What The Cat Dragged In Ch. 01


His fingers paused. "Tilt your head back some."

She did until he stopped her with one hand.

"Dawes do all this?" he asked.

"All the bruises, yes. The first cut you looked at, happened when I fought going with Roland. This one," she touched the one that was just in her hairline. "I guess I did to myself when I was running away."

"You the one that hit him?"

Kelly wasn't sure if she should admit it or not. She rubbed her bruised knuckles.

"Well?" His voice had gone cold and the tip of one claw applied just a bit of pressure on her scalp. The meaning was clear. Kelly swallowed hard.


The pressure eased and he returned to careful exploration. "Who taught you to fight?"

Kelly shrugged a little. "Nobody. Probably why I was about to be dragged back for a second time."

He made a non-committal little sound that Kelly wasn't even about to try to interpret.

"All superficial." He sat back. "You can sleep on the couch, until I figure out what the hell I'm going to do with you."

"Thanks." Kelly ventured a glance over her shoulder and attempted a little smile again.

He glared.

She got up and lay on the couch, covered up with the blanket. Even as tired as she was, she was certain she would never sleep. At least he had his back to her. The room was warm, and the large couch was the most comfortable place she'd laid down since leaving home. She knew she should be figuring out a way to get out of there, too. Her 'host' hadn't hurt her in any way, but that didn't mean that he wasn't going to. He certainly gave every indication that he was capable of it. The adrenaline high she'd been on for the last week was gone, though. In spite of her best intentions, Kelly closed her eyes and let sleep claim her.


This 'humanity' shit is for the fuckin' birds, Creed thought. Some asshole made a comment about him being nothing but an animal that had pissed him off and now he was playing nursemaid to beat up frail who clearly looked at him like some kind of fucking savior. The whole 'save the damsel in distress' thing was Jimmy's deal. He was the one who distressed them to start with. It was a dynamic that held a comfortable familiarity for him.

He glanced over at the girl. From the sound of her breathing, she was asleep already. She was curled up with all but the bruised side of her face covered by the blanket. She was so damn small if it weren't for that and the sweet, ripe smell of her he might have missed her completely.

That scent teased him like it was another living entity. It was enriched by the muted, bloody scent of her injuries, but it was damn near enough to make him let go of the urges he was still unaccustomed to holding in check. Almost. He didn't mind when his toys got broken, as long as he was the one who got to break them. Between the injuries and the fact that she was skin and bones she would break too easily. He'd try to give her a few days, put a little meat on her bones, let some of the bruises heal. Give her a nice little false sense of security. The look of surprise would be priceless.

She whimpered softly, flailed and her right arm ended up outside the blanket. A tang of anxiety crept into her scent, but it dissipated fairly quickly. His eyes were drawn to the bruises on her knuckles. The beginnings of a smirk touched his lips. Underfed or not, she was a scrappy little thing. This little arrangement might prove to be a great deal of fun. When it wasn't, there was a big woods outside the door.

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