A Cage for Hungry Hearts [COMPLETE]

16. Domare

"Light duty. Sorry Winston, but you're not quite where you need to be yet. Give it one more day, ok?"

Winston groans and covers his face with his hands. Lynn regards him with mild amusement, having been the one to deliver his sentence. She watches me out of the corner of her eye, probably hoping I haven't noticed her wariness, but I do. Of course I do. My hackles have been up since Winston first announced he had to go in for his daily checkup.

I've barely slept at all, unnerved by unfamiliar company. It took me a while to get used to Lucas, too. Winston saw the worst of me when I finally dragged his ass out of bed for the evening. The idiot sleep-talks. He spent twenty minutes having a full-blown conversation with his pillow about macaroni and the color purple.

"Find something relaxing to fill the time," Lynn suggests to him. "Maybe watch a movie? There's a copy of Interview with the Vampire in the lounge on VHS."

Winston uncovers his face. "Ollie loves that one."

She cocks her head. "Your brother? Aaaw! It's so cute how much you care for him!"

Winston's cheeks go pink.

Scowling, I deliberately knock over a container of cotton swabs. They spill across the counter and onto the floor.

"Oops," I say flatly.

Lynn tsks and hurries over to put the mess to rights, but I don't bother helping. I lean against the counter like a statue, refusing to budge even when she accidentally brushes against my leg while crouching to clean the packets off the floor.

"Ass," Winston says to me, coming over to help.

Don't you dare, I think at him. Keep your distance from her, Winny. Bloodthrall, remember?

He pauses next to Lynn, glaring at me before turning to gather the cotton swabs on the counter, rather than crouch down. She stands with her own pile gathered in her arms, and together they dump the packets back into their container, fingers brushing in a way that makes Winston blush. I cannot help the growl that rolls from my throat as a result.

"Oooh-kay," Lynn says, backing away with her hands lifted. "I think the two of you should go." By the tight line of her mouth, I know she must be thinking about Lucas.

"Good idea," I say, grabbing Winston by the wrist so sharply that I tip the container over again. Cotton swabs go flying.

Winston sighs loudly. "Sorry, Lynn."

"No problem," she says.

I drag Winston from the room, my vision bleeding green at the edges.

"You're such a dick," Winston says, snatching his wrist out of my grasp when we emerge into the hall outside the infirmary.

"It's not about being polite. I'd rather piss her off than kill her," I explain.

His jaw tenses as he looks away. "Do I have to stick with you all day?"

"It's inadvisable to separate."

"We'll have to when I actually start working in my duty section."

"That's different. You'll be supervised."

His huffs. "I'm not a fucking teenager."

"You certainly act like one."

We scowl at each other until someone passes by, bumping into him. This seems to shake Winston out of his anger. He deflates, his shoulders drooping. "Do you like movies?" he asks.

"Of course I do. They're the only way I get to see the outside world. Though I'll admit I don't understand half of what's going on in them."

"I can tell you." When he wraps his fingers around my wrist, my mouth goes strangely dry. "Come on. "Let's see if the chow hall has any popcorn."

In my shock, I allow myself to be led.

"I've never had popcorn," I say.

He seems surprised by this. "They said you can eat human food. You've never tried it?"

"I don't particularly care for the process of human digestion."

His nose crinkles. "Ok, fair point, but it's good, and you should try it."

"Blood is better," I retort. "It's better than everything."

"You've clearly been deprived."

"No kidding."

He shoots me an annoyed look, like it's my fault I'm so sheltered, but he's still holding onto my wrist. We're nearly to the cafeteria when he finally lets go.

"Sorry," he says, pink-cheeked as I cradle my hand to my chest. I'm not entirely sure what he's apologizing for. "Why are you always wearing sweaters anyway?"

I scowl. "What's wrong with them?"

"Nothing! Just curious is all."

The sweater I'm draped in today is a dark, wide-striped affair in cool grays with a wide neck. The sleeves are fraying at the ends. "They're comfortable. I'd rather die than wear that scratchy uniform your kind are always marching around in. I have an aversion to certain textures."

He nods as if he understands. "It's not so bad after a few washes. It's the dress uniforms that suck. And combat boots." He lifts a foot and wiggles it for emphasis, the bunched leather around his ankles creaking. "I've already got blisters on my toes, but they heal up so fast now I doubt they'll ever callous."

"So don't wear them," I say.

"It's protocol. I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that."

"Certainly not. I don't conform to brainwashing."

He rolls his eyes as I follow him through the cafeteria doors. I smirk at his antics, though my amusement dims when I see Brucker smiling at me knowingly from across the room. He and Clarice sit huddled at one of the tables. She sips at a cup of blood tea, looking as chipper as ever after a full day's rest.

I send her a polite, telepathic greeting. Next to Brucker, she bares her fangs in warning. She's a worse waking person than I am. I join them as Winston walks back to harass the cafeteria staff.

"I see you're warming up to your tether," Brucker says as I sit down. I reach out to steal Clarice's tea. She swipes at me, scratching the top of my hand with her filed nails. The wounds heal almost immediately. I pout at her anyway.

"Sharing is caring," I say, imitating Grandmère's clipped accent.

"I'll wear your entrails for bracelets if you touch my tea," Clarice threatens.

Winston returns to that comment, his eyebrows shooting up. "Should I be concerned?"

"Naw, death threats are just all Domare understands," Brucker says all too cheerfully. "What's the popcorn for?"

Winston drops a packet on the table in front of me. "I'm still on light duty so we're going to have a movie day."

Brucker's eyebrows sail. "A movie day. With Domare."

"Is that supposed to be food?" I ask, frowning at the nearly flat paper sleeve wrapped in plastic.

"It will be. You have to put it in the microwave," Winston explains. "I thought I saw one in the lounge. We only got one shot, so we better not burn it by accident. Believe it or not, it's pretty easy to burn popcorn."

Clarice yawns. "I like caramel corn."

"Kettle," says Brucker.

"This is the normal kind," Winston says. "Butter-flavored. The best."

"Figures you're a basic bitch," Brucker teases.

"If you ask nicely, Dave will probably put some blood drizzle on Domare's," Clarice suggests, elbowing him.

My mouth waters. I've tried a hundred times to bribe the barista off a bottle of drizzle, but he never folds. For Winston, whom he seems to like, Dave might actually give one up.

"I think we could arrange that. Come on, Domare." Winston taps my shoulder. I grab the popcorn packet and get up to follow, pausing when Clarice sends me a pointed look.

Be careful, she says gently into my mind.

I tip my chin in acknowledgement and trail Winston out of the cafeteria.