Corsairs: Kaspar (Corsair Brothers 2) - Page 106

72

ALICE

For a panicked, awful moment, I think the arm belongs to Kas. My Kas. The edges of my vision blur and grow dark, and I have to blink over and over again to stay conscious. I'm afraid of what he'll do to me if I pass out. I force myself to look at the arm closer. The tattoos aren't the same. The blue is a different shade. It's not him.

It's some other dead guy. Better, but still terrible.

My captor stares at me, waiting.

"Well gosh," I say brightly. "I'm not sure you're supposed to eat people."

The alien grunts. "You think he wouldn't eat me? Think again."

"All right, then." I swallow hard and pick up by one finger. Oh fuck. It's got rigor mortis. Does that mean that it's been dead for a while, or is that recent? I have no idea, but I'm super grossed out. "So do you want a nice steak, or like…just a grilled hand, or…what?" I've got to play it cool, even though I want nothing more than to puke my guts out.

He pauses, watching me. "What do you think?"

"I told you. I think we shouldn't be eating people!" My tone is a little sharper than I meant for it to be, so I smile to take the sting out of my words. "It's a human thing."

He narrows his eyes at me, his turtle face looking surprisingly malevolent. "Eat later, then. Pleasure now."

"Um."

The gladiator pulls at the hitch of his belt. "Humans do things with their mouths, yes? You can show me that."

Fuck everyone in this universe for starting that rumor. The only thing my mouth is going to be doing is vomiting. "You sure you don't want a nice home-cooked meal? I bet I can whip something up. Is this the only arm we have around here? What a shame. Two hands and I bet I could make you a lovely bone broth—"

"There's a leg behind the roots," he says, approaching me.

“Perfect! Leg and arm stew! Yum yum.” I rub my stomach as if the thought is appealing. “Great. I’ll get started. Where’s the stew pot?”

“No pot.” He frowns at me.

“Oh, well, that’s a problem.” I purse my lips. “There has to be something in this camp we can use as a stew pot. Shall we look?”

My captor must not be too bright, because he helps me look. It’s the world’s dumbest stalling tactic, and yet he helps me pick through piles of leaves and the carcass of a nearby dead gladiator (poor guy) looking for something vaguely bowl shaped. I drag my feet, taking as much time as humanly possible, because the thought of cooking up someone is revolting, but my other option is just as bad.

As he watches me with a suspicious look, I move to a nearby bush. “Oh look! Basil! This’ll be perfect for our stew! It adds a rich flavor. Have you ever tried it?”

“No.” He makes another honking noise and sounds vaguely annoyed.

It’s not basil. I’m pretty sure it’s not anything but a fern, but now that I can pretend to find herbs, I’m going to go all in on this newest trick. For the next few minutes, I “find” herb after herb, collecting leaves for my stew. “This is going to be amazing,” I tell him brightly. “You wait and see.”

“I’m tired of waiting. Cook now.”

His tone is impatient and ugly. A shiver of terror moves down my spine. “Right. Okay.” I move back toward the small fire. “Without a cookpot, we’ll have to get creative, though.” I pause. “Maybe we should make steaks instead. Do you have a filet knife?”

I hold my hand out, hoping that he’s that dumb.

He narrows turtle eyes at me. “I’m not giving you a knife.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to make you food?”

"You can do that later." The turtle-man takes a step toward me, his hand on his belt. “I’m feeling better. You can please me in other ways. Mouth-pleasing.”

This mouth is gonna vomit. “Oh, but what about the stew?”

He says nothing, touching his belt. The auto-fastener on his pants slithers open, the sound a horrifying reminder of what he's about to do.

I get to my feet, grabbing a nearby rock. "Don't come any closer."

He chuckles, the sound low and ugly. "What are you going to do with that?"

"Smash your throat in?" I say hopefully. He just laughs harder and moves even closer. I stumble back another step or two, but there's a root at my back and now I'm trapped at the base of one of the trees. Fuck. I raise my rock, and when he lifts an arm to grab me, I fake out and drop to my knees instead, slamming it between his thighs.

It clangs on something hard, like a shell.

Well, fuck.

A rough hand twists in my hair, dragging me forward. "Bad, bad human," he says menacingly. "Very bad. You—"

Tags: Ruby Dixon Corsair Brothers Fantasy
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