Page 35 of The Wild Man
He abruptly turns, and I barely catch myself before I slam against his chest.
“Quiet,” he says, his voice a deep, grumbly growl.
“I don’t want to be quiet,” I retort. “The silence is killing me.”
He tilts his head to the side like people do when they’re trying to understand something. “Not killing you.”
My eyes roll heavenward before settling back on him. “Not literally. It’s a metaphor.” A line appears between his eyes. “I’m just saying, this silent business sucks.”
“Sucks?” His eyes drop to my mouth, and I swear, I could slap myself for using that word. Of course, he’s a man, so his mind goes immediately to the gutter.
I snap my fingers in his face and his gaze comes back to mine. “Eyes up here.”
His lips form a firm line as he scowls.
“Quiet,” he says again. “Hunt.”
I throw my hands on my hips like an immature teenager getting ready to rant. “If you wanted quiet, then you should have left me at the tree hut.”
“Tree hut?”
“Yes. Tree hut. Camp.” I try another word. “Home.”
I don’t say his home because technically, although temporarily, it is my home at the moment as well.
“No.”
My brows jump up. “No, what?”
“You stay with me.”
Frustration has my back teeth grinding together. “But why?”
I need him to take me back to the tree hut and go hunt by himself so I can work on the stupid knots again.
“Mine.”
I want to shove that godforsaken word down his throat and choke him on it.
“I already know you think I’m yours,” I say in exasperation. “What does that have to do with taking me back to the tree hut?”
“You stay,” he says stubbornly.
I throw my hands in the air and let them slam back against my sides. “Fine. Whatever.”
He eyes me for a second before he spins on his heel and resumes walking. I watch my steps, but I don’t keep them light like I was before. If he wants me with him, he can deal with me making as much noise as I want.
We walk and walk and walk. By the time we come to a stop, I’ve lightened my steps. Not because I’m trying to be quiet, but because all the stomping was starting to hurt my feet. Or that’s what I tell myself. It’s definitely not because the jostling was reminding me that I’m actually hungry and my noisy steps could ultimately harm our chances of getting food.
I lick my dry lips. I’m thirsty too, but I refuse to ask for the water pouch that’s hanging from Wild Man’s side.
My stomach rumbles loud enough for him to hear and he glances at me over his shoulder. I keep my lips sealed, but don’t look away from him. His eyes move down my chest to my stomach, and it feels like a light caress.
He moves to a leafy bush. Squatting down, he begins plucking the purple berries. They aren’t any that I’ve seen before. After he has a handful, he stands and holds out his hand.
I’m hesitant to take them. “What are they? They could be poisonous.”
“No. Good.”