Her head dipped, and her shoulders slumped.
“I would have tried to, if I knew it would be successful.” She looked upon him once more, this time with a hardness in her icy eyes. “But it won’t be. Removing your chains and rope would be easy enough, but you would only find yourself right back where you are. The hallways are small, and you don’t know the way out. They’ll find a new way to trap you.”
“Do you think I would let myself be caught a second time?” He asked this, but he understood the reality more than she did.
She was likely right.
If they harmed him, they could incite him into a mindless rage once more. Then he would hunt these hallways until he slaughtered everyone in search of their meat. That, or he would hurt someone as he fled, and the delicious scent of blood would churn his gut into a thoughtless, ravaging hunger.
Still, he would have preferred the opportunity to try. He would have liked to kill as many as he could before they chained him to this room a second time. Maybe his claws would find that other female with the blue eyes and scarring – he’d be undeniably pleased about that.
Wren’s eyes were cold. Not in the way Emerie’s were. They were a dark blue, like the ocean he’d seen from afar. However, it was the way they looked upon him: like he was small, insignificant, and disgusting.
Emerie’s eyes were a cold colour, but even he noted the warmth in her gaze – even when she turned them towards him.
Perhaps that was the only reason he was choosing to speak with her.
With a whisper, she added, “You’ll probably kill the only person who actually cares for your pain if I let you go. Then you’d find someone else mopping up your blood, someone who may go out of their way to deepen your suffering.”
Once more, he wished he could tilt his head.
Deepen my suffering? His sight found the length of her cleaning tool before he raked it over her tightly clothed form.
It is true that she has never tried to hurt me.
Unlike some of the guards who had come in here, chuckling as they poked and prodded his injured form. They’d uttered dares to each other, seeing who would spook first.
This female had never gone out of her way to callously harm him.
He pondered this as she cleaned to the best of her ability. He still didn’t trust her, but a strange part of him grew anxious when she went to the door to leave.
She was entertainment. She was a hope he could convince her to let him free.
I don’t want to be alone.
When she was here, he didn’t have to remember what they’d done to him, were doing to him. He didn’t have to wallow in his own self-pity or grieve in the loss of his kindred.
Ingram thought of Aleron every second he was alone in this room, wishing he had not abandoned him in this world. That he had not died and made Ingram decide on this foolish, idiotic mistake.
Had Aleron still been alive, they would have been wandering the forest together. He would have been... undeniably happy.
Instead, his mind was a constant swirl of emotional anguish – and he was starting to enjoy the physical pain because it distracted him from his grief.
No, I hate it. I do not like the pain, he reminded himself. He just liked that it emptied his mind because he couldn’t focus his thoughts. Instead of his heart hurting for Aleron, it hurt because they’d taken a blade to it.
It was wrong. He knew it was wrong.
He feared the longer he remained here, the more he’d grow attached to such a morbid desire. I want out.
He looked at the back of the female as she knocked on the door. The urge to ask her to stay gnawed at him, but it was his own pride and his dislike of her that silenced him.
The tension that had tightened every muscle in his body eased when she only asked for the water to be changed. She also asked for a new tool – a rag.
Once she had them, she discarded the mop and instead ducked her cloth into the bucket of clean water. She hesitantly approached him with both.
She lifted the cloth towards his abdomen. “Can... can I wash you? I’m sure it’ll feel better to be clean.”
Ingram tried to duck away but was held firm. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped.
Human hands of late had not been kind to him; he didn’t want another set on him. She also still smelt of that masculine, possessive scent, and although it had lessened in its intensity over the past day, it was still present. The idea of her touching him when she wore it made his skin itch.
She flinched, the loudness of his voice, and the depth of it giving her pause. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Like she thought that was all that bothered him, she tentatively wiped down his bare chest with a soft stroke. She kept the rest of her body away, and it allowed him to view her past his beak, although not very well.
Ingram tensed with a threat bubbling in his throat.
Her next words, spoken so quietly and sincerely, silenced him. “I’m sorry.”
His red orbs finally gave in and turned dark yellow in curiosity. She is apologising? He didn’t know why a human, a Demonslayer, would want to.
Her strokes were gentle against him as she continued. “I know it probably means very little, but I am sorry this is happening to you. Had I known they would do this to you, I wouldn’t have...”
Her long orange eyelashes moistened, as the spike of salt teased his nose holes. She cleared her throat and leant forward – past his beak, where he could no longer see her.
“I’m sorry they’re dissecting you while you’re alive. I can’t even begin to imagine how it feels, but my torso burns for you, like I’m experiencing a small thread of it with you.”
I do not understand her.
She was cleaning him with care – even he could tell this. Her words sounded sincere, her voice soft. He couldn’t see her face, but the cold, wet cloth dabbing at him was oddly pleasant. Water trickled down his torso, cleansing him further.
He wished she wasn’t showing him this kindness; he found it confusing. It ached his heart, while soothing his muscles so they’d loosen. He’d rather she be like everyone else, hateful and humour-filled at his pain.
It would be easier to bear.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked quietly, his orbs morphing to blue – before the bottoms of them broke. Floating blue liquid hovered around his skull, glittering as it disappeared.
“Someone has to clean you eventually. I doubt you’d be susceptible to infection since you heal, but I always feel better when I’m clean.” Her singular snorting laugh lacked any humour. “Isn’t this nicer than someone else tossing water on you?”
A saddened breath shuddered out of him.
“No. I mean, why are you saying this?” When she leaned back to face him, he could only just see her past the edge of his beak. “You humans call me a monster, and yet your kind have been vile to me. Why would you show any kindness towards me?”