to be true.

Even if she had chosen to run away at night, she had multiple hideouts closer to home that would have provided shelter and warmth until morning.

The Professor poured two mugs of tea and set them aside to steep.

Havel had just agreed to sign her registration card. It made no sense for her to risk her newfound promise of security by running away. And after seeing how she'd stood by without complaint even after taking years' worth of beatings, The Professor couldn't believe that she'd finally decided to defy her master.

The events of earlier that day returned to his mind. A deep sigh wracked through him, anger bracing his shoulders and hollowing his cheeks.

Steam curled over his winter-chafed face, a distraction that did little to pull him from the dawning realization that the old crony from earlier had disregarded the promises made him.

The Professor pulled out a kitchen drawer, retrieved a sheathed meat cleaver, and tucked it beneath his waistband.

A rustle from across the room caught his attention. He looked up to find the lump of blankets trembling violently as Areum's body began returning to consciousness and trying to rectify its loss of heat.

He took up the mugs and crossed the room to kneel by her side.

Teeth chattering, eyes flickering open, she came back to the world with the glow of firelight emphasizing the terrible bruising of her face. Unsure of her surroundings, her head turned and her hands reached for the edges of the blankets, and he saw the dark marks on her throat.