Page 27 of Maneater

I woke in the infirmary, head heavy and foggy. My eyes shifted to the chimeglass across the room. Its sand had nearly run out. I got up quickly, grabbed a spoon, and fetched the jar with the remaining syrup of poppy.

“Caz,” I whispered, my voice gentle as I woke him. “Here,” I said, offering a spoon full of syrup. Caz’s eyes stirred. “A sixth chime has passed. It’s time for your second dose.”

Caz took the medicine gratefully, his shoulder still stiff and sore. “Thank you,” he said faintly. “Have you managed to sleep?” he added, peering at me through the shadows, a trace of worry in his eyes.

“I’ve rested enough,” I replied, though my limbs ached like I’d been laboring for days without end.

But something else weighed heavier. Something I meant to tell him, something important.

I strained to recall, but whatever it was slipped through my mind like water through a sieve.

I pushed the frustration aside and asked instead, “How are you feeling?”

“Loads better,” Caz said, easing himself upright, careful not to jostle the sling. His tunic and cloak were folded neatly beside the cot, his chest bare in the low light. He stretched, and I looked away, not trusting myself not to stare.

Thank the gods for the shadows that hid the flush rising in my cheeks.

There was something about Caz, a warmth that pulled me in like sun through leaves. He made me feel light, like I could dream again. I’d entertained other men before, but none who made me feel quite like this.

I wondered if Caz knew the truth about how I felt. Sometimes, like now, the way he looked at me made me think he did.

“I’m glad,” I smiled. “Are you hungry? I haven’t heard from Mag, but she’s to be left alone while working on the salve for your hand. I’m sure I could find something in the kitchen for you.”

“There’s that good heart of yours,” Caz grinned. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to eat. The syrup of poppy has dulled my hunger. Though, there is something I’d like to do before the syrup fully takes hold. Would you be interested in a lesson?”

“A reading lesson? Right now?” I scoffed, raising a brow. “You’ve only just started to mend, and now you want to teach?” I gave him a skeptical look. “Do scholars ever rest?”

“We do,” he said, still grinning. “If you recall, you just woke me up.” He chuckled. “Now come here. Sit next to me.”

I stood, a little unsteady on my feet, though I masked it quickly. Sitting beside Caz, I left just enough space between us. I could feel his warmth, and part of me wanted nothing more than to lean into it, but instead, I looked at him and asked, “So, where do we begin?”

“Well, considering I have no books or parchment,” he said, his usual smile dimmed just slightly, “I suppose we can start by spelling things out loud. There’s more than one way to learn. I could even recite some of my favorite stories or poems for you.”

Sitting beside Caz on the cot felt easy. Natural.

He began reciting words for me to spell aloud. We started with simple ones. My name, then his. We moved on to the seasons, names of flowers, fruits, and animals. I laughed at my own mistakes, and he sighed dramatically every time he had to correct me, again and again.

The moment felt so pure and joyful, I knew it would be something I’d hold onto forever.

It all came to an end when Caz began to yawn, his eyelids growing heavy.

Somewhere during our lesson, we had drifted closer, our shoulders and hips now touching.

He swayed slightly toward me until he was leaning against me.

A smile formed at my lips, my heart skipping a thousand beats. He smelled of earth and musk.

“You’re beautiful, did you know that?” Caz murmured, his voice hushed, like we were sharing a secret.

Heat rushed to my face at his words. I laughed, gently helping him sit up. “Alright, scholar, I think the syrup has taken hold. Time for you to rest. Let’s get you back down and tucked in.”

As I rose to my feet, Caz reached out, his hand closing gently around my wrist, stopping me. “Odessa.”

I stared at the way his fingers encircled my wrist, then met his eyes. The heat in my chest swelled as his skin touched mine. He struggled against the poppy fog, but murmured, “I—I wanted to tell you that…”

Caz’s words stumbled out as he searched for the right ones.

There was something in his eyes, something delicate. A glint of desire. It was a look that could only mean one thing, and my mind raced with questions. Each one asking if I should let this happen or hold myself back.

What kind of future could there be for a scholar and a skirtsfolk?

The thought barely had time to finish before Caz pulled me from it, tugging me closer, drawing me in. In a blink, I was right back where I’d been moments ago. Shoulder to shoulder. Hip to hip. He turned toward me, his hand lifting to cup the side of my face.

And in that moment, I knew all was lost.

I wanted him. I wanted to know the feel of him, the taste of him. Caz leaned in slowly, his head lowering toward mine. The soft tousle of his hair framed those eyes, and I couldn’t help but follow the path of his lips, like they were calling me in.

The moment our lips met, my chest nearly burst. A wave of exhilaration hit like a monsoon, crashing through me, sweeping me under. We lingered there, suspended in the stillness of it, until we finally pulled apart, our foreheads resting together.

Then, Caz leaned in once more, pressing his lips to mine again. This time softer. Gentler. But still full of purpose. I melted into the kiss, surrendering as something bright and hungry kindled in my veins, burning through every inch of me.

At last, we pulled away from each other, our breaths warm and heavy.

Caz looked at me as if I were something special, something to be cherished.

It was a feeling I had never known before.

Our kiss hadn’t felt like something taken, but something shared.

To be looked at in the way Caz looked at me now was nothing short of a rarity.

I had been with others before, shared my bed with them, yet none had ever looked at me this way. Caz’s expression wasn’t one of pride or conquest, but one of admiration and wonder.

But there was no use fighting the syrup of poppy any longer.

It was claiming Caz completely now. His head bobbed with exhaustion, and he nearly tipped backward.

I caught him, steadying him with both hands before gently easing him onto the cot.

His head found the straw pillow, and just as I began to pull away, he kissed one cheek, then the other, offering me a slow, lazy smile.

Soon, his eyes closed, his breathing evened, and I thought he was nearly asleep, until a faint crease formed between his brows.

“Your cheeks…” he mumbled, voice distant. “They taste of something, Odessa. They taste of salt… and iron.”

In confusion, I pulled away, my hand rising to my cheek. I felt flakes crusted on my skin. I rubbed them away, watching as they fell off in tiny fragments. I couldn’t place what they were.

Soon, an exhaustion settled over me so heavy I could barely keep my eyes open. A dull, pulsing ache throbbed from deep within. My breathing grew thin, and I pushed myself upright, staggering toward the door.

I needed air. I needed space. I needed to clear my head.

Just as I stepped out of the apothecary, a sharp jolt of pain struck me. My legs collapsed and I was sent crashing to the ground.