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Your head jerks to the right, the bite of Tangerine's rings into your skin barely registering. There’s blood in your mouth, warm and metallic. Your tongue instinctively brushes against the cut. Pain flares for a moment, sharp and fleeting, but all you can do is blink, the sensation lingering just beneath the surface.
“Runnin wasn’t very smart, luv,” he reprimands.
You stare back at him blankly, watching his chest heave with effort, anger radiating off him in waves. The ever-present fear you live with is there, but it feels distant now, buried deep in a place you can’t reach. Sergei stands just behind him, at the edge of the treeline, his eyes flashing golden. You briefly meet his gaze before quickly looking away, your eyes lifting to watch the grey sky slip through the thick canopy above. It’s quiet here—only the soft babble of the stream and the low murmur of conversation between Tangerine and Sergei. No birds, though. There never are when Sergei is around. They were smarter than you, more attuned to his true nature, fleeing when they had a chance.
You ran right into his arms.
Sergei says your name—once, twice, and then a third time—before you can tear your eyes away from the sky. You can’t quite place the expression on his face. It used to frighten you, that uncertainty, not knowing what he wanted or being able to predict his next move. But now, you simply stare at him. Waiting. Accepting. You’re so tired.
His thumb grazes over your split lip before he brings it to his mouth, tasting the blood. A low rumble escapes his chest, sending a shiver down your spine as he pulls you in closer. He’s warm—so warm—that you suddenly realize your teeth are chattering, your skin cool and clammy. You left the house in nothing but the sundress Tangerine liked you to wear and there’s snow on the ground. Instinct has you leaning into the touch, welcoming him like he’s taught you to.
"Let’s get you inside, pet," Sergei murmurs, his voice steady. "Into something dry and warm. Would you like that?"
You look at Tangerine, noting the deep furrow between his brows as he watches you. His mouth is bloodied, his clothes disheveled. Did he look like that before? You glance down at Sergei's hand, the skin of his knuckles is split, streaked with blood.
"I want what you want," you parrot back to Sergei, your gaze shifting to Tangerine. "I want to make you happy."
Tangerine exhales harshly and you frown. "Was I bad again?" You ask.
“No,” Sergei soothes. “You just got a little confused. And Tan,” he adds, looking back at the other man, “shouldn’t have hit you. We don’t hit our pets, do we?”
Tangerine clenches his jaw and purses his lips briefly. He looks away from you and exhales. “Thought she was doing a runner,” he defends.
“But you weren’t, were you, pet?” Sergei asks, cupping your jaw. His grip is gentle but there’s no mistaking his strength. The way he could hurt you with barely any effort.
“I wanted to hear the birds,” you tell him truthfully.
Tangerine moves around you, the snow crunching beneath his feet. You tense as his hands settle on your hips, gently kneading the soft flesh. He kisses the side of his neck, soft and sweet again though you know it won’t last. It never does with him.
“Maybe we’ll get you a bird, darlin’, a pet of your own. Would you like that?” He asks.
You shake your head, the idea of caging something so free and beautiful feeling deeply wrong. Before you can stop yourself, the words slip out—whispered, but clear. It’s the wrong thing to say, and panic rises within you as you realize your mistake. Tangerine’s grip tightens, pain blooming where his fingers dig into your skin, while Sergei’s hand suddenly clasps your chin, holding it firmly between his thumb and forefinger.
“Some things are meant to be caged,” he murmurs, his voice smooth, “to keep them safe.”