The Hunger by Janet Eckford

Day 1
     
     
    “Don’t move or make a sound.”
            Mia froze at the command given by a guttural male voice. The sharp point of an object pressed into her back, between her shoulder blades, was even more alarming because it could only mean he had a drawn a gun on her. She’d moved to her neighborhood three weeks ago, and though it wasn’t the best of places she could live, it was all she could afford and she hadn’t thought about midnight muggings when she signed her lease. She blinked rapidly and tried to think of how she would walk away from the encounter with her dignity intact. Fear was an emotion she hadn’t become accustomed to in her new life.
            Fear in the past for her had always been an appetizer to the main course of pleasure. Even now, as she waited for instruction, the heady memory of chasing down prey caused her body to tingle with anticipation. Her senses sharpened, and her mouth watered at the remembered taste of hot flesh and warm skin. It was a hunger that would never be fully sated now that she’d left her other life behind. Mia would not be swayed by the delicious vices of her past.
            “Open the door slowly,” the man hissed in a low whisper.
            Mia paused; the hard press of his weapon in her back let her know he was serious about his threats but her brain wasn’t willing to comply. Actually, it was the part of herself she locked away, her other half of teeth and pain that wasn’t willing to follow orders. Her silent other self that was gnawing at her from within, hoping to burst forth and feed the constant ache of hunger she tried daily to avoid.
            “Please, I don’t have much money but take what I have,” Mia said with what she hoped was the appropriate amount of panic.
            “I said open the door.”
            Her attacker’s voice was laced with enough menace to make his words ring true but her initial shock was starting to wear off. It was late, her shift at a local coffee shop going longer than she’d expected, but it was not so late she couldn’t hear the night sounds of cars and people making their way through the darkened city. If she screamed someone would hear her--they might not save her but they would hear her, and the risk this home invasion presented far outweighed whatever her attacker was hoping to achieve.
    Stepping forward, Mia turned around quickly and looked at the man who dealt in the business of terror and strife. She had expected another example of his prowess, a strike to the face, a menacing growl, or even the flash of his weapon to illustrate he was still in charge, but instead she watched as he faltered in his step and pulled back from her.
            Mia stared in fascination as her attacker tried to rebuild the guise he’d donned so recently, but the moment had passed and she could sense his fear. She’d been so wrapped in the memory of her past exploits she hadn’t noticed the sweetly enticing scent of his anxiety permeating the space between them. Her secret other half snarled at the idea of taking him apart bit my delicious bit, and she shuddered from the exertion of keeping her natural tendencies buried deep within.
            “You need to do what I say,” the man rasped out.
            His gun shook ever so slightly. Others might have not noticed it, but she was always aware of the telltale signs of weakness. Those little indicators of body language that indicated a person was nervous and were trying so valiantly to pretend they were not. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and inhaled the aroma of his anxiety, letting it roll over the back of her tongue like a fine wine, and breathed out through her noise slowly, savoring the promise of an invitation she could not take.
            “I know they put you up to this, but you have a choice. Run now--you may not get far but at least you’ll know you tried,” Mia whispered, infusing her voice