Hunger (The Hunger Series Book 1) by Jeremiah Knight Read Free Book Online Page B

She tugged up her shirt to find her stomach wrapped in tight bandages. There wasn’t a trace of blood showing through, which told her two things: the bleeding had stopped, but only because Peter had sewn her up, putting his old military field experience to good use.
    Agony swept through her when she tried to sit up, her muscles pushing against the line holding her gut together. But she couldn’t stay in bed. Couldn’t stay stationary. There was too much to do. Too much at stake.
    And she needed to check on her daughter.
    Rolling slowly to her side, Ella grunted and pushed herself up, careful to have her right arm, which was toned, strong and uninjured, do all the work. Sitting up, she had a better view of the room around her. It looked almost unused.
    She spotted a note on the dresser in front of her. She could read the text on the folded sheet of paper from a distance.
     
    You should probably stay in bed,
    but I know you better than that.
    Help yourself to some clothing.
    I think it will fit.
     
    Standing wiped the slight grin from her face, her present pain replacing ancient memories. The movement shifted the air over her head and sent a shiver through her body. Why did her head feel cold? She put a hand up to her hair and felt the short, stubby scratch of a recent shave. He shaved my head! She nearly got angry, but quickly understood why. It was the same reason he’d gotten rid of the clothing. They had arrived at his doorstep contaminated.
    She headed toward the dresser and opened the top drawer. Underwear and bras. She looked down at her chest. Peter hadn’t dressed her with a bra, probably because she was two cup sizes smaller than his wife. But that didn’t matter, she’d gone without one for so long, the underwire and foam cups would probably irk her.
    She closed the drawer and opened the next. She found a black t-shirt and exchanged it with the white one she’d been dressed in, not because she liked black or wanted to outwardly express the condition of her soul, but because it would help her blend in with the darkness. The third drawer down contained pants. Mostly sweats, but buried at the bottom was a pair of dark green cargo pants. The tags still on them. She imagined Peter buying them for Kristen, never to be worn. She was a far too fashionable woman. For a time, Ella was too, but function was far more important than fashion these days.
    The pants fit, but she snugged them in place with a belt from the top drawer, careful not to squeeze her belly too tightly. For shoes, she went to the closet, pushing aside Peter’s old suits, and dresses that hadn’t been worn in years. She found a pair of hiking boots on the floor, but didn’t put them on. Clothes were one thing, but she’d need to ask about the boots. Supporting her weight on the doorframe, she bent down, wincing in pain and plucked up the boots.
    When she stood, waves of pain echoed through her core and out to her extremities. She steeled herself with a deep breath, and then headed for the bedroom door.
    The wood floor in the hallway creaked underfoot. She froze, listening for hints of predators who might have been alerted to her presence. Calm down , she told herself. You’re in a house. With a locked door .
    It won’t be enough.
    Deal with that later.
    The warring sides of her conscience were silenced by a high pitched sound that was alarming and unfamiliar. She reached for her machete, but the weapon—along with the rest—was missing. But then the true nature of the sound was identified by her scientist’s mind: laughter.
    She took the stairs cautiously, untrusting of the world, unbelieving in the lighthearted atmosphere. But what would the point of that be? And the person laughing wasn’t Peter or Jakob. She stepped out of the stairwell and looked into the dining room. It was her daughter, Anne.
    Jakob sat beside her, still chuckling. His voice was silenced when he looked up and saw Ella. “Oh. Uh, hi.”
    Ella said nothing, but stepped